Painted in Crimson ⇨ P. Maximoff

O N E

They say that before you die your life flashes before your eyes. But what if you never lived your life? What if - whether it be by choice or force - you were thrown into a life you were supposed to live?

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Rosalind Romanoff stared at the man in front of her. The gun she held in her hands felt heavy and her stomach felt uneasy. Her finger slipped off the trigger as she willed herself to pull it.

"This is your final test, Rosalind." Her recruiter spoke from behind her. "The Graduation Ceremony is tonight. Remember; no emotional attachment."

"No emotional attachment." Rosalind repeated to herself. But when she looked back at the man, she saw that instead her older sister sat on the chair.

"Natalia." Rosalind whispered.

Natasha Romanoff looked exactly the same as the last time Rosalind had seen her. The day they were ripped apart as soon as they stepped inside the academy. Rosalind had been only eight and Natasha being two years older than her sister was ten. But that had been seventeen years ago.

"Please, Rosie." Her sister pleaded. "Don't do this."

Rosalind was about to drop the gun when the shrill voice of her recruiter filled her ears again.

"Shoot her." It commanded.

"I - I can't. She's my sister."

"SHOOT HER."

"Please." Natasha pleaded.

"SHOOT." The voice roared.

"I'm sorry." Rosalind whispered as she pulled the trigger.

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Rosalind shot up in her bed, gasping for air. Running a hand through to her hair, she gained control of her breathing. This was the third time in the space of a week that this nightmare had occurred.

Her 'Graduation Ceremony' occurred tonight, but she didn't want to go through with it. She didn't want to lose the only chance to be normal. To live a life she actually wanted. A life where she had children, a happy home, someone that loved her . . .

Some may say that her actions were impulsive, done out of fear. But in reality Rosalind had pondered on the prospect of escaping for many weeks. She knew her sister had completed the ceremony, but Natasha was always able to be more detached than Rosalind. When it came to Natasha, Rosalind was her only weakness, the only thing that could matter more than a mission.

That was why they were so cruelly ripped apart.

No distractions, no emotional attachment. It was easier that way, apparently.

Rosalind knew that she would be summoned at five o'clock sharp. She would train for six hours, with a small break to eat. She would then have her final test and then she would be shipped off to the 'Red Room'.

Quickly she stood and grabbed the bag from under her bed, she contemplated packing what little clothes she owned but decided that it would just be a burden that she would have to carry. Sighing, she set the bag back down and pulled out the gun that she had hidden underneath her mattress.