Il Dannato {REWRITING}

Chapter 3: M E E T I N G

Edited.

Please listen to the song above, it is supposed to be about Natasha's life.

At the start of every chapter, there will be a snippet of Nandini's past from the beginning.

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Natasha Irina Volkov wanted to vomit her organs out as everything in her body hurt after being beaten until she was fifty shades of blue and black. She was fool for thinking she could take on a full-grown, toned woman who was also the head of the Academy. Her right was slightly swollen and almost black. Her entire body hurt if she even moved one step but that very same day, she had to apparently train. Natasha had been an expert in all things Princess but fighting? She had no idea why she even had to learn, having been accompanied by bodyguards and personal security all her life.

Currently, she was in a small 4-walled room with no windows and a concrete floor to increase the discomfort, after being dragged from her bed. She had been struggling to sleep since she came here and not because her bed was hard as rock in comparison to her king-sized, cloud-like bed but because she was scared out of her mind. Scared of the possibilities of the Academy. Sacred of being in an unknown place. A two-way mirror was placed in one of the walls.

She knew she was being watched...

They were waiting for her to break and pull her hair out. From claustrophobia or from the fear of herself.

She was given an element of choice: to stay at the Academy and be trained or be a cast-off in the streets. Natasha, despite her age, knew her father wouldn't come to her rescue and would want her to toughen-up and she also knew the horrible things that happen to children who were on the streets.

Natasha, of course, chose the former and from then, she was being trained.

She had no idea how long she had been sitting on that hard floor with her knees up to her chest and her head resting in her hands, trying to listen for any indication of what was to come. An almost hissing sound reached her ear, causing her to lift her head up and watch as a gas pored into the room, latching onto her throat. She tried to move further away from it but her limbs had almost locked up. Holding her breath, she felt light-headed and began to cough again. Suddenly, she began to feel cold, rubbing her arms for friction but that didn't seem to help. Her teeth began to clatter.

The Leader watched the little girl attempt to crawl away, coughing up blood, leaving a trail of it from her lips to her chin. 

"Should we shut it off?" One of her companions asked, dressed in leather moulded to her body. The question was idiotic but she shook her head anyway.

There was a mix of gases in that room. The ageing gas was specifically made to ensure that they appear young and beautiful at whatever age. The peak conditions was what made an assassin; the instinct to survive in any weather. The memory gas, meant to be combined with electric shocks to erase and implant memories, was in the mx too.