The Black Snake ☼ N. Romanoff

Chapter Four.

Her eyes felt heavy, and the pain coursed through her limbs.
But she needed to open them, for something wasn't right.
No uncomfortable bed under her, no blanket over her shoulders, no handcuffs on her arm.

She wasn't in the dormitory.

Slowly, she pushed her eyelids open.
Lying on the concrete, she looked around.
And suddenly, the memories came back, oh no, oh god, she was in the torture chamber where Madame had taken her this morning.
No, no.

The sun was already up, this could mean one thing only, she was late. Very late to class.

Oh no.

As well as she could with the trembling pain in her arms and legs, she got up, slow and slower again.
The door was open, and no Madame in sight.

That woman, she hated her.

She'd left her there, lying on the floor after she’d passed out, for today, the horrors Madame had made her go through seemed to hit harder.
Who knows why.

But surely, Madame had intended to leave her asleep on the floor, for her to wake up late, because she'd been weak.
Weak for passing out while she was training.
And therefore she would be punished.

Late to class, that would mean a few days in the cells, after one harsh beating, of course.

Stumbling on her own feet, she walked out of the room, struggled to reach the stairs, and even more to walk them up, her knees bleeding profusely.

Once she’d reached the class she was so late to, ballet, her favorite, Mr Igor had looked at her sternly, shame bubbling in her stomach. He was mad at her, she hated that, she hated disappointing her teachers. So much pressure was set on her, to be perfect, to be the best. Being late, being late was just not in the book, not an option, no matter the circumstances.

So, after calling the guards, Mr Igor had gone back to teaching the girls. But instead of any manhandling guard coming to get her, it was Madame who had left her office and personally chosen to accompany Alaya to her cell, to make sure the punishment would fit how disappointed in her she was.

So, after being taken down to the dirty rooms in the basement, she was stripped and thrown into the cold, cold showers.
And freezing water came as a shock against her cuts, on her back and on her legs.
She watched as the pressure of the water jet created more bruises on her body that would turn purple by tomorrow.

Then, clothed in barely a set of slim shorts that resembled boxers and a thin t-shirt, thrown again in one of the grim cells.
Madame walked in, and on the ground frail and weak and curled in a small ball on the ground, Alaya could only see her heels, and she felt, god, she felt such shame at this very moment.

She was being weak.
And weakness was not accepted.

On the cold floor of what would be her room for the next few days, she knew what a fool she was making of herself, by not getting up, by not facing the pain, making a fool of the training Madame had spent such time inflicting on her, such effort.

Two guards entered, and she knew what was to come, but didn't dare look up, to meet the glare Madame would throw at her, which would only put her to shame even more.
Make that pit in her stomach grow once more.

A kick to the stomach, another in her back, hitting directly her spine, one spit on her face, while the other stomped on her head.
She didn't scream, didn't shriek, didn't cry.
Why bother, Madame was here to make sure she wouldn't weaken as she had done this morning, by fainting.

And so when the beating was over, about ten minutes later, a tissue came to wipe off the spit that went down her cheeks, and a warm hand landed on her arm, it was Madame, and the girl, slowly but surely, looked up to meet some very comforting eyes.

“You took your punishment well, my dear.” She helped the eight year old up from the ground, and Alaya stood straight in front of her, looking straight ahead. All the while Madame took a good look at her, at her markings, her blood still running down her unclothed leg. “This will close up by itself.” She remarked towards her knee. “You've stopped reacting to simple pains like beatings, it is still a win I must guess.”

Still, Alaya knew Madame was disappointed, because the girl had fainted, and been late to class.
This reflected badly on her teachings, her efforts.
“I will do better, Madame.”

“I know you will, after a week or two down here.”

A week of two ?

No.
No.
No. No. No.

A week or two, which meant most likely two. She knew she was always punished harder than the other students were, but two weeks here ? Barely fed, in the freezing cold of the concrete.
The room was filthy, so much so that you could literally see the dust flying around in the cell.

“Don't worry child, I'll come and see you everyday.”

Yes, every day, with guards. The girl thought, every day a new beating, and every day a look that would bring her more and more shame, each time.

Then Madame left her, there in this room, and Alaya looked around.

A bucket to pee and shit, no bed, no windows, nowhere to shower.
Just an empty cell, disgusting at that, spider webs in the corners, but no spiders here, no, even the spiders didn't want to stay in this cold, disgusting room.
Not even rats bothered themselves to scramble in this place.

After a few days, the dust she kept inhaling all day long started to hurt her lungs, and a cough came suddenly, and lasted until the end of her stay, and even a bit after. But she had to suppress it, couldn't scratch that itching in the back of her throat, because if she did then Madame wouldn't be happy.

Quiet.
She needed to stay quiet.
It was what was expected.

To wash herself, a guard would bring in a wooden bucket and some cloth, which she would use to clean the dirt off her skin. And though she wanted him to look away, he made it a point to keep looking at her, a smile on his lips. No. A smirk on his lips.

That angered her, but it didn’t matter, there was nothing she could do to make him stop, so she swallowed her pride and the rage that threatened to spill out of her, and instead tried to wash herself without taking off her clothes.

And finally, two weeks later, as she was lying on the floor, trying not to let a pit of cough escape her, her hair greasy and clothes so dirty they were almost rigid with filth, she heard the noise of Madame’s heels, clicking against the floor of the basement.

Standing in front of her cell, Alaya was already up and her back straight, and as the door opened, she didn’t move one inch, waiting for Madame to signal her that she could leave her cell.
One look, one nod, and she was out and walking towards the main hall, up the stairs, with Madame in front of her.
And walking slowly towards the showers, she passed many widows on her way, who all remained wide eyed in front of the state of Madame’s favorite, who had just spent so much time in the cells, but looked still so ruthless and looked straight ahead, and Madame, herself, arbored a small smile, happy she could bring proof her prodigy wasn’t weak, after the mistake Alaya had made last weak, showing her weakness, no, today she left the cells looking rough but stronger. Bruises all over her face, cheek purple, two prominent black eyes, puffy and likely painful, dried blood on her nose and ears, she looked bad, but that was what Madame wanted.
To parade her in front of everyone in this state, face closed, showing no weaknesses, because still in all this pain, the girl showed no sign of it at all, walking completely straight, hands behind her back, sparing no look to anyone they passed by.

The two weeks had been long, but Madame knew after such a punishment, Alaya would never weaken again.
She would take the pain and take it well, unless she wanted to spend four weeks in the cells next time.

Okay I might've published a chapter then deleted it lmao, this is a completely different take I wanted to add before publishing the others and I felt it should be in the fourth chapter, so enjoy this last minute post :)