LUCENT. STEVE ROGERS

[00.] INTRODUCTION

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The child's feet throbbed within the small-sized leather ballet shoes as she pushed herself upward, supporting her body weight on the tips of her toes. She could feel the hawk like observant eyes of Miss Petrov, watching her every move, studying every second as she showed what she had learned after weeks of torturous practice. Her whole body still ached from the night before. She had been forced to stay awake and endure hours of practice for the afternoons showing, any time she had faltered; Petrov would beat her with a wooden ruler in attempt to perfect those mistakes. Bruises had formed where the hits had been given, however, it was normal to her.

She moved gracefully across the tiled flooring to the sound of the piano's gentle music. A black widow had to be delicate but deceiving. Ballet was used to teach that to the many students of the Red Room before moving onto the cunning and ruthlessness that there was to being a black widow. The child held her breath to keep herself from crying at the aching soreness in the soles of her feet as she lifted one leg into the air, balancing on a single foot. Her leg wobbled but she was determined to keep her balance no matter how much suffering it caused her. However, she couldn't hold it long enough, her right leg wobbled once more, this time giving out beneath her, causing her to fall to the cold floor beneath her.

"Get up, do it again," Miss Petrov ordered harshly, her ice eyes glaring daggers into the child who now sat on the floor, holding her ankle that throbbed in discomfort. The idea of getting up was far from the girl's mind as pain took over her thoughts. However, her fear of her instructor managed to look past the pain and force her to stand once more, only to falter again.

A small whimper escaped through the petite child's lips, propping herself up with her hands and tight covered knees on the cold tile. She could hear the older girls snickering and whispering by the piano about her failure.

"I said, get up, Anastasia," Miss Petrov said once more, her voice holding a tone of warning as she used the girl's full name.

"I can't!" the child cried as she looked up to her instructor, her hazel eyes filled with tears of fear. She knew what happened to those considered as weak. They had no place in the world and were tossed out to thread out the weak from the strong. She knew that's what would happen when she watched Miss Petrov nod towards one of the armed soldiers that stood by the doors to the entrance to the room.

She could only shake her head and plead desperately to her instructor to let her try again in the morning to allow her feet to heal. However, her begging fell on deaf ears. Miss Petrov turned her attention to one of the other girls, who was now ready to do her own performance of what she had been taught. The child before was no longer in anyone's mind as she was dragged out by the soldier.

The man's hand encased around the child's small, fragile arm, his grasp tight enough to leave bruising. He pulled her down the hallway, away from the room she had previously been in where her fate had been decided. Her screams of terror bounced off the walls while she attempted to pull her arm away from the soldier, yet her efforts were fruitless. Fresh, warm tears poured down her rosy cheeks, no matter how much she screamed and begged, there was no use in it.

He had grown tired of her dragging her feet in attempt to slow down the unavoidable end and picked her up into his arms to make things easier. She wriggled in his hold for a bit of time before her exhaustion caught up with her, she could now only lay her head down against the shoulder of her killer and wait for the inevitable. The soldier glanced to the child, his eyes studying the pain and fear in her delicate features. A sigh filtered out through his nose as he continued to walk down the hallway to one of the vacant rooms. It was far from the ballroom where the girls were demonstrating for Miss Petrov to win her approval.