dimitri:
perfect perfect perfect. but not natural. was that not her signature, how they created her to become like? they wanted her to be perfect. they wanted her to hit every note perfectly, they wanted to make sure that her everything about her was changed. they wanted to remold her into their perfect marble masterpiece. “who unites the workers, anna? it’s all a bunch of bullshit in the end. all of this. all of this is just a mask, every government cares only about one thing and that’s about keeping the order. someone is always going to lose.”
{ why do they call her the widow? } it was charlotte who asked as she moved her hair to all fall to her left side. her bare back staring at him, the little moles on them before he sat upon the bed and raised a brow. he wondered why she brought that up, she was always asking questions about anna { and he should have been the one asking them. he should have voiced his curiosity before charlotte showed up. } trailing a finger down her back, he recalled just shrugging and looking up at the white ceiling. { they just give us the name of the program. the title that we won. }
{ that’s silly. } she said before giving him a soft smile, looking at him with those big brown eyes of her, still so full of light, so full of hope, so good. they should call her a swan, not a widow. and that’s when it changed, didn’t it? that’s when he started to look at her not as a spider but as a bird. { she was caged there, she was caged here. } she was a bird that was flying too close to the sun. { and he didn’t want her to be like icarus. to fall and for him to only watch helplessly. } but was she simply a burning phoenix? ready to die, ready to burn up to save the world, ready to become nothing. { but phoenixes get reborn, don’t they? } he thought as she aimed for his head yet again. { not if they don’t want to. } he thought as he looked at the demented almost smile on her lips. as if she was smiling through the pain.
survival was overrated. it wasn’t enough for him anymore. it was never going to be good enough. he wanted to live. he had a taste of it when they created that stupid little world of theirs. { you knew it wasn’t going to last .you knew it was going to be ruined one day. but oh you hoped to prolong it forever. you hoped for it to never end. because it became home. a home you had thought was long gone. } he looked at her as she gritted her teeth and struggling against him.
KEEPING HIM WHAT?! what sort of demon was she fighting so he could sleep at night? he didn’t ask for her to be his white knight. he didn’t ask for her to do anything for him. he doesn’t deserve it. not after all the shit he put her through. “what!? finish your damn sentences, anna! don’t be a coward! stop pulling your punches! i’m keeping what? THE PEACE? are you keeping me in check!? WHAT ARE YOU KEEPING TO YOURSELF!?” he asked through the burning in his throat. he asked through the pain he felt as she told him let her go. he couldn’t. he wouldn’t. he won’t. “i won’t let you go. not this time. i won’t make the same mistake twice. “
DO YOU KNOW WHY THIS IS THE BLACK WIDOW PROGRAM? he asked ; no one answered. they weren’t supposed to answer, only to hear and to nod. they dared not to give the WRONG response. a little girl clicks her tongue. spiders. THE BLACK WIDOW LURES ITS MATE AND KILLS IT. THAT IS WHAT YOU WILL DO. lure them in, with your beauty, and kill them, with your skills. LEGS, LEGS, LEGS. SHARP & DANGEROUS & VENOMOUS. that is what you are. that is all that you will ever be —– they did not know, then, that five years later they would be praising the CROWNED BLACK WIDOW for giving them a web of relations larger than they could have ever dreamed of, through SEX & BLOOD. isn’t it what spiders are supposed to do? a little girl clicks her tongue —- a LITTLE GIRL no more : a WIDOW, through and through.
❛ HOW DO YOU LIVE LIKE THAT? ❜ she asks through gritted teeth. how does one live without BELIEVING in something? ideas that enter the mind under fire remain there securely and forever. COULD SHE HAVE SURVIVED, WITHOUT THE BLIND FAITH IN THE MOTHERLAND? no, no, no. she would have killed herself sooner were she not doing it for a greater cause, were she not doing it to bring the world the equality it deserved. HOW MANY TIMES DID SHE READ THE COMMUNIST MANIFESTO? she has forgotten. a spectre is haunting europe. SHE BELIEVES IN IT AS SHE BELIEVES IN ANYTHING ELSE —- it keeps ( it kept ) her heart beating, it made her the best, the best, the best. it PERFECTED her — sheer, utter and unwavering LOYALTY. oh, what a treacherous monster you have become now. ❛ how do you live with yourself? ❜
SHE TRIED TO CHANGE, ONCE. tried to be softer, kinder, less sharp, with rounded edges and a tongue that was not made of silver. she tried to change, once, but it did not work and it would not work —– YOU CAN USE A SPEAR AS A WALKING STICK, BUT IT WILL NOT CHANGE ITS NATURE. she was born to kill, born to take, born for an unsung glory — like ACHILLES, though they’d never see her wrath and her rage as something worthy of songs ( like MEDEA, then —- she’s a murderess, too ). she BURNS – bright and strong and beautiful. it’s SELF DESTRUCTIVE, she knows, somewhere deep within her soul she knows —- a little girl believes in nothing, a little girl has nothing left to live for ( except for them ) .
STUPID LITTLE GIRL, spoke too much, spoke too fucking much. she digs her nails into his skin, knowing that it will hurt, knowing that it will BLEED. he has to let her go. she has to be alone, where no one will see her CRACK, where she will tend to her wounds. alone, alone, alone — as she has always been. A BLACK WIDOW KILLS ITS MATES. a widow should have no feelings, should have nothing but instinct —- perhaps she is no widow. perhaps she is but a little girl ( she can’t, she can’t, she can’t. ) . she bites the inside of her tongue, looking into his eyes, anger burning on her own. she wants him to FEEL it. her hatred, her hurt, her SACRIFICE. perhaps, then, he’d be grateful. perhaps, then, he’d know better. ❛ there’s nothing you can do to change the PAST, volkov. my future is my own. ❜ no. your future belongs to the LEFURGEY —- you will never be one of them.