┌──────────⋆⋅✦⋅⋆ ──────────┐ THE RED ROOM, 2005 └──────────⋆⋅✦⋅⋆ ──────────┘
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─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Music echoed throughout the large dance hall, as the widows turned in sequence, not a single one out of line. A small group of younger children watched from the corner, sat in straight rows, their eyes never leaving the young women in front of them. The movements looked elegant and beautiful but that's not what they were there for. They were there to learn. Even from their age routines could be memorised ready for when it was their time to perform them.
Amongst the women dancing was 21 year old Natasha, her red hair pulled up into a slick bun perfectly matching with the others. She kept her focus on the small details; making sure to extend her limbs perfectly at every move.
"Again," Dimitri called out once they finished the routine. All of them starting the sequence of movements for the sixth time in a row.
"Again."
"Again."
They repeated it over and over their concentration never breaking, in fear of messing up of their movements.However Natasha couldn't help it when she saw who made their way into the room. As usual Madame B arrived, but following behind her was a child, who looked no older than four years old and she knew exactly who it was.
During the four years since she gave birth to her daughter, she had only seen her a handful of times. The assassin was sure that Dreykov engineered the brief encounters to ensure she suffered. The first time Natasha saw her, she was in awe of how beautiful her daughter was. She had dark red hair matching her own, her eyes still as blue as the day she first saw them.
Anastasyia they named her Anastasyia.
Every time Natasha saw Anastasyia, she didn't know how to act. The young girl didn't know that her mother was there watching over her and it killed Natasha inside. She knew from the moment she gave birth to her daughter, she wouldn't get to keep her, she would be taken away and trained, but the guilt she was feeling was was eating her up inside. She couldn't keep her own child safe.
But keeping her composure in front of Madame B; the assassin continued with the routine.
Anastasyia walked almost robotically, her small frame making it's over to sit with the other children. Her hair was pinned up in a tight bun, but unlike the others she had two Dutch braids running along the top. Her blue eyes were trained on the dancers, watching every step they took.
