✦✧✦✧✦✧

THE ROOM WAS BATHED IN A SPECTRAL GLOW. A long staff with a shimmering blue ornament was propped up along a tray, casting sapphire shadows across haggard faces.

A young girl sat before the scepter, flanked by two men in dark outfits. She was shivering, her hair lank and her face smudged with dirt. The room itself was filled with computers and equipment, but as of now stood still and empty besides the girl and her captors.

"I don't want it." She said in broken English, her voice sharp with a Romanian accent.

A man emerged from the doorway somewhere to her left, and the room was briefly lit up with stingy, florescent light from the hall outside. When the door closed, the scepter seemed to shine brighter.

"There's no need to be afraid, my dear." He said, "All is well."
His tone didn't carry much reassurance. He stepped around her and her guards, sliver light reflecting off his monocle at his eye.
The girl, while not bound, kneeled before him. If wasn't for the two men on either side of her, she might have been inclined to bolt for the door. She would not make it far without them.

"I don't want it." She repeated, like a mantra.

The man chuckled thinly, his hands clasped behind his back. He paced slowly before her, cutting the light of the blue stone into ribbons; shadows danced across his face. She suppressed a shudder.

"While others are so eager to receive a wonderful gift as this, you–" He paused. "You are ungrateful. The honor, the power, you could wield is surely enough to compensate your transportation from Bucharest."

The girl began to cry upon mention of Romania, slamming a hand down on the stone floor.
"I do not want this." She cried. "I want to go home. I have family–"

"A family who does not care for you." Strucker conceded, cutting her off. "Here you are cared for. Here, you have potential."

"I don't care for pontent–" she fumbled her words, but carried a watery stare back to him. "I don't care for it."

Strucker watched her carefully, picking his words specifically, as if she was a animal that needed a soothing.

"Not yet." He said finally. "I do not expect you to understand any of this. Your contribution will seem meaningless, and it may be– but I sense your strength, young one. You will please me eventually."

She fell silent. She did not have words, at least not in English, to respond to his soliloquy. What words could encompass anything she was feeling?
"Tell me your name." Strucker said, as he turned to face the scepter.

The thing itself was gold and silver, and topped by a glowing blue gem. It was eerily captivating, and radiated not only a strange light, but a sort of powerful energy that reached out towards every corner of this room. Her uneasiness grew.

"Anastasia." She replied. "Anastasia Vandici."

But he already knew that. He knew everything about her, down to the blood than coursed in her veins.

"My name is Strucker. Though, I am not here to be a friend, Anastasia." He said. "But I give you no reason to fear me."

Anastasia's gaze hardened, imagining that glaring hard enough at his back might pierce into his heart.
"How can I trust a man who stinks of death. Your plan fails, Strucker. Your people die."
She had seen the handcarts of bodies, all covered in sheets. Each had faced the same fate she was yet to receive. She didn't not dwell on how it had occurred. She might find out soon enough.

Anastasia shuffled slightly, scooting back a half step as Strucker then spun on one foot to face her. The scepter was now cradled between his hands, held with the fragility of a child. A trembled gasp left her lips.
"No!" She pleaded, abruptly jumping to her feet.
Strucker made one step towards her, begging the glimmering instrument several inches closer than her liking. The men besides her seemed to press in closer.

"My plans fails because those men and women were weak." He said. "I have been... careless. The scepter only adheres to those with true ardor. I cannot choose just any participant."

"You kill!" Anastasia raised her hand, and her voice. Her guards sprang into action, pinning her arms to her sides. "Murder! All of it!"

The man before her seemed to dither, whether or not it was intentional she was unsure. When he focused again, he laughed suddenly, and Anastasia cringed at the sound. It was a coarse noise, unused by a voice such as his.
"See, you are strong– fighting for a life you believe you are content in. Come now, my child, why waste yourself being ordinary?"

"My life will be wasted if you do this." She spat, but her tone could not hide her terror. "How many will die like this– de mâna unui ticălos?"

Strucker's expression slowly twisted. His patience was beginning to wear thin, and the trace of his contentment was beginning to falter. The satisfied grin he had sport twitched.
"Your words are self-slaughter." He said. "This is the only kindness I will grant you."

He raised the scepter, arching silver light into the air. Her knees went weak, and she found herself crumbling between the two guards.

"Please!" She implored, backpedaling as Strucker started towards her again. "Te implor."

"Beg as you may, you will soon thank me."
He took hold of her shoulder, and brought the scepter down towards her face. She closed her eyes upon the burning kiss of something altogether empyrean and horrible, as it pierced her temple—

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Veiled by six years and thousands of terrible dreams later, an older Anastasia Vandici woke with a start, screaming nonsense of sceptors and golden curses.