BLACK WIDOW

adamantine

adamantine
(adj.)
unyielding or firm in an attitude or opinion

•••

"She's changed, you can see it in her eyes, feel it in her touch, hear it in her tone. She's not the same and she's never coming back."

•••

Natalia awoke early that morning with no intention of practicing ballet. The air was frigid and uninviting in her large home. No fire had been set the previous night. The floor was cold on her bare feet. It only made her more aware of the coldness in the world. She had no intention of returning to this house. Her beautiful home. The home she had fallen in love with time and time again. She had no intention of looking back.

She was starting over. She went into Alexi's hidden safe and took out the rest of the money. He was a man who did not trust banks, which in the end, did benefit. She took her clothes and loaded it all into the back to the car.

The car was only a trigger for the most melancholy of memories that she possessed of Alexi. In that small, navy car, his scent lingered. His smell of iced pines and wood chopped fresh. It was all over the house. The car. His things remained inside as they had been the night before. His reading glasses still laid untouched in the middle console—even though she told him he looked dashing in them, he would not use them. His hair comb sat untouched by Natalia on the passengers seat. A set of cuff links we on the dashboard.

But of all the things that hurt Natalia, it was the the memories that came with the items and smells that hurt her soul so. They had so many meaningless conversations in this car that she had taken for granted.

Not only had Alexi taught Natalia's to drive by in in this car, but so was he by his father. Their first confession of love was in this car almost a year and a half ago. This car symbolized her sweet relationship with her Alexi. She couldn't help but cry at the thought, sight and smell of him and the absence that came with it.

And that was why it had to go. She had to forget. She had to move on. She decided she would either clear the car out , throw it away, or sell it. Whichever came easier to her.

Pulling up to the school, she took her bags and entered, going to her previous room of two years. Yesterday she would have never believed that she would be back full time at the school. She unloaded her her things, still heavy-hearted from the ride over. As she unpacked, she remembered a private teacher had approached her for the Widow Program: Madame B.

She didn't know where she would find her, so unfortunately, she had to ask the headmaster: Alonya Smirnov. She traveled down the long halls and up and down wooden staircases to find her teacher' closet. Begrudgingly, she knocked on Madame Smirnov's office door.

The heavy wooden door opened and  revealed a familiar  impatient face. <Romanova. How pleasant. Why come see me now? We have a class in 15 minutes.>

<Actually, Headmaster Smirnov. I was looking for Madame B,> Natalia informed, anxious to see the Headmaster's reactions. <I thought you would know where she is.>

The headmaster's face fell in disappointment. <Your looking for Madame B?>

<Yes,> she answered, her voice firm.

<Well I suppose we will not be having a class in fifteen minutes,> she said, crestfallen.

<I suppose so, Headmaster,> Natalia said tilting her chin high in the air.

<You will find Madame B on in the West Wing. The last room in the far corner. I am sure she will be very delighted to see that she has won such a talented pupil. Good luck to you, Natalia Romanova,> she huffed in anger  and  walked past Natalia out of her office with brisk steps.