Natalia only knew two things for certain, but she only believed one.
Blood was red.
It was the only truth in her world of lies that she should believe. That they thought she believed.
It was a comfort, to be able to have one thing that wouldn't change with each target or the next assignment.
It was a thing to hold on to, late at night when her conditioning kicked in and she was alone with only the whispers in her head to keep her company.
It was a mantra to be repeated when she had so much of it staining her hands.
Because no matter how many times the Red Room took things out and stuffed things in, no matter how many times Natalia was consumed into the Black Widow's mind, no matter how may times she was unmade, it would stay the same.
Blood was red.
So was her hair.
And so was she.