The Black Snake ☼ N. Romanoff

Chapter One.

It was early in the morning, and the sound of heels clicking against the flooring of the red room echoed in Alaya's ears.

Today was February 4th, her birthday. Today she was 5 years old, and according to Madame she was ready for a new kind of training.

So, when Madame woke her up before the sun rose, while all 27 other girls were still sleeping, she wondered what kind of training involved her, and her only.

But as she had always been taught, she silently followed Madame. No questions asked.

Her face stoic, devoid of any emotions.

You could barely take her for a five year old, if it wasn't for her young eyes, height and bubbly cheeks. She walked with her back straight, and her feet never slacked off, so much that her demeanor was almost robotic, programmed.

And as they passed the older widows, who cowered in fear in front of Madame, the monster under their bed, and her tiny little prodigy, Alaya felt her stomach almost drop to her feet, she didn't know the nature of that new training Madame spoke of, but she did know training was never enjoyable.

Whether it was being beaten up by girls twice as strong as she was, or having to repeat the same sentence in french over and over again to get the accent just right, she never liked it.

But she understood whether liking it or not had no importance in the matter, she would do it, or face consequences.

And for Alaya, who was the girl whom Madame had put the most effort in, the consequence would get greater and greater each time.

So she just walked behind the monster.

Falling to her knees was her red skirt under which was tightly put her white blouse, and her black vest sat upon her shoulders and went all the way down her skirt.

To her feet, brown leather shoes that clicked when she walked, but not as much as Madame's heels did.

She observed as they went down the big stairs, how the place looked like it was taken out of a fairy tale, a palace made of marble, with carvings on the ceiling and thick woodens doors.

And then when they had reached the end of the corridor, Madame opened the door and led Alaya down the stairs.

Fear now sat in the child's throat. True fear.

This is the road to the cells.

She thought.

She wondered and wondered, had she done anything wrong ? Had she disobeyed in any way ?

But no, because Madame didn't stop in front of the cells, and instead, opened another wooden door hidden in the dark of this much less beautiful corridor, and down another flight of stairs.

But then behind yet another door Madame came to a stop.

They both stood in a room, and in the middle of that room was a chair, with straps and stains of dried blood.

Fear lingered in the girl's throat, but curiosity took over as Madame walked to the other side of the room to retrieve a tray.

She then turned around and gestured for Alaya to sit on the chair, which she did silently.

Madame attached the straps to her arms and legs and one more to her stomach to be completely secure.

"As you know, child." She started, eyeing her closely. "We the Red room pride ourselves in the perfect training of our widows."

She took a scalpel from the tray and held it up for her to see.

"Resistance to pain is one of the requirements of that training. High pain tolerance." She smirked, a smirk that, Alaya thought, was supposed to be comforting, but in fact, wasn't at all.