indelible
(adj.)
making marks that cannot be removed

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"I feel like I died and they forgot to bury me."

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<Ivan! Ivan! Look what I have found!> Natalia found herself in a very young form. She ran through a wooden house to the man who had raised her and held out her small hands.

<What have you found?> he asked, his chair spinning around to face the small child. She held out her hands and opened them only a sliver, not wanting the item to fall out or fly away.

<It is a wounded hummingbird, Young Natalia,> Ivan noted as his opened her hands a bit farther.

<Wounded?> asked the small girl curiously.

<Meaning it is hurt,> he informed. <Would you like to try and cure it?>

An excited smile crossed Natalia's young face.

<Well let us go, Natalia,> he said with a soft smile as her lead her to another room.

Then coming out of the door, time had spanned a month exactly, Natalia confirmed through memory. Leading out the front door, Ivan placed a hand on Natalia's back as she held up get tiny hands and opened them to free the small hummingbird, who had healed under she and Ivan's eye. The smile on the young girl's face was priceless as she looked up to her favorite person in pride.

The scene before her changed. She wasn't too much older. Maybe eight or nine. She was sitting with Ivan in front of a textbook.

<Why do I have to learn this, Ivan?> she asked, leaning back in her chair.

"It is a necessity for everyone to learn English," he told her.

<I do not know what you said, Ivan,> Natalia said, annoyed. He sighed and looked sadly at Natalia.

<I said that it is a necessity for everyone to learn english, young one,> he told her as he put his glasses on and looked down at the page.

<What about the other languages?> she asked. <French and Dutch and German and Spanish?>

The question obviously stumped Ivan.

<Because unlike others, you are a prestigious young woman,> he told her hesitantly.

<You seem unsure,> she pointed out.

He signed. "Let's just get back to the books," he said.

Natalia furrowed her brows and replied a confused, "Yes."

Now she was older. Back in the Bolshoi Theatre. She was dancing.

<Higher,> Headmaster Alonya screeched as Natalia went through her routine. Her legs were weak and her arms ached. She would do anything to stop, but Smirnov would not have that, of course. <Faster, Natalia. You are better than this!> Natalia could feel the pain in her legs as if it were actually happening. But Smirnov had pushed her to the limit. Natalia crumpled to the floor. She couldn't feel her arms or legs. <Get up!> Alonya growled.

Natalia struggled to her feet. Once she had finally stood up straight, a heavy blow was delivered across her face. One that was all too familiar. That dreaded ring protruding from the back of the Headmaster's hands. Natalia could feel the hot blood trickle down her cheek. But she did not cry. She wouldn't. She couldn't. And she never did.

<Are you the best Natalia?> asked Smirnov.

<No,> Natalia returned shaking her head. If Ivan had taught her anything, it was to be humble.

<Wrong!> yelled the headmaster, hitting Natalia across the other cheek. <You are the best. Repeat.>

Everything in Natalia hurt. Not just her muscles, but her heart too. She missed Ivan so much, but she knew if she wanted to succeed here, she must comply.

<I am the best.>

Then she found herself walking along a path in the dead of night. Natalia had needed a mental break from her teacher. At the time, she thought she wouldn't find anyone. That she'd be alone, but as time progressed, a figure began to appear further down the icy trail. Natalia's curiously of the figure grew, but as their paths grew closer, they both tucked their hands into their coats and began to walk a bit more briskly than before. But just as they began to pass each other, both of them slipped on a frozen puddle, the man landing straight onto Natalia.

<I am so sorry,> he said quickly as he scrambled to his feet holding out his hand. Natalia remained laying down, trying to process what had happened. <Are you hurt, miss?>

She reached up and took the mans hand, ands crawled to her feet. <I am fine, thank you. Sorry,> she spoke.

The man smiled and she was immediately taken away. He was a very good looking man. And somehow, Natalia could see he was just as entranced by her as she was by him.

<I am Alexi Shostakov,> he introduced, now holding out his hand for her to shake rather than to use to stand up.

<Natalia Romanova,> she gave back.

<Well, it is so pleasant to meet you here, Natalia. Now I would hope your aren't pacing the streets at midnight for the same reasons I am, are you?> he told her as he put a hand on her back and lead her walking down the paths once again.

<Well that would depend on why your pacing tonight,> she answered with a smile. Then the scenery changed, though she and Alexi remaining. They were I his car almost three and a half years later.

<Only the best for you, 'Talia,> Alexi sung to his wife. Only now, could she see the sadness in his eyes. It was as if he knew the events to come.

Then it was time. Natalia remembered this. This was that last words Alexi would ever speak to her besides the passionate breaths the had exchanged that night. <I love you, Natalia Alianova,> he whispered vehemently just before leaning in for a kiss. But just before his lips reached hers, she was in a different place. The Red Room.

"Hit her harder!" Madame B said with ease. Natalia was fighting against one of the girls: Svetlana. A girl she had grown close to through the few months. "Knockout. Kill her if you must."

Svetlana looked up at Natalia with sad eyes, knowing what was about to come. Natalia did hit harder. Faster. In more of the fragile places of the body.

"Harder!" Madame B insisted. And now Natalia was in a craze. The adrenaline was pumping through her veins like never before. She delivered hard, speedy blows to Svetlana's gut and head until one final bow to her temple, sending her straight to the floor. She was never told if Svetlana had survived. But she had not seen her again either.

Then she found herself in front of her bathroom mirror inspecting her growing belly. Then she was standing in a testing room with Anastasia. She remembered that they were waiting on Madame B so that that could begin.

Natalia looked straight forward, her goal not to make eye contact with Anastasia. But it failed when Anastasia spoke to her almost causing Natalia to jump.

"What was it like being able to train on the outside of the Red Room for so long?" she asked in a whisper. Natalia looked at her, confused.

"I only joined two months ago," she replied.

Anastasia's face scrunched up. "Is that what you think?"

"It's only a fact," Natalia told her, her patience growing thin.

"No, Romanova. Don't you see. You were raised to do this. You're caretaker probably only shielded you from the truth. And when you joined ballet that was meant to do you base training, you obviously became too immersed. You and you caretaker probably became too close and he felt bad for you. But you were always meant to be here Natalia," Anastasia told her. But Natalia only scoffed.

"That is ridiculous," she responded. Anastasia scoffed louder.

"I'll bet you that he taught you the core languages. Entered you into ballet at two. Made sure you never got too fat or two skinny and taught how to keep your hair tamed. That was what they were required to do until you were sent here to the Bolshoi at 6 years of age," Anastasia said with a smirk.

Natalia had been hit deep. She looked down at the floor rethinking so many memories she shared with Ivan that she cherished. That they were all for this program.

Anastasia then repeated her question slowly and mockingly. "Now let me ask you again. What was it like being able to train outside of the red room for so long?"

Everything around her changed and she was reliving the ride on the gurney to the operating room.

She saw Anastasia in the room on her knees. "Natalia?" she had asked weakly. She heard Anastasia cry and plead for her help and she heard the dreadful gunshot.

Then all she felt was pain. The serum poisoning her very being. She was in agony. Screaming. Her vision was filling with spots. Everything hurt.

Then she woke up screaming . The pain was only a shadow. She could still feel it lingering on her skin. But she had been moved to a different resting place. She was no longer in restraints. She was in a bed that was supposed to be comfortable, but she felt as through she were sinking to the floor and she had to get out of it. Looking around frantically, she realized that she was connected to the bed with a pair of handcuffs. But she realized the dream was still in control of her. She had to calm down. She wiped off the beads of sweat running down her porcelain face and pushed her bangs back, which were also wet with sweat.

She looked around curiously to observe the room she was now in. It wasn't her room that she had stayed in while practicing for ballet, nor her barracks for Phase Two or a medical room. It was a completely new barrack. She had been laying on a single bed that was attached to the wall. There were 28 full beds surrounding her

Phase Three, she realized.

There were so many questions running through her mind. Had the serum worked? When will she be trained? How will she trained? What will she be trained on? What type of things will she do on missions. Will she do spy work? Assassinations? But the main thing: What next?

The room was illuminated by a single bulb above the exit. There were two thin view windows located at the top of the eastern wall. It was still pitch black outside. She should get back to sleep. She figured that tomorrow would be a rough day.

But she knew that she could not sleep. She would never be able to sleep again. Her muscles ached ferociously. But not to the extent of her heart. The loss of her baby made her miserable. It reminded her of the loss of Alexi. How she'd never see Ivan again. She still loved Ivan even though it was his fault that she is a part of the Red Room.

She wasn't going to let herself cry. She was too strong for that now. She could no longer show any weakness. The Red Room will not tolerate the weak. She would not be broken.

But there was no going back. Did she regret her decision now? Damn right.
But now there was nothing to do besides absolutely owning it.

She has had her share of indelible experiences. But it was not over. She was only beginning. These first fifteen years of her life was only a warm up. Tomorrow, the real game begins.

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