Beneath the silent sky

No one knows her name.
No one dares ask.

They only speak of the eyes-two different colors, rare and chilling. A mark of death. Of vengeance. A whisper in the underworld: "She doesn't miss. She doesn't hesitate. She doesn't feel."

She walks alone through Moscow's back alleys, blood on her boots, the faintest scent of smoke trailing her long black coat. She'd slit a man's throat two minutes ago. Didn't blink. Didn't speak. Just turned and vanished.

She's nineteen.
But the world thinks she's a myth.

And maybe she is. Maybe something broke inside her when she was five years old. When the Russians took her. When they burned her home into memory and carved out the little girl who used to sing lullabies on her grandfather's lap.

Now? Now she dreams in flashes. A golden sun. A woman's perfume. Laughter in Italian. Five shadows taller than her, arms wide open. Names, always at the edge of her tongue-but never there.

She remembers their faces.

And she remembers the man who stole her life.

Viktor Ovalov.
The Russian leader. The man who turned her into a weapon.

He doesn't know she's coming.

But she'll show him.

She'll make him bleed for every scar he left on her skin. For every scream he buried in her throat.

She presses a gloved hand to the glass window of an abandoned apartment. Her reflection stares back-impossibly beautiful, heartbreakingly cold. Eyes covered with dull brown lenses.

She's ashamed of what makes her different.
Even now, she hides the heterochromia behind colored contacts. Just one more mask to wear.

But behind those eyes, behind the silence-she remembers.

This isn't a story of sunshine and fairytales. Not a story where she just 'heals' and gets her sunshine personality back. No this is a story where she learns to live again and not just exist or survive. This isn't about healing, it's about living again, revenge and living through your pain.

Tw:bittersweet ending

Pictures are not mine. So the credit goes to their respective owners.