Here we are, ladies and gents. The moment you have been waiting for! Without further ado, here is Natasha Romanoff's dream scene... COMMENT THROUGHOUT!

"There is a place in the heart that will never be filled. A space and even during the best moments and the greatest times, we will know it. We will know it more than ever. There is a place in the heart that will never be filled and we will wait and wait in that space."

South African Coast, 2015

Red tendrils stretch and carve through the dark air that surrounds the fighters that make up the world-renowned Avengers. The witch's tendrils force themselves into the fighters' minds, sparking a red slithering glow within the irises of the men and women.

And it takes over them.

And it consumes them.

The only one left, the only one free from the spell, speaks.

Clint Barton's voice ripples through the blurry haze, "Who's ever standing, we got to move!"

An eerie, sickening silence stretches out the line as suddenly heavy, sluggish feet scrape along the metal grating that is the floor.

The archer sounds a little more worried as he asks in a voice that grows quieter and quieter to those that can hardly receive it, "Guys?"

The red-haired woman's eyes feel like small burning embers as they dance around the interior of the ship that is slowly fading away. Her body feels heavy and yet still so very unreal as she slowly turns from her place on the platform. A staircase stretches out below her and a soft symphony plays in the distance, beckoning her, calling her, lulling her deeper into this void. She follows the call, drinking in the bitter white light that shines from beneath her. Her feet unsteadily bounce down the metal staircase leading her deeper into the white that builds up and in front of her. Her gloved hand slowly stretches out to the metal railing, only to clasp around a terrifyingly familiar wooden one.

Her eyes flicker with recognition as she peers over the railing, distance settling itself onto her face. Her head slowly lolls to the side as tall wooden walls line up all around her, yellow lanterns are fuzzy in the hazy light, and names of all of the child assassins before her decorate the wood with intricate, cut curves. The world is foggy and the air still feels bitter, making it feel as if the woman is breathing in knives instead of oxygen.

This place... it's all too much familiar.

It's all too much like home.

A cold feeling wells up in her chest and the memories of the place wrap its even colder fingers around her heart, pulling her down deeper into the Red Room. Two ballerinas move in smooth and synchronized steps up the staircase past her. Natasha feels her feet trip and scuff against the wooden steps before she slowly looks over at the second girl that passes. The world is still slow and uncertain as blue eyes meet her green ones. Both redheads look away from each other in sharp motions, one moving up and one moving down.

Natasha's pink lips part in recognition as she watches two lines of six beautiful ballerinas cut and curve their bodies against a smooth and hard floor. Their hands slice up before they sharply turn around, staring at the wall with a kind of blankness a person can only receive from a place as biting and dark as this. The chill grows more overwhelming while Natasha moves across the black and white tiles, her feet making absolutely no sound just as those surrounding her trained her. The yellow haloed lanterns ignite the place with flames that she once set, but she pays no mind to them.

The symphony continues to play, whispering for her to come closer.

She is drawn to it.

She always has been.

To the death, to the pain, to what they made her to be.

She steps even closer towards the glass wall that separates her and the six daughters spinning around, slicing their arms up, and dropping from their toes in a bone-aching way. A guard dressed in black stands behind, watching the girls to make sure no one escapes, to make sure she doesn't escape.

Not again.

After all, Natalia has tried once before.

The master, Dmitri, closes his eyes in disgust as he bends his black graying head forward, "Again."

The words burn in Natalia's ears, making her nearly tremble and drop in the fear of it. A blonde woman slowly steps beside her, her lips curved into her ever concentrated smirk. Her marble eyes hold that near mocking threat they always have as she watches not her students, but her most favorite child the Academy has raised. Natalia's head twitches to the side as a group of even smaller girls watches the ballerinas with wide eyes, learning, learning, always learning.

Natalia's eyes slip to follow after the smallest child amongst the six dancing girls, breathing out, "You'll break them."

"Only the breakable ones." The Madame concedes in a silky voice that has corrupted so many, "You're made of marble."

Marble.

Not glass.

Natalia struggles to swallow as she continues watching through the frigid window.

The Madame curtly turns her body from Natalia's, dipping her chin as she stares back at her newest students, "We'll celebrate after the Graduation Ceremony."

The world trembles and shakes as a hand dips into a tray covered in curved, sharp, unforgiving tools while a much younger Natalia lays on a cold, metal table. Her eyes are a teary green as she stares up far away, trying to forget the misery that consumes all it touches. She agreed to this. That, she must remember. That is what the Madame tells her to remember.

Dmitri watches the girls with piercing intensity, his arms folded across his chest as the grayness of the room threatens to swallow even a despicable man such as him up. His pale hard hand slaps a red-haired, blue-eyed child across the face. She releases no sound in response to the sickening smack, her head jerking to the side while she keeps her blue eyes trained to the floor. She says nothing at all even as she falls back into the petite line of trained killers. The young girls swiftly obey his silent yet angry demands, still slicing their bodies up and down across the cutting floor with dead eyes and blank faces.

"What if I fail?" Natalia whispers to the glass, half-praying that she does.

With her long red hair raining down her back and her bangs falling over her forehead, Natalia stands in a large wooden room as the last other two of the twenty-eight girls stay sitting behind. She seamlessly raises a hand and shoots directly at the black target board before switching the gun between hands back and forth and back and forth in swift and perfect motions.

She's always been so perfect.

She's always been so perfect at the jobs that bring forth blood.

The black target board trembles until it shatters into a man sitting on a rickety stool. The man whimpers and pleads with the eighteen year old as a brown bag is slung over his head.

As they stand before the glass window, the Madame smiles in the smallest measurement and slips her head back and forth in proud mockery, "You never fail."

The eighteen year old can still hear his muffled pleas while she raises her gun.

    She twists her body around the dark-haired man's shoulders, throwing another man away from her all the while. The other attacker smashes his head into the nearby piano before falling to their feet. The dark-haired man pulls her into a headlock, grunting as she struggles with clenched teeth. The Madame blinks up slowly from the unconscious man on the ground to her star pupil with nothing but indifference. Natalia still struggles against him until finally grunting and smacking his arm, tapping out and making him release her. She throws herself away, dropping her hands to her kneecaps as she gasps in heavily.

"Sloppy."

Natalia's sparkling green eyes slowly lift as she stares ahead of her.

The world jerks and pulls once more until she is lying on another cold metal table. Natalia stares down at a soft pink child lying lifelessly in her arms. The doctors and the Madame and the whole bitter, cruel world stand around the young mother and dead child as Natalia softly strokes her daughter's tuft of red hair.

And then a seventeen year old Natalia can be seen with her red-hair looking like a fire against the gray raining sky as she buries the shovel into the ground. She forces herself not to weep as she drops more and more dirt until a small wooden coffin and the infant it houses is gone.

"Pretending to fail."

The Madame is suddenly closer to her face, staring at Natalia with eyes so manipulating.

The disgusting woman speaks in a tone that sounds so much like a comforting mother's would, "The death of that child was necessary..."

Her little Svet.

The girls continue to dance, their feet bleeding as they move across the floor that seems to be made of blades. A small redhead turns sharply to look at Natalia through the icing glass, her eyes wide and pleading. The man with the sack over his head still sits before her, his image reflecting itself in the mirror just as it reflects itself in her mind day after day. A smudged glass windowed door squeaks and whines against its hinges while Natalia looks fearfully off to the side.

"... for you to take your place in the world."

Natalia's eyes sparkle with brokenness as she slowly straightens, remembering why she's chosen not to fight the ceremony, remembering why she must forget the child created of her and the Soldier.

Natalia whispers, staring straight ahead, "I have no place in the world."

"Exactly."

A hand harshly grabs over Natasha's face, wiping away what is left of the young woman and forever scarring her as the Black Widow. She pushes the girl down onto the metal table and the girl trembles and panics as she is wheeled through the cement, paint-chipping halls. She passes a group of children who stare at her as she passes, mouthless, earless, reminding Natasha now of how the Madame attempted to silence her child for all eternity. Desperate voices whisper and plead in the background as bright white lights flash into her eyes and cover her body, threatening to overtake her.

    "I'm sorry, Mamulya!"

"Monster."

    "Come find me."

    "You abandoned me."

    "Don't leave me again!"

    "Killer."

"Please, don't do this."

"I needed you."

"Monster."

"Please, Mamulya,"

"He's my father."

"Monster."

"Don't leave me alone."

"Monster."

"Come find me."

"Monster."

The table's wheels squeak and whine as the Red Room forces her further and further and further until the white cold consumes the woman completely.

Wow... That was so hard interesting to write, trying to find different ways to carve Svet into it. I hope it was satisfying enough for all of you! I want to hear your thoughts! You did, after all, ask for this just so you are aware! Are you all happy now? I really don't have much to say other than I'm sorry if that was sad... The future chapters are all going to be fluffy and happy, but this was another necessity.

Funny Thingamabob: When Captain America said this to Black Widow...

Oh man, these two.