Sophia

I had just made my way across the Switzerland boarder when I was bellowed out by a middle aged women who went by Sophia. She had informed me that she was a painter and if I had the time, she would be honored to paint my face. I had agreed to her proposal and sat down on an old wooden stool that was placed in front of her easel. Sophia was a very pleasant and enjoyable company, after she was done painting me she invited me back to her house for supper and a place to stay for the night. Sophia enjoyed talking to me and listing to every word I said carefully, she said that I had appeared sad and If I needed to talk to her about anything that I could trust her, but I was unable to tell her what was going on, I could never be to careful with people I met, even if they seemed nice, because for all I knew, she could have been working with them. That night after supper, Sophia and I looked through one of her photo albums, she eagerly flipped through the pages telling me the story that every photo told, except for the one picture of a lady. (Sophia seemed very hesitant to talk about her) I asked her what her story was, for her eyes seemed to told a story of sorrow, and Sophia informed me that it was her old friend Edith Hjorth Fengel, who, along with her husband and son David, were arrested by the police and sent to a prison camp. Edith managed to escape the prison camp with the help of a guard who was in love and was smuggled into Denmark were she now lives as happily as a person who has been through all that can. Her husband on the other hand was killed and nobody knows were her son is.