❝Быстрее!❞

Faster.

All in long, perfectly straight rows, moving almost perfectly in sync, staring forward with matching blank stares, twirled girls of all different ages. They didn't blink, they didn't flinch; their eyes were glued forward, set in a permanent pirouette until they were instructed otherwise. If one had not seen the slight twitches of pain rippling down the weary muscles of the girls' skin, one wouldn't believe they were even human.

It was a process that happened every single day unless it was an examination. The girls from varying ages, shapes and sizes, would spin and twirl and glide just as instructed, not daring to give in to the aches and burns from their bodies, facing forward and acting just like the Academy wished for. It was a room full of elegant yet deadly machines, ready to carry out as bid. Each bird lifted their broken wings to the sky and spun towards the centre in time, pausing just enough to let the rare rays of sunlight heal their feathers before cowering in the dark once more.

I stood in the first row, second to the middle, with arms and legs taut along with the other girls flocked around me. Although I wanted to fall to the ground in tears, collapse from the sheer exhaustion flooding through my body, I wouldn't. I couldn't. Anyone who fell was immediately singled out, and no one wanted to be the unfortunate victim of Madame's fury.

 The sharp end of Madame's staff dug into our backs as she trailed behind us, straightening us up or pushing us forward, correcting our posture. I could feel a trail of blood from a freshly opened cut drip down my back, staining my uniform, but I wouldn't stop to feel the pain. It was a test, one that I would not fail. I would never fail - that was just simply not an option.

"Быстрее!" Madame barked again, fixing anyone who dared to oppose her with a steely glare that sent tremors down anyone's spine. She was waiting, poised to kill, praying for an opportunity to swoop down on someone who could not follow her commands. It was one of her favourite parts of the day. "Быстрее!"

I was almost lucky that I was in the first row, for it meant that I was almost always in the centre of attention, just like I needed in order to succeed. Madame's eyes were always on one of us, and one of those times, they were on me. Staying in the front increased my odds. It did ensure that there was no chance of me messing up without notice, but it also ensured more chances of me being recognized over the rest. In a cruel, cutthroat world where 'survival of the fittest' was the only motto lingering on anyone's lips, one had to be in front to succeed.

Daring to move my eyes a fraction of an inch away from straight forward, I watched her circle the room like a hawk with cruel eyes narrowing down on anyone who dared to step out of line. It was thrilling, almost, wondering who would be the one to fall and who would be her prey that day. Every week, there had to be a victim; it simply was how it worked. One would fall, and another would file in.

With that mindset, we had learned not to make friendships so that if one of us fell, we wouldn't feel anything. Especially if we were the ones who had to push them.

There was a muffled cry, and out of the corner of my eye, I made out a flash of movement; one of the standards, losing their balance for a split second. It was barely a blemish in her performance, and if it was anyone else, it would have gone unnoticed. However, in the Red Room, it was what Madame lived for.

Immediately following the young girl's tremor, her eyes lit up, and she snapped her fingers for her men to take the girl out even while motioning us to continue on. A smirk danced on her lips; Madame had taken another victim, for however long she felt extending the punishment. Although I felt nothing towards the girl, as I was supposed to, all of our hearts twinged as she was forced out, still screaming and crying. It was what needed to happen, as the program was only for the best, not mediocre, but it didn't stop the impact of her punishment - one we had all experienced before.

However, I didn't let it bother me. Doris was slotted to fall at one point or another; she was a weakling out of us all, and the Academy didn't support weaklings. While she could have been a wonderful person, with a heart spun out of pure gold, that was never what was wanted. The Academy wanted - needed - someone with no moral compass, someone who could do what was asked without a blink of an eye, someone who didn't flinch as a former classmate was dragged out of the dance hall. I could only hope that that could be me.

I straightened my arms again,  pointing towards the sky, and raised my right leg, once again falling into the music and making sure to keep perfect position at all times. Breathe, rise, fall, repeat. The absence of Doris was filled, and there was no more said over the topic, though I knew that many minds were racing over the loss of the young girls around me. 

Breathe, rise, fall, repeat. Over and over, until my feet are numb. Over and over, until I taste blood from biting down on my tongue, trying to hold into my exhausted breaths. Over and over, until she is satisfied.

"Stop!" barked Madame in perfect Russian, her high heels clicking against the polished wood of the hall, not a single strand of her ash blonde hair loose from the bun. "Enough."

I joined the other girls in a silent breath, falling down onto aching feet and letting my body relax, just a fraction of an inch, before falling into position with the others. I faced forward, not acknowledging anyone, barely breathing. I wasn't sure what this was about, for Madame never stopped a dance practice once it began. It certainly did not sound promising.

As she passed through the ranks, a chill ran down everyone's backs, including mine. Madame had a presence in the room that was unopposed, save perhaps the Lider himself, who never showed his face but was a horrifying image in everyone's brains. However, Madame was no one to go against, and just being in the same room as her was terrifying, much less have her as a teacher. She was a poisonous serpent ready to suck the ichor out of her pet birds, her venom staining the bloodied staff in preparation for her inevitable punishment. Every move could be a war cry, and any sound echoing off her daggered teeth could insinuate a murder if it truly cared to.

Still, she was the best of the best, and I knew it was an honour to have her teach us. She had been there longer than anyone I knew, training such legends as Natalia Romanova and Yelena Belova. She created the role of a warrior out of a child, and she was the one who would help us, twirling in the dim hall, to fulfil the role of a new elite. That was, if we were worthy, of course; only a selected few made it all the way through to becoming true graduates, and in the end, only the very best went all the way. 

I intended to be one of those people. I was sure I was to prove everyone wrong, to push through and have my name known and whispered around in awed silence, up there with the rest of the legends that had walked out of this academy. I would prove them wrong, all of them wrong, make sure that anyone who ever doubted small, skinny, innocent me knew that they had made a mistake when it came to me. That one day, I could make sure they ate their words and make sure they knew that I had done it. I, Freya Knight, had gone all the way.

A loud smack shattered the terrified silence and made half of the girls flinch, though they dared not turn to the source. 

Madame stood at the end of the first row, metal staff stained slightly red after it all. She stared at the girl on the end, Francesca, who was sporting a large welt on her left arm. If I moved my head ever so slightly, I could see how painful it truly looked, and I pitied her for what Madame was about to do or say.

"Step out," she hissed, moving slightly so that the girl could patter forward. "Get into position, and turn."

Francesca blanked, clearly shocked and scared, but she assumed the third position and faced the teacher, rigid and straight. She moved to speak but then decided against it, remembering the rule: you never spoke unless spoken to. We all watched her spin, solitary and awkward without the safety of the group and Madame watched her with a scrutinizing eye, waiting for any moment to slip up.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Madame waved her hand, and Francesca was allowed to step back into the line of girls patiently waiting instructions. "Practice the turns. You're sloppy, too sloppy."

I was surprised. Sloppiness was normally met with much harsher circumstances, not a simple critique. It was never Madame's style; she wanted order, and order whenever possible. To her, that was a synonym for punishment and a cruel system of bringing one down before lifting them up. I did not follow the same logic, but it was not meant for me to see.

As Madame worked her way down the line, forcing each trembling girl forward to perform for her, I realised what would happen; after two more, I would be up, dancing as Madame and the rest of the girls watched. I would have to risk the chance of failure.

My palms were immediately sweating, and although I tried to remain emotionless, just as taught, a tremor of fear ran through my mind and down my spine, wording an unspoken threat that was on our lips each and every day we woke up; this might be my last moments.

"Freya." It was my turn. I stepped forward, readying my feet, stealing the smallest of looks towards Madame, a move I normally would never risk, but I had felt it necessary today. "Begin."

Breathe, rise, fall, repeat.

My arms rose, and I twirled like a tiny top on a table, twisting and turning every which way in the wind. I could feel the gazes of my classmates and of Madame burning holes into the tight uniform that clung to my body, dripping with sweat, yet I ignored it and kept dancing, just as I was always told to. 

Breathe, rise, fall, repeat.

The dance wasn't a particularly hard one; it was standardized, a story that most of us could carry out easily enough in the allotted time. I began to enjoy the attention I was receiving; maybe if I was good enough, I would be recognized by Madame for my elite skills, just like Natalia Romanova all those years before. Maybe-

"Стоп."

Stop.

A single word, yet enough to destroy a mind. I stared at my teacher in disbelief, shock, and ill-disguised anger, wondering why out of all these girls, I was the one stopped. I knew I was good - better than good, great. I knew that I was better than the rest of them. I knew that I could dance circles around over half of them, and the rest would only give me a fighting chance. So, why was I stopped, out of every dancer?

Madame returned my glare with cold eyes, motioning me back to my line. "That is enough, Freya."

It was as if a switch had turned on in my mind, urging me to do something that otherwise, I wouldn't dream of doing. I should still be dancing. Someone else should have been stopped, not me. I was one of the best; I knew that, for I had worked towards that for years, making my long and tiring path to the spotlight. Madame should not have stopped me.

"Why did you tell me to stop?"

A hush fell upon the hall, and it was as if time had slowed to down to the milliseconds, with me frozen and awaiting my doom. Madame hadn't turned to me, so I was not sure what she looked like right then, but I was more than sure that my doom was about to be revealed in only seconds. I should not have spoken; I broke the Academy's rule, one that was not to ever be broken.

I wished that I did not find that so pleasing.

Madame walked back over to me, heels clacking against the ground, spelling out a haunting rhythm. Maybe the last sounds I'd hear before I was ripped out of the room just like Doris before me. I tried to steady my breathing, stay cool and collected - maybe it would help me stay alive. 

She stopped directly in front of my face, towering over me and casting a dark shadow upon the floor. I could make out every single pore, every single flaw in her made-up face, and I recognized a small incision on her left cheek from a student several years ago. Her lips were coloured a deep red, almost the colour of spilt blood. I wondered if she did that on purpose.

"I stopped you because I had seen enough," she hissed, lowering her tone so that I could only make out her words. "Do not talk back to me again. Do you understand?"

I nodded shakily, urging myself to not break down from shock and fright and the amount of nervous adrenaline flooding through my veins. I couldn't allow my fear to show, for she'd fall upon it and rip me apart in her talons, destroying my wings before I could even have a chance at flying away. "Yes, Madame, I understand."

"Good." She stepped away, motioning to the next girl to begin. "Get down. You will work off your insolence. Now!"

My knees smarted as I banged them against the hard wood of the hall, yet I ignored them and fell into the proper push-up position, beginning my punishment. I had been taught a lesson, and I was now to be made an example. I still had my life, at least, but everyone around me knew that I would not be leaving this hall anytime soon, at least not until my hands were bleeding and I could not lift my body a single inch. Then, and only then, Madame would allow me to leave.

Still, I was alive, which helped motivate me to push harder, proving to both her and myself that I would not fall at her attempt at punishment. I would prove to her that I was stronger then she could ever imagine, and that I didn't break that easily. Ever.

If there are any Russian words that are either wrong/out of context or you don't understand, I apologize; I don't speak the language well, so most of my words were found through translating sites.

This story IS going to have a bit of a slow start - not too long, but I want to extend it so people can see Freya's past and how she begins. There will be Peter later on though, I promise - however, this is important to build up the background and all.

 Also, it's not the greatest chapter, but I promise it will hopefully get better as we go on haha.