blood. there is so much blood. there’s also pain, but for some reason all the focus is on the blood. red, deep red, light red. it’s splattered on the snow and that’s when she realizes they are in moscow. there’s people around her. they aren’t staring, they aren’t even noticing that she’s covered in red. her black suit covered in blood. red and black. red for the anger, for the revenge. black for her empty soul, her souless gaze. she screams. and screams. there isn’t a sound; she can’t hear anything. the people around her aren’t hearing her. she’s crying for help, looking down at her hands and she can’t make sense. her words are not being formed correctly her thoughts are vowels and phrases flowing together that don’t make sense. it’s hard to breathe, she can’t breathe, air is not able to flow directly into her and exhaling out of her - like a machine. she’s not human anymore. she never was. and that’s when she wakes up. she thinks she wakes up, at least. there is no more snow, no more blood, but she’s still covered. she can feel it, clinging to her like her old old life clings to her memories. there’s nothing but the mission. the mission that’s when reality starts fading in; like a fog. reality sets in like a fog and she’s not in bed anymore, she’s not laying down. no, natalia is holding a knife in her hand, the cool steal of the handle warming itself inside of her hand. and, for a moment, she’s able to imagine herself digging into flesh with that knife and enjoying it. and perhaps that’s what scares her the most — enjoying the exhale of life from a body. with blinking eyes to clear the fog of waking sleep away, she focuses on what is taking place in front of her. she takes note that bucky, her james, is standing there, in defence position and she’s finally aware of what she’s doing. so aware that the knife she’s holding drops to the ground and she falls to her knees.
