MINERVA MCGONAGALL / NATASHA ROMANOV
Scottish, wasn't she? Well, she certainly wasn't loud, and she certainly wasn't drunk. She can't deny that she liked to wear plaid, of course. But she was getting old, she was getting frail, and she was getting weak. She sighs in resignation. She's used to it. But she misses the days when she would run freely in the wind, when her voice wasn't raspy, when she was at the top of her game and she was beautiful and she was practically a queen in all her grace. It was the curse of youth, she supposed, that it never lasts. So she sits in Headmistress' office and watches the children grow, her little lions' cubs grow. It's too fast, she can't keep up with her too old legs, and they're too young. Aren't they all? So she sits back and watches the kids be fierce in their youth, as she once was. But she has grown up, and somehow she's even fiercer than when she was just a Scottish lass.
Russian, she was. Cold. Quiet. Lurking in the shadows. Deadly. But she was strong-willed, she had fire, she was fierce. She held a gun at the age of five and killed a man at ten. A little survivor in the snow, wasn't she? She always was. Like a snow leopard, some said. They had been ignored. But she sauntered to her prey and she had them fast. She was cold, but wasn't there still a bit of fire to go for everyone? Fierce, some said. But she watches and she waits and then suddenly she had your heart out. Then she left. She always left. Missions. Important things. SHIELD business. Assassin business. Avengers business. Those sort of things. Wasn't she always busy, always on the move? Yes she was. Fierce, she was. In some ways, she has more fire and more fierce than the typical Russian girl.
Once upon a time, Minerva McGonagall was fierce. But she passed away and she was reborn. Her name was Natasha Romanov, and somehow she was even fiercer than that. Fierce and young.
"Where are your ghosts? Everyone has ghosts – deaths you regret. Guilt. Fear. Why can I not see yours?"