Forget Me Not
Feliciano could still remember the day he should have known his life would go back to being a living hell. After all, for him, the name Feliciano was a curse that attracted ill-fortune, as if the universe was trying to spite him. Such a tragedy was long overdue. Not that he was complaining. Each memory was painful, vivid, and nightmarish. No matter the amount of time that passed, the crimson color remained as bright as if it was painted yesterday.
His family traded in magic, specifically, crystallized magic-already compressed and ready for use. Whether it be Aether, Seithr, or Mana, they weren't choosy. It was one of the reasons why their company boomed, while many other start-up trading companies withered away. That, and their willingness to travel to the far-flung corners of Gaea to meet with their clients. Okinawa, New Delhi, Novgorod, New York. Location did not matter.
His grandfather, Romulus dealt with affairs such as travel. His parents took care of all the local transactions and organized all the paperwork. Meanwhile, him and his older brother, Lovino, helped out in whatever small way they could. Mundane housework such as dusting? Feliciano's job. Organization of the library archives? That went to Lovino, though it could take him forever.
Or at least that was how it went, according to Lovino. Feliciano wasn't so sure of his older brother's reliability if he was to be honest with himself.
Memories of such times that Lovino liked to talk about were fuzzy for Feliciano, and corrupted by his recollections of the Plague that had swept through a large portion of Europe, hitting the Mediterranean with an intensity that was only matched in the Iberian Peninsula, the British Isles, and the Scandinavian Peninsula. The burn of brandy, the searing pain of red-hot knives.
Magic was ineffective in treating it.
This of course, led to worldwide panic. Fear of Armageddon broke out. It rampaged through the populace in that horrible, yet clever way that fear moved. Countries closed off their borders. Travel to and from the regions where the Plague was most prevalent, was forbidden. The economy tumbled. Many Magic-trade companies like the Vargas's, collapsed. Whether it was due to the travel bans or the fact that several families were erased due to the disease was unclear. Either way, it didn't matter that much to the Vargas family. They managed to pull through. If only by a hairbreadth.
Feliciano, Lovino, and both their parents came down with it. Romulus was spared, as he was far away, conducting a trade in Los Angeles when the restrictions were put into place.
Agonizing days were the world alternated between hell and the Antarctic. A dizzying thirst that couldn't be quenched no matter how much water he drank. Feverish visions that were either a dream, or a hallucination. He couldn't tell.
Their parents died on the third day.
As hard as Feliciano tried, he couldn't block out those dreams. He couldn't make himself deaf to all the stories that were told afterwards.
Lovino's wrist was cut in an effort to bleed out the disease on the fifth.
Big mistake.
Though the knife was sanitized, and the wound, bandaged and cleaned, somehow, something found its way into Lovino's body and sent him into a shock-induced coma. Even after the Plague had left most of Italy, Lovino was still unconscious in a hospital bed. Eight months he remained comatose. After that, it took him two years fully recover, as an aftereffect of the shock was a case of catatonic excitement that landed him a spot in a treatment facility in Rome.
Safe to say, the doctors didn't try to bleed Feliciano.
He was only seven at the time, and so sure of the fact that he was going to die. With only primitive medicinal techniques in lieu of magic, there was no way he was going to pull through it. How could a person, who was not dead, survive hell? Living beings weren't made for residence in the underworld.
On the seventh day, he started to recover. Though the nightmare was far from over. His brother was unconscious. His parents, dead. His grandfather, on the other side of the world.
The next six months were the most miserable months in his entire life.
Sure, there was the family friend-Roderich Edelstein and his wife, Elizaveta-taking care of him. But, no matter how hard they tried, and tried they did, they were still no replacement for the family that had just been fractured.
Still, he smiled. Smiled for them, so they would believe that they were contributing something. Smiled, so he could look strong. Smiled, because he knew his parents would want him to smile. They always said he had such a beautiful smile. Smiled, because that allowed him to look at himself in the mirror while getting dressed and not give up. Smiled, because people smiled when they were happy.
And fake happiness was better than genuine misery.
He couldn't understand why, six months later, when the restrictions were lifted and Romulus came back, his grandfather looked so sad upon seeing him smile.
He couldn't understand it at all.
Well, that concludes the short, crappy prologue of my first story. Reviews are welcome, but not required.
Note: The picture is not mine, I merely photoshopped two images. I cannot remember the artist, but I do remember finding the images on Zerochan (The Hetalia tag on Pixiv is incredibly cluttered). So yes, no credits to me for the picture.