The Story of the Red Room (ff)

The ballet

*Narrator  PoV*

The black widows were dancing like marionettes, controlled by invisible strings of psychological abuse. It's a myth - did they ever really dance ballet, or is it merely one of the implanted memories of the red room, attempting to make the horror look more human? The red room was attempting to create a familiar picture for the widows, making them even more dependent. What is clear is that the red room uses these images to create familiarity and dependency amongst the widows. The red room wants them to feel as if the brutal practices they suffer through are normal and necessary for survival rather than the horrific abuse that it actually is.

*Amalias PoV*

I'm sitting between five other young girls, and my eyes are glued at the older ones practising ballet. We're sitting quiet and rigid, not allowed to move. I look admiring to the dancers. Their movements are gracefully and rhythmically. I know that I'll be one of them one day, too. I'm excited that I'll be so beautiful like them, too. It's a comforting feeling. I have a place where i belong. This is what I strive for. But something about their faces and body language struck me as odd. There was something unsettling beneath the elegance and grace, something that felt too stiff and unnatural. The pretty ladies had a strange, blank expression on their faces, as if they weren't really enjoying the dance. There was something else, something that didn't fit with the beauty of the dance. It was a sense of unease, a feeling of fear that made my stomach turn. I don't fully understand what's actually happening. All I know is that I'm amazed by the view. I want to look away, but I'm transfixed by the dancers' elegance. This picture of the dancing girls is magical. Majestic.

I shrug when I hear the trainer calling 'again!'. It's a harsh tone, and I immediately tense up. They aren't good enough yet, and they have to repeat their exercises until they're flawless. We have to sit her until they're done. I don't dare to make an annoyed look because I know that we're watched. Suddenly, I feel a bit of fear coming over my body.

My feelings are mixed right now.  I'd like to see my mother just one more time. She's a cold, reserved woman. Mum and dad never had much money, and sometimes, I wasn't sure if they even loved me. But that's nonsense. Every parent loves their children. I keep repeating this sentence in my mind like a mantra. Still, they didn't care when the faceless men came and got me. I know that I have to tell Madame B. about this later the day. She told us that we should always talk to her when we'd get these weird thoughts. I hope that she won't get disappointed again like the last time I told her. She looked so sad when I told her that I had missed my parents. She said that this is my family now. That the red room is my home. This is the place i belong to for now.
I want to make her proud. I'm naive enough to believe that the room I was brought in from the faceless men is an exciting adventure.

I'm curious to start connecting with the other girls my age. I'm feeling connected with them. I asked some about their lives, and most of them told me that they were brought here from the faceless men, too. They're intimidating to me. I don't know why they had to send those crepy men after us. But Madame B. told us that they were for our safety. Because outside this cruel world, there are people who want to hurt us. We're safe in the red room.