Hello. This is my first time publishing any of my work so please comment and let me know whether I should continue. I don't own any of the characters whose names you might recognize, only the story is mine. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy.
For an orphan, there is no bigger question in life than: Why?
In movies, books, history class, and just about anything else imaginable, you hear about happy families and loved children who accomplish great things together, so why? Why not me?
Most every orphan asks themselves questions about their origins and why their parents decided that they simply did not want them, except, of course, if they know their parents are dead, which opens up another list of overly complicated interrogatory remarks. That, however, is not my case. I knew my parents were alive, at least according to the nuns. They have repeatedly told me (since I kept asking) that I was left at the orphanage by my mother when I was three months old. That is all they ever told me. I didn't know what she looked like, who she was, and, most importantly, I didn't know why.
My name is Natalia, I am fifteen years old. I have bright red hair and green eyes. Just another poor orphan waiting out the last three years of intellectual imprisonment until I can get out of here and start investigating who I am. Turns out, however, that would not have to wait that long.
It was a sunny Saturday morning, and I was walking outside in the backyard, when a man approached me, accompanied by Sister Catherine. This struck me as strange, for we don't usually have many visitors, most specially, visitors who are interested in me. When they reached me, the man introduced himself as Phil Coulson and asked if it would be alright for us to speak alone, and after the head nun left, he began to speak again.
"Its very nice to meet you in person Miss Romanoff."
Romanoff? I wondered, but didn't dare to ask out laud.
Phil, as I would later come to know him, then proceeded to explain to me that he belonged to a secret organization, which was very interested in me, due to my parentage.
"I am afraid Miss, that, though I would have loved to meet you in better circumstances, that is not the case. You are in grave danger, and I will need to you to accompany me to the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters." And, with those words, I was sent to my room to pack my meager belongings.
By the time I had reached the room that I shared with three other girls, the frozen stage of shock had gone by, and I began to analyze my situation. This man had mentioned my parents. He said that they worked for a secret organization. The realization then hit me that, if I was going to their headquarters, then I might even get to meet them, and perhaps even ask them "Why?"
So I began to pack my clothes and belongings into a duffel, all the while with a sour-sweet taste in my mouth, for, now that there was a possibility of finding out who my parents were, I felt unsure of even wanting to meet them. I felt afraid of finding answers to questions that I perhaps should not have asked.