❝ your allies will die or go mad. you'll never know whom to trust. you'll never have a normal relationship. and if you do find love, as impossible as it is, you must remember one rule. the most important rule: never have kids. NEVER. ❞ - n.r.
COVERS...
A half that's living to destroy and a half that's trying to survive.
"Again."
Svetlana's red hair was pulled back in a tight, perfect bun and her body was covered in a black leotard dress. Her movements were graceful, controlled, perfect. Her toes were covered in pink ballet slippers as she slowly spun with her hands above her head and then put her foot out, barely grazing the ground with it.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
They danced in a perfect line; the six girls that were still alive after the past year. They had killed all the others.
Twenty seven girls came into the Red Room with Svetlana.
Six survived and twelve died.
They had killed two each.
Two dead girls' blood was on her hands and she was seven years old.
"Again," Dmitri's head nodded as if he were in pain of what he was seeing.
Her toes didn't ache as much as they used to before, and her frame was lean and perfect. Although Svetlana could not hear it, she was aware that music played in the background as they turned and twirled their arms in cutting yet graceful motions. Without being able to hear the composition playing in the background, she had learnt to feel the music through the floorboards and anticipate what the other girls were going to do next. The instructors had very firmly informed Svetlana that she would not be given allowances simply because she was "less intelligent" than the rest. She knew that simply because she was deaf that did not mean she was less intelligent than everyone or anyone in the room, but she had kept her mouth tightly sealed as she always did.
Dmitri watched the girls with the same hard, unimpressed look he always wore with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed. Younger girls in uniforms knelt on the floor nearby as they watched the dancers' feet sharply raise them up and down.
"Again."
They swiftly moved to the rhythm of the music.
"Again."
They had danced for eight hours continuously, but he was not pleased.
"Again."
He called them names while they ducked their heads and lifted themselves onto their toes.
"Again."
It had to be perfect.
"Again."
It was not perfect.
"Again."
They were not glass. They would not break. Madame B. told Svetlana repeatedly that she was made of marble. Just like the Black Widow.
