BLOODY BALLERINA ▹ barnes-romanoff ✓

seven.

She knew how to feel sorry

And when to get angry. 

She had all those previous feelings 

And they took it all away.

Russia, Nearly Six Years Later

The child of the soldier was never prepared for this, not for the Red Room. Then again, no one ever is.

The six year old girl tried her hardest not to cry that very first night as they handcuffed her wrists to the metal bed frame. The madame kept a closer watch on the fragile girl than she did with the others, and Svetlana did not and could not understand why. Twenty-eight pristinely white cots lined the large and bitterly cold room, and each and every one was occupied by other young girls near Svetlana's age. They were all orphans with either dead parents or parents as good as dead. But Svetlana's father wasn't dead. Instead, he was sitting all alone in their once shared quarters with his knees pulled up, his dark head ducked, and his shoulders shaking as he furiously tried to hold in his quiet, mournful sobs. God, there was nothing more that the soldier wanted than for the girl to come back to him.

But they both knew she couldn't.

Because she didn't belong to him anymore.

She belonged to the Red Room.

Svetlana had been in the academy for nearly a week by the time she decided that her body highly resembled a noodle. She was thin and flimsy like one, after all. It pained her to walk, to move, to breathe. Not only were the instructors "training" the girls' bodies, but they were also "training" their minds. They sought out the young girls' worst fears by testing each and every monster on them until they discovered whichever ones made them squirm the most. Then those would be the ones that they exploited. They would force the fears upon the children over and over while they cried and screamed until then they were finally numb. Perfectly, emotionlessly numb.

It was a frigid November day that Svetlana was able to slip away from one of the training sessions without being noticed. She guessed being small had finally worked in her favor. She wasn't trying to escape or anything; she knew that she couldn't stand a chance against the guards of the academy or even what laid beyond the guards and wiry fences. Her feet didn't really know where to take her and somehow she ended up down one of the tall, long hallways that only the older, more trained girls went down. The walls were covered in antique, hand-painted wallpaper with elegant portraits and frames while sparkling chandeliers hung from the high ceilings.

Svetlana's small, black ballet slippers patted lightly against the wooden floor until she stopped before a tall wall that was covered in target sheets. Three bullet holes covered each and every one and they all were neatly arranged around the bullseye. One specific sheet caught the girl's attention; the sheet with one very large hole where the shooter had landed bullets three times in exactly the same spot. The madame's high-heeled feet bumping into Svetlana's caused her to whirl around and tremble in fear.

The madame's lips moved, looking down at the girl as if she truly did care for her, "Chernaya Vdova." The Black Widow.

The fear continued to grow in her as she waited to be punished for escaping the lessons.

The madame merely smiled as she walked, straight-backed, beside her, "Ne boysya. Tot fakt, chto vy smogli probrat'sya, vpechatlyayet." Do not be afraid. The fact that you were able to sneak away is impressive.