I have always loved it when we would go to visit Austria's house.
Spain usually said he had to deal with some marital issues, but I think it was just an excuse so we could go see Italy. They, being mostly Austria, would always kick my brother and I out into the backyard, saying something along the lines of 'this matter does not concern little kids like yourselves. Go play outside until you are called back in.'
Bastard.
Though I really liked the opportunity to play with my brother in such a carefree manner.
However, today was not the case, as I was visiting Austria of my own accord. That idiot Spain was off pirating, or whatever the hell it is he does when he leaves me home alone for weeks on end. And so, he said it was ok if I got lonely to go visit Austria and my brother. I mean bored. I was bored so I decided to play with Italy.
As the day drew to a close, Italy and I sat on the small grassy hill in Austria's backyard overlooking the forest beyond the gate. We had gotten bored of kicking the small football around and decided to take a short break. My brother was rambling on about one thing or another when the most divine song I had ever had the privilege of listening to caught my ear. A melody like no other, that wrapped my body in heavenly wrath, sweetly kissing me on the forehead, filling me with bliss. Such a tone surely was the embodiment of an angel, as I had never heard a bird sing a song so other-worldly.
My mouth was wide open as I stared in wonder at the vast collection of trees, trying to find the source of the rhythm. But it was of no use because just as I was sure I found it, Austria call us back in. My brother, being a 'good little child' dragged me with him, despite my obvious resistance.
'You probably heard a nightingale,' was Austria's swift response when he overheard me describe the sound to Italy, who apparently didn't any bird sounds at all.
'A nightingale?' I questioned, never hearing the word before.
'It's a bird,' Austria responded without even batting an eye. His stupid tone made it sound as if anyone should know what a ''nightingale'' was. How the hell could my idiot brother stand this guy?
Not to be outdone, I puffed, 'well what the hell is so special about this dumb bird?'
Again, he didn't even bat an eyelash when he spoke to me as if I was thin air, 'You heard it for yourself, didn't you?''
I could tell there was more to the story, but I was fed up with questioning the egocentric bastard.
And with that, I made it my mission to see what else there was to learn about this ''nightingale''. That night, I went through Spain's study which contained a relatively small collection of assorted books. The room was messy before, but my hunt for knowledge only add to the pile of work I knew I wasn't going to do.
After going through various books on seamanship, atlases, weaponry, torture methods, and encyclopedias, I finally found a small book about superstitions. As I thumbed through the different sections of the poorly bound book, I came across the bold letters that read ''Aves''. From what my Spanish skills could decipher, the chapter was dedicated to superstitions regarding birds. Upon further mental translating, I got the gist of the short, little paragraph about ''ruiseƱor'' or ''nightingale''. From what I gathered, hearing the bird's song was the foreshadowing of some Spanish word ''fallecimiento''. My brain was far too exhausted to comprehend what it translated to as I caught myself dozing off in the messy study and pile of books. My head was filled with new found information about the mysterious bird. Though half of it, I couldn't translate, I still felt as though I understood the important parts. Eyelids heavy, I allowed myself to curl up on the cold and dusty floor as I lack the energy and willpower to drag myself to my bed upstairs.
-
My growling stomach woke me up the following morning and I was surprised to learn that I slept for what felt like most of the night in my rightful bed, not downstairs in the unkempt room that was Spain's study.
But who would go through the trouble of bringing me upstairs?
When the answer hit me, I bolted down the staircase like only an Italian could. I was downstairs in less than 0.2 seconds, where the scent of wondrous Spanish cooking aroused my senses. Allowing my nose to serve as a guide, I was led into the kitchen where a tall Spanish man stood, slaving over a hot stove, cooking what looked like breakfast.
I wanted my presence to remain unnoticed, but failed in the process thanks to the stupid, creaky flooring.
Ears as sharp as ever, Spain promptly turned around, greeting me with a his signature idiotic smile.
'Ah, Romano, I'm glad to see you're awake. You know, I was surprised to find you sleeping on the floor of my study last night. I thought you knew better than to sleep in strange places...'
His scolding continued, but I couldn't be bothered by it. Instead I was focused upon the numerous bandages covering his body.
'What the hell happened to you? You look like a mummy.' I interrupted his senseless nagging.
'This?' he asked, pointing to the bandages on his face, completely forgetting the rant he was going on a moment ago, 'this is nothing, really Romano. You don't have to worry.'
'Who would worry about you, bastard?' I huffed, taking my usual seat at the dining table, 'now feed me.'
The Spaniard let out a soft sigh, turning back to his cooking.
'I finally come home to see you and you're still as demanding as ever,' Spain remarked, but I brushed it off, as my mind had drifted to a new topic.
'Hey Spain,' I began, tone slightly softer than before, 'what does ''fallecimiento'' mean?'
'Where is this coming from?' he asked, remaining focused on the meal he almost completed preparing.
'N-nowhere!' I defended, like someone was attacking me, though no one was. 'I just...want to know, so tell me.'
Spain chuckled, picking up the ready meals and placing one in front me and one in front of his seat.
'Death.'
'Huh?'
'Fallecimiento means death, Romano. Any other questions?'
I felt a chill run down my spine. 'No...' was my weak reply, but Spain didn't seem to notice my nervous tone. I mindless eyed the grub before me, blood running cold.
'I'm not hungry,' I declared, pushing the plate away and hopping out of my seat.
Ignoring the Spaniard calling my name, I ran as fast as my little legs would take me back to Spain's study.
