I have had a terrible week. Short story, I past out on the day I was planning on updating. My parents had to take me to the hospital, because I hit my head on concrete. A couple hours later, I have a concussion and a killer headache. The only thing I have been doing since is sleeping.
Just a heads up, update are going to be slower than normal. Probably once a week, instead of every other day. At least until my headache goes away.
Lyrics belong to Citizen Soldier, Mess of Me
Start one of part two.
The flashback took me so long to write. I was so confused about how I wanted her interactions to go throughout the whole thing. All I will say is to pay attention to Natalia's relationship with Dreykov. Remember, she's 15 years old.
Madame B's nickname is Madame Bitch
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Do you see what I see? Haunting like a ghost I'm never free
. . .
March 18, 2000
She can smell the blood-tainted air.
She can hear the footsteps getting closer, as the heels echo on the polished floor. Only one individual there is allowed to wear heels. Heels, not combat boots. Not a Widow. Not a soldier. Or one of the dolls, the nickname the soldiers gave to the children. The heels are special, considering they belong to Madame B.
The headmistress of the academy.
"I know you are awake, Natalia." The unexpected voice snaps, her callous tone flowing through the room. "You know these foolish tricks do not work on me."
Natalia's green irises flicker through the room, her mind taking note of every little detail. The white walls, tainted by the bloodstains. The chemicals in the air. She feels the metal wrapping around her ankles and wrist, tightly trapping her against the bed.
The older woman stares at her blankly, her dark muddy brown eyes are completely free of emotion. There are some strings of silver appearing through her luxurious blonde locks. She steps forward slowly, as something darker flickers across her face.
"I expected better of you, Natalia." Madame twists her lips, shaking her head tauntingly. "If I had my way, we would have already destroyed it." Natalia's breathing hitches, theories spreading through her mind. Do they know? "Dreykov has other ideas."
