Natasha was raised to be an assassin. She endured years of torturous training to become one of the deadliest killers in Russia...but she wasn't the only one. Chinese operatives had gathered information on the Black Widow program and created their ow...
"I've been to hell before, little girl. It was called the Red Room."
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*The Red Room*
It always felt like death. At least at first. Every muscle stretched and burned until they were mere steps away from ripping. The bones in her hips threatened to rotate right out of their sockets. Her spine lengthened and twisted into impossible shapes. The veins in her arms swelled, blood pulsing through them. Her fingers trembled as she tried to hold them taut but graceful, just so. Her toes were jammed into a pretty pink box, battering her feet with constellations of blisters and bruises. But it all looked effortless and beautiful. Natasha hoped. Because that was all that really mattered.
"Choba." Barked the woman in the crimson chair. Alyona Mikhail. Her eyes were darker than onyx, and colder than the infinite universe could ever accomplish. She wanted them to do the routine again...for the 470th time. The group of girls complied because there was simply no other choice.
Alyona was attractive, Natasha knew that from a young age. And she also knew that attractive people always got away with things. Appearances were not reality; but they could often be a convincing alternative to it. Appearances could be controlled most of the time, but facts never changed. When the facts became too sharp, or too painful, you could craft a cheerful version of the situation and cover the facts the way that you could cover a massive hole in the wall with a poster of kittens.
These long hours on pointe, repeating the same routine over and over again, was all a part of that picture perfect cover. Beneath it all, though, something much darker loomed. It was all artificial. Even Natasha's soul had become artificial. The dancers around her had sewn it into a bag of pink satin, pink satin slightly faded, like their dancing shoes.
Alyona pointed a long, bony finger at Natasha. She ordered her to perform Odette's solo from Swan Lake. Her legs were trembling in exhaustion, and she could feel loose pools of blood circling around her feet and staining her shoes. Still, she danced. Natasha performed every single step in quiet perfection, and when she was finished Alyona's expression didn't change. She nodded and Natasha stepped back in line.
Next, she brought her piercing gaze to Tanya Luknov. The girl had a nose like a cartoon character, or one drawn by a lazy artist at least. The bridge was so low-profile as to be barely there at all; so that on a face of skin all the same honeyed hue, her nose was a bump just above her dusky pink lips. From under her long blonde bangs shone eyes the colour of wet earth, and they looked like they might start a storm when Alyona pointed at her.
She was ordered to perform the Giselle Variation. Tanya's face, which had been blazing bright red from the heat, suddenly lost all of its colour. She had been struggling to keep up with the rest of the girls, and to be asked to dance such a demanding piece after four long hours of non-stop ballet was a death sentence. Still, Tanya straightened her posture, pointed her throbbing toes, and did as she was asked. One of the first things you learnt in the red room was to never disobey, no matter the circumstances.
