I was seven years old when life's cruelest joke was played on me. I look back at the naive innocence I possessed in my childhood never imaging how quickly it would be stolen. Back then I never had to worry where my next meal would come from or if the people I encountered had ulterior motives. No, my concerns revolved around my next recital or the extra practice time I was allotted because of my fathers' money. Sasha Kozlov was a very powerful man that held influence in just about every room he entered, even I recognized that with the private tutors and instructors that were provided for me. Papa dedicated his life to the military after mama passed away and while he gained the favor of the President, he lost his family along the way.

As an only child, I was used to my parent's full attention, especially when it came to them watching me dance. There was never a production they missed, a practice they did not attend or a recital without a bouquet of flowers waiting backstage. That all changed after the crash. It was a late September afternoon and my mama was walking me home from practice just as she did every other day of the week. I remember being upset that she was rushing me when I wanted to speak to her about my new role in the Moscow theatre company's production of Moscow Ballet's Great Russian Nutcracker. At six years old it was unexpected to even be given a role in the ensemble, but as Papa would say, "Kozlov's must always expect the unexpected and embrace the unknown." The unknown would become life without my mama. As she was rushing to get me home a speeding car came towards us. I can remember nothing after she pushed me into an alleyway, not her last words, not how I turned and ran back to our home. I only remember my father waiting at the bottom of the steps of our once warm home and holding me as I cried. I blamed myself for distracting her and not moving fast enough but I was still very young, I could not understand. Papa did though, he would always say it was his fault, that he knows what really happened.

I thought the worst had passed, I lost my mama and by extent my papa as he threw himself into his work. The government paid for a caretaker that would always be present when my papa could not be home or take me to my lessons. Opening night of the ballet passed with my father not able to attend as he had important business for the government. I knew something was happening that was causing a stir in his department but at the time I only cared that he was spending time away from me. Papa tried to make up for it as much as he could. I would still find a single rose on my nightstand after every performance. I understood his duty to our country and tried not to complain. Around mid-December, we had a special dinner at our favorite restaurant for my birthday. I could not have been more excited to spend time with Papa and I told him that this was the only gift I needed. However, papa gifted me with a beautiful necklace that belonged to my mother long before she passed away. It was a beautiful gold chain with a singular small diamond nestled in the middle. It was the nicest piece of jewelry papa could give my mother when they first started to date. Papa told me to always think of my mother when I wore the precious gem so that I would remember her strength and her love. I insisted on wearing the necklace every day, rarely being persuaded to remove it. After my birthday, papa was surprisingly around more even coming to a performance of The Nutcracker! He would tell me things were going to be better know, he knew of changes coming that would help our tiny family.

The last performance of The Great Russian Nutcracker came on Christmas Eve and papa took the place of my caretaker attending the performance and even walking me home, so we could spend more time together. Falling snow as pure as cotton covered our tracks as we slowly made our way home. I would giggle every time a strong gust of wind would lift my brown curls under my miniature fur hat. Papa would laugh with me and rest his hand on the top of my head. That was the happiest I had been in months and it is also the last moment of happiness I had for years. In the next ten minutes my whole world was crushed.

Men dressed in black from head to toe surrounded us in the already vacant roadway. Papa pulled me closer, his grip bruising. One of the men behind us grabbed my arm and pulled me away from Papa as we were forced into an alleyway. I remember one of the men telling papa he knew better than to fight what was coming especially with his little girl here. I had been confused and frightened more than ever before. This was different than what had happened with my mother, I could not look away and I could not forget. I could barely hear over the sound of my pitiful cries, but they were shouting questions at Papa after they forced him to his knees and began beating him when he did not answer the way they liked. I kept struggling and whimpering as the grip on my arm tightened pulling me almost off the ground. Suddenly, a large man came behind Papa with some type of cord. He defiantly looked up at his tormentors and told them their efforts would be going to waste the Soviet Union had already fallen. His last words to them were, "the documents have been liberated." I could not take my eyes off my Papa the whole time he spoke. When he finally looked at me he said, "Be strong, my prima ballerina. Never forget who you are and always know I am so very sorry." Before he could say any more the man with the cord tightened it around his neck. As he drew his last breaths my screams blended into the howling wind.

As if a pack of dogs the men turned to look at me once my father's body hit the cold concrete. I could not help flinching away as the man that asked my father questions reached out to grab my chin. I can still recall the stench of his last cigarette on his breath and the drying blood on his hands. He would make disapproving sounds as he examined my tear streaked face. By this point I was hyperventilating, making my vision blurry and my senses dulled. He mentioned something about having no loose ends before staring me straight in the eyes and asking if I would like to live. I could only nod as I was shaking so hard, still in the man's grasp. He promised me that if I chose to not speak of this I could keep my life and he would take me to an institution where I would be able to continue my ballet. He worded it as if he was asking what I would have liked for Christmas. With my eyes cast down to the frigid ground, I wordlessly nodded afraid of being attacked as my father had been.

I was once again grabbed by my upper arm and shoved into the back of a waiting car without the chance to cast one more glance at the form of my father. Within several hours I was being dropped off in front of a large building with the morning sun rising slowly in the back. A middle-aged woman with her hair pulled back tight and professional garb stood at the top of the stairs leading into the building. I was roughly pulled out of the car and then prompted to go up the stairs while the man who brought me stayed at the bottom. As I walked up the stairs I felt the woman's predatory gaze as her eyes followed each of my hesitant steps. Once I reached the final step and my small frame was standing in front of her she spoke. "You are an aspiring ballerina, yes? Here you will refine your skills and learn more than you could have ever dreamed. From now on your name will be Mila and you will never refer to yourself by your previous name again. Forget your name. Forget where you came from. Your real purpose in life begins now."

I could do nothing. I just stood there and accepted everything this woman told me because I was afraid of choosing death. Would it have been better to join my mother and father? That is when I realized that this was the cruelest joke the world has to offer. You thought I was free to make the choice? That I chose to become a monster? No, the joke was that I never had a choice at all.

"Welcome to the Red Room."