Is this the life you chose yourself, or just how it ended up? Is that the yard you pictured when you closed your eyes and dreamed of children in the grass running through the sprinklers? Being somebody's wife, or were you living in another life?
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━━━━༺❀༻━━━━ A/N —
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Anastasia sat in her cell early morning, waiting for that days orders. A file which included who she had to research and a list of chores that had to be completed before dinner.
In the seven months since she got her new bed, she'd been doing more training and gotten clued in on the regular missions. If Anastasia behaved, they at least pretended to trust her. That was good. With even a sliver of trust came more freedom to roam the hellish base.
As she looked at the clock bolted to the wall, she frowned. It was half past six. Daily orders typically arrived at five o'clock on the dot. Along with the file was supposed to be her breakfast and an accompanying agent to ensure she made it to training at six.
Though she had no breakfast, no file, no agent. . . Nothing.
There was nothing, not a sound aside from her breathing, for the next hour.
Then there was the jingling of keys and two separate doors being opened in her cell block. Anastasia didn't dare move a muscle as she saw no less than six agents escorting two people.
She didn't get a good look at them, but she immediately felt bad. To be in that block meant nothing good. Once the newest prisoners had been shoved in their cells, her handler opened the door and dropped a tray of eggs with toast on the desk.
"No orders or training for you today, Belyaeva. Eat up and abide by the rules we've set, understood?"
"Yes sir."
"Good. You have until dinner to complete your usual schooling."
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Anastasia hadn't meant to.
Her subconscious practically forced her to hum the old Sokovian lullaby. It didn't work on her anymore after all the years of her parents being gone.
The controlled notes echoed in her cell, a soft melody that had once put herself and her parents to sleep, calming her as she wrote the last paragraph of the essay due for her schooling.
Five full pages, handwritten.
All in the matters of Human Anatomy.
That very essay marked the end of her schooling.
Anastasia stopped humming when she heard a clank from one of the only other two cell's in her block. She'd forgotten they were there, which made her humming worse. If they told on her, she'd have nothing left. Soon she'd be allowed on missions, just as soon as all her work was finished.
"Why did you stop? You are very good, no?" The girl's accent was thick, just as Anastasia's was when she arrived. "I am not supposed to sing or make any noise remotely close to singing, otherwise I will be punished. . ." She trailed off, turning her back to the door.
"Why not?" There was a familiarity in the boys voice that tugged at her heartstrings for the slightest moment, then the feeling was gone.
Anastasia didn't answer right away, confused by what she had felt for the briefest moment. It was a small tug, though it made her feel as if they had met before.
It wasn't entirely impossible, she was from northeastern Sokovia, it showed in her accent despite not being outside of those walls since she was eight. They could've been a couple villages away and met during the holidays, though their accent was rougher than hers - thicker even.
It would've had to have been sometime before her capture.
She turned her head to the left, knowing her voice would carry as she finally spoke.
"They like to pretend I was not a child when they stole me away from my home. . . In forcing me to grow up, they restricted everything girls my age would love. . . That included singing."
There was a beat of silence as she mulled over how to change the subject.
"I don't understand how either of you could volunteer for this shit. . . The experiments have killed everyone so far, and now we're next on the list."
"You don't know that." The girl spoke up for the second time. "I don't?" Anastasia chuckled dryly, whipping around to face the door. "I had friends in those very cells you're both in. I was twelve, they had both just turned sixteen. They were the only kindness I had known since my parents were slaughtered. One day they were escorted out by agents, the next there was two people to replace them."
"Perhaps you're lucky and won't turn sixteen for another couple years, but I have no such luck." Anastasia looked to the calendar on the wall.
