While Natasha Romanoff believed the person she's become is a reflection of her awfulness, struggling to make sense of her own life and actions, she would be damned to meet someone whose life reflects her own. Except that someone is a seven years old...
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TW: murder, blood, sh, abuse (in many ways), panic attacks, let me know if i forgot any Everything in this story is made up and the characters belong to the Marvel Cinematic Universe, except for Paige and all the characters' behaviour and past.
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Paige Olga Ivanova. The red room's fallen angel.
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Must be challenged harder than the others. Straight legs and perfect pirouettes, shines in ballet class. Average everywhere else.
Blonde hair and a charming smile. Little broken doll.
Failed a million times. Shines a hundred times. Yet somehow she's still there, not even bothering to fight for her place. Just for her reputation. It's all that matters.
Something might be wrong with her.
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Real life russian doll, made of wax. Throw it on the floor. Drag it accross the frozen ground. Stick her back up. Again.
Again.
Again.
Our special failure. She has something the other girls don't have. Something no amount of disappointment can wipe out.
Play with her. Give her happiness, opportunities. Rip it off her hands, again.
Until she can't hold anything anymore.
Until she screams at the top of her lungs that she doesn't deserve any kind of care. That she's worth nothing and must earn her place by herself.
Throw her out the door, scratch her beautiful face. Damage her features, let it heal, do it again.
