— survival of the fittest

NUMBNESS. That was the only thing the brunette girl felt, or rather didn't, as she stood as stiff as a board with an unreadable expression masking her soft features. A tall blonde girl, probably two inches taller than her, stood in front of her with the same neutral face. The hands of both girls rested at their sides, already balled up into fists.

Madame stood far back from the combat area, but the smell of her expensive perfume lingered in the air. With a sharp nod, she signaled the two girls to begin.

The blonde girl, Olga Pavlova, was the first one to throw a punch but Arabella dodged it before it even touched her face. Olga was older and way taller than eight-year-old Arabella, perhaps she was stronger too. The game wasn't fair, but then again, what happens in the Red Room is never fair. So Arabella used her resources, what she had, to fight her opponent. In this case, all she had was herself.

You rely on yourself and nothing else.

Olga threw another punch at Arabella, who dodged it again and sent one of her own. A stinging pain ran through her first as it made contact with Olga's sharp cheekbone. The blonde hissed and kicked her leg, hitting Arabella on the side causing her to stumble and fall. Olga was quick to pin Arabella down with her legs and swiftly punch her pale face, but the brunette dug her nails in the blonde's arms and scratched them downwards. Olga winced and loosened her grip on Arabella's waist, so the younger girl pushed her off her small body harshly. Both girls stood up simultaneously and rushed for each other again. Olga sent another swift punch but Arabella locked her arm on Olga's and raised her knee to hit the taller girl on the ribs twice. In desperation, Olga yanked Arabella's braided hair with her free hand making her lose balance and stumble to the side. And while she regained her stability Olga hit her in the face twice. Her eyes began to water and her left cheek and nose began to bleed.

You rely on yourself and nothing else.

So she gritted her bloodied teeth, swallowed the stinging pain and continued to fight.

Olga charged towards her again, but Arabella bent down and swiped her leg underneath Olga, causing her to fall face first. Ignoring her blurry eyesight and the heavy stream of blood coming out of her nose anf runnning down her neck, Arabella quickly grabbed Olga's wrist and pulled it back until a sickening crack was heard. Olga let out an agonizing scream as Arabella let go of her now broken wrist. Arabella took a few steps back and swiped the blood of her mouth as she tried to catch her breath. Olga painfully stood up, glared at the younger girl and rushed towards her once again. Arabella evaded another hit, leaped and wrapped her legs around Olga's neck, and when she threw all her body to the side, both girls fell. Arabella didn't hesitate and started to punch the girl repeatedly in the face until Olga copied her moves and dug her nails on Arabella's forearms.

Both of them stood up again with a grunt, this time Arabella wasted no time and went straightforward to punch the girl on the chest. Olga gasped for air as she crouched down. With both arms wrapped around the blonde's neck, Arabella looked up to the Madame, sweat forming behind her brunette bangs.

She was smirking.

Arabella loathed that smirk.

Madame gave one of her sharp nods and Arabella knew exactly what to do. She didn't want to but if she didn't she would fail, and the girls who failed didn't live to tell about it.

"Your life, or hers." Was all Madame told her.

So, with glossy eyes, her lanky and bloody arms snapped the neck of the girl.

Olga Pavlova, her first kill.

were curled around a gun and her arm was stretched towards a target board. Madame was sitting next to a blonde middle-aged man at the side of the room, watching every single move the girl made. Madame tapped the wooden floor with her cane and the girl took that as a signal to proceed.

She readjusted her arm and pulled the trigger one, two and three times, the gun was easily tossed from one hand to the other as she fired at the target. The girl mechanically placed the weapon back in the table and smoothly turned to face the grown-ups, who were starting at the three perfect bullet holes she had made; one in the head, one in the chest and one in the abdomen.

The blonde man who she has never seen before smiled satisfactorily at Madame B., waving his hand at somebody outside the room. As he did so, two men entered the room carrying someone with a bag on their head. The men dressed in black sat him on a chair and took the bag off. A man not older than forty sat there, with his hands and feet tied and his mouth sealed. The men tied him to the chair while Arabella stood there, watching blankly as they tied him. She knew what was coming and she hated it. She hated all of it.

Madame gave her a sharp nod, cold eyes looking at the gun on top of the table. Arabella hesitantly took it and aimed it at the man. His screams and wails came out muffled, he was begging for mercy probably, but Arabella would never know.

"Why?" Her voice was soft yet it didn't have any trace of emotion. The blonde man chuckled at the girl's question and looked at the Madame, waiting for her answer.

"None of your concern." The girl purses her lips and turned her head back to the target. For one second her eyes seemed to screamed 'sorry' to the man in front of her. Then again, the gun was tossed from one hand to another as she pulled the trigger once, twice, three times, forming three perfect bullet holes. But now, instead of steel, the bullets dug into human flesh.

Unknown man, her second kill.

The mysterious man applauded the girl's accomplishment and nodded approvingly at the Madame. Arabella took her eyes off the man she had just taken the life of and once again placed the gun in the table. The Madame dismissed the shook girl to the ballet class and stayed back to talk with the man.

her pointe shoes she couldn't help but wonder who the blonde man was. Whatever the answer was, she decided it was bad. He was bad.

The soft melody began to play and twelve girls stood in two rows of six, twirling ever so gracefully as another row of younger girls watched them from behind. The instructor, Ivan, had an unimpressed expression while looking at the girls. Their movements were harsh yet gentle, sharp yet smooth as they danced to the melody.

Ivan closed his eyes and shook his head slightly in a disapproving way. "Again." He demanded.

The girls' feet rose to their toes and then gracefully land to their sole.

"Again."

Their feet hurt but they would never tell. Madame always told them to embrace the pain. So that's what they did.

"Again."

Madame told them only the strongest ones wouldn't break. She told her she was made of marble, just like the woman Madame had given Arabella the last name of.

"Again."

Marble statue. Not glass sculpture.

"Again."

Romanova. Not Stark.

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Hi!!! How are you doing? I hope you enjoyed this new chapter, it took me a while to finish it because I didn't know what to write haha. Did it turn out sorta good? Tell me, I want to know what you think of this story so far. The lyrics above are from Halsey's Gasoline.

Thanks for reading!

I hope you stick around!

Love, Lili

tales of sacrifice ; issue no. 1