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The first thing they took from her was her family. She was ripped away so early she had no memory of any mother's embrace. If there had been even a moment of love from the woman who gave her life, she was not aware of it.The second thing they took from her, shortly after the first, was her name. Whatever had been chosen for her had been discarded, if a name had been chosen at all. They had given her another, but she had changed identities so often over the years that first new name was almost forgotten. The name that stuck in her brain even now, came when she was around twenty-five.Dottie Underwood's cover had been that she was a young woman from Iowa, making her way in New York City.That wasn't her story, but the impression was made.Dottie was her name for a year or so. It was the name Peggy Carter called her. Even now, all these years later, she referred to herself in her own mind as Dottie.After escaping Peggy's trunk in 1947, she never saw the British SSR agent again. She had no idea how things had ended, but she knew Peggy wasn't dead. She had a feeling she would have heard about that.She ran for a week before they came to reclaim her. They had to drag her back to Russia kicking and screaming, claiming that she needed reconditioning.But they did so much worse than that.She was put through the program again. Fought for her life time and time again. And when she finished four years later they took more from her.They were no longer called Leviathan. Now they were The Red Room. She was now called a Black Widow. Fitting since she was as deadly as the spider she was named for.They'd taken the name Dottie from her, and now at twenty-nine they took something much more precious from her.They told her that it was necessary for her to take her place in the world.But she had no place in the world. She never did.They also gave her something.The infusion burned as it flowed through her system. Oh how she had howled and writhed in agony for days, but eventually the burning stopped, and by the end she didn't really look any different, but she felt different.She was stronger, faster, and after a time she would realize the aging process had slowed to a crawl.It was ironic, she'd once poked at the wound that was Captain Rogers, gauging Peggy Carter's reaction. To the woman's credit she hadn't shown much emotion about it at the time.And now she was just like him, even if the serum she had been given was a bastardized version of his.She wasn't put back in the field, though she had wanted to go hunt Peggy down, their little game of cat and mouse was far from over, instead she was given a new name and told to sculpt the next generation of Widows.Her charges called her Madame B.It was joked about that the B stood for Bolshevik, but soon enough what the B stood for was forgotten by all.Decades passed, and she watched countless girls rise and fall through the program, those who failed were disposed of, but those who succeeded, "graduated" much as she had and stepped out into the world.Time hardly had meaning, and she forgot most of the names of the girls, it was easier that way.Don't get attached.But then there was one, she had been brought in young, a newborn.But even as a toddler, her promise was clear.So clear in fact, they sent her out on a mission at the tender age of seven to Ohio, and she didn't see the child again for three years.When she did see the girl again, her hair was dyed a bright, unnatural shade of blue, too attention getting for her taste. The girl's natural red, while eye catching was less remarkable, she'd have to go back to natural colors.The girl's face was wet with tears.She would need to be reconditioned, they left her with Madame, it was her job to sculpt the next generation after all."Do you remember me?" The tears were still flowing and in a moment of kindness, she pulled out a handkerchief and dried them."... Yes. I remember you." The fear was still there, but the girl's voice didn't waver."Good. Then you remember I expect great things from you." The girl hesitated for a moment before speaking."My sister, Yelena. Where is she?" It would appear that while she was in Ohio, the cover had become real."She's not your sister, and she is not your concern, you're here to focus on your training. Put her out of your mind." It was the best advice she could give, attachment could get you killed here, sentimentality could get you killed.A small reluctant nod from her pupil."Good girl, Natalia.""Natasha." The stubborn set of the girl's jaw when she said her name, she really should discourage it. But then again, in the safety of her own mind she clung to Dottie Underwood."Natasha. Shall we begin?"The years passed and Natasha rose.She wasn't supposed to have favorites, but privately, in the same part of her mind that Dottie lived in. Her affection for Natasha flourished.Talk of Natasha's graduation started when she was eighteen.Natasha had a year to prove she wasn't a fluke, and then she would be put through the "graduation ceremony" like so many before her had been.Natasha was separated from the rest of the young candidates, so that Madame could observe her closely. At the end of the year her recommendation would decide Natasha's fate.But the closer the graduation ceremony came, there was a change in Natasha."Sloppy." Natasha was panting but she looked up at her when she spoke, for half a second she saw the frightened ten year old with bright blue hair again."Pretending to fail." The fear disappeared, Natasha's mask was firmly in place, her emotions unreadable just the way she'd been taught."Perhaps I'm not ready." Natasha wasn't the first to say those words this close to graduation, she wasn't the first of her girls to try and avoid the graduation ceremony either. She most certainly wouldn't be the last.She wasn't supposed to be attached to her charges, but she couldn't help herself, she moved towards Natasha and put a hand on her shoulder. Almost like she imagined a mother would do as she advised her daughter."The ceremony is necessary for you to take your place in the world." She had said the words countless times, to countless girls whose names she could no longer remember.Every widow who graduated for the first time went through the same process she had. They would cut away the parts of her that were still vulnerable, and fill her veins with serum. The end result was a perfect killing machine.Natasha looked at her, something flickered in her eyes that not even the carefully crafted mask could completely conceal from those who knew her best, it was fear. But also acceptance."I have no place in the world."She allowed a small smile for Natasha, she still expected great things from her, the graduation ceremony was just the beginning of that."Exactly," she said. She knew what she had to do. Much like a mother bird, sometimes a push was all that was needed for a chick to soar.She turned and headed for the door, pausing only for a second to look at Natasha one last time.This was the last time she would ever see the girl she had shaped, after this everything would change.She wasn't Natasha's mother, no matter the affection she held for her, no Black Widow of The Red Room was a mother.She wasn't Dottie Underwood either.She was a sculptor."You are made of marble." And with that she turned and walked to Dreykov's office to make her final recommendation.