A gift from heaven (Loki x Natasha x daughter!reader)

Chpt.11 Russia

Elinor's POV

I blinked my eyes open, the dull light of the room slowly coming into focus. The first thing that I noticed was the chill in the air, causing me to shiver as I slowly looked around.

It was a plain, sterile room with white walls and a single iron bed. Panic surged through me as I tried to remember how I ended up here, but my mind was a blank canvas, devoid of any memories.

As I sat up on the edge of the bed, the door creaked open, and a tall, imposing scary looking soldier, stepped in.

He wore a stark black uniform and had a stern and cold expression etched onto his face. Without a word, he gestured at me to follow him.

"Come with me, now. You're expected in Dreykow's office," he said in a deep, gravelly voice.

I hesitated for a moment, my fear batting with my curiosity. With no other option, I got up and followed the soldier down a series of dimly lit corridors. Each step that I took was filled with trepidation, as if I was walking deeper into a nightmare.

Dreykow's office was a strong contrast to my own tiny room. It was adorned with lavish furnishings, but its opulence felt intimidating rather than comforting. A middle-aged man, maybe in his late 40's, impeccably dressed, sat behind a massive dark wooden desk. His steely gray eyes bore into me as I entered the huge room.

"Ah, Elinor," he said, a hint of an evil smile playing on his lips. "I'm General Dreykow. You had a terrible accident during a mission, and regrettably, you can't remember a thing. We're here to help you recover."

I just nodded, even though a deep sense of distrust started to build up.

Over the following weeks, my days fell into a relentless routine. Each morning, I woke up in this Spartan room, was ordered to dress in a simple black leotard, and then escorted to a spacious training area. It was here that my life was transformed in ways that I never could have imagined.

My arrival at the Red Room marked the beginning of a nightmarish journey. I had been thrust into a world of shadows, where my past was a distant memory and my so called future was a twisted web of training, manipulation, and control. My first week was a grueling initiation into the life that I never chose.

The dark and cold corridors of the Red Room were a far cry from the life I hoped once knew.

The training facility felt cold and unforgiving, the air heavy with tension. I had been assigned a sparse, utilitarian room, a place where I would usually spend my nights, restless and filled with trepidation.

My days were an unending whirlwind of training and orders. The instructors were ruthless, demanding excellence in every endeavor. I was forced into combat training, facing off against other trainees leaving my body bruised and battered in the process. The pain was relentless, but it was a constant reminder that I was no longer in control.

One of the harshest challenges I had to face was the requirement to study Russian. The language was unfamiliar and complex, making me feel like a stranger in a foreign land. But failure was not an option, and I continued struggling late into the night to grasp the intricacies of the language.

The relentless push for perfection often resulted in punishment. I experienced the brutality of the Red Room firsthand, the searing pain of being pushed – beaten for failing even the simplest tasks. It was a lesson in obedience, in the ruthless consequences of failure.

As the days turned into nights, I felt a profound sense of isolation. I was cut off from the world I believed to know, and my fellow trainees were not friends but competitors. Trust was a rare and dangerous luxury, as betrayal lurked around every corner.

Each night, I cried myself to sleep, overwhelmed by the sense of loss, despair, and longing for a life I once had. The walls of my room had to witness to my silent tears, and the weight of my miserable situation pressed down on me like an unyielding burden.

I hated it in the Red Room, with every fiber of my being. I constantly longed for freedom, for escape, for a return to the life I wish to have. But in the relentless grip of the Red Room, hope was a fragile and elusive concept, a distant dream fading with each passing day.