March 1928, Moscow
He didn't know how he was able to find it. The city had changed so much, its old colorful buildings clashing with new, grey ones. The familiar lavish imperial soldiers replaced with stern men in dark uniforms. The people were different as well; it was something in their attitude, even their walk. This was a new Moscow, a new Russia, and the stark red flags dangling from nearly every building stated so.
He didn't look at the street signs or a view a map or ask for directions. In his chest he felt the strangest force pulling, as if God himself was hauling him to a mysterious destination… no, it wasn't mysterious or unknown. Ludwig von Beilschmidt knew this opera house well, too well for his liking. The memories accompanying it were cruel, and they were aggressive in making sure he didn't forget. He wanted to terribly, for forty years he's tried. His new wife, their family, the ruin of his father's legacy, the Great War, yes – they were distractions. At the end of the day, when he had just a moment's calm, those memories taunted every one of his senses…
The songs that played to a childishly cruel melody, the taste of his own blood dripping from his mouth. The cold hands of that special boy (who for once, was not shaking) touching his own, for the last time. The stark, unnatural eyes that could reflect nothing less than undying love to one person, then burning hatred to another.
Ludwig was the receiver of those ghostly eyes, the target of their bitterness. He was then, and in his nightmares, he still is. That is why he walks with a purposeful air to that beautiful theatre, the same one that, before his eyes, is being destroyed. Some higher power is compelling him, perhaps it's truly God, and perhaps it's his own belated insanity slowly taking hold of his aging mind. The dirty workers pound and repair with speed. They must've saved something from the theatre. Did they even know of the chambers, the passages?
He walked up to a young boy, hardly older than his grandson. The boy was toiling way and was anxious about being interrupted, but the towering old man before him was rather intimidating. "What is it, sir?"
"Is this it, then? They're just taking it down?"
"No, sir! We're rebuilding it for our comrades to enjoy."
"Have they removed or replaced anything? The furniture?"
"Was empty when I looked inside. But they'll get new stuff soon." The boy scurried off, answering the call of a nearby worker. Ludwig watched him disappear into the theatre, and he could still see it whole in his mind, even if it was going to pieces now.
He stepped closer, approaching a man he assumed to be the foreman. "Excuse me, sir. Has your crew salvaged anything from the dungeons- ah." Ludwig caught himself, but it was too late now.
Naturally, the man gave him a funny look. "Dungeons? Y'mean the basements? Yeah, the theatre had some deep ones. All flooded, though. Seems like they've been like that for years."
It wasn't the answer Ludwig wanted, so he repeated his question. "Despite that, were you able to retrieve anything?"
"What would be in a theatre's basement, besides props and costumes?" The man frowned with impatience. "No sir, nothing- well, wait. Slipped my mind. Alexi found something a few months ago. Alexi!"
Another boy ran up, wide-eyed. "Huh?"
"That old box you found, the heavy wooden one. Where'd you put it? You didn't sell it, did you?"
"No! I put it in one of the rooms in the theatre."
"Hmph, a safe place for it, with all this construction. Go fetch it, now."
Ludwig hardly saw the boy come and go, nor did he hear the man continuing to speak. A wooden box, found deep in those winding dungeons, small enough for a child to carry but heavy. Perhaps, the same box that he heard that night? Perhaps. Ludwig would recognize the song. It had already played endless times, lightly lining his nightmares with its simple tune.
He wanted the boy to return empty-handed. He wanted to pretend to be disappointed, but to think deep down, Good. It's all gone, then. All of its gone. And by some miracle, he wanted all of the nightmares to go away, and for once, he could return to his family with an unclouded mind.
Fate never worked in his favor. The boy came back, holding the water-damaged but still perfectly recognizable box. It was disgusting how instantly he remembered it, before it even completely came into his sight.
"Do you work for the museums or something?" The man was just now suspicious, but the boy handed Ludwig the music box anyway.
"Track down this murderer, he must be found-"
"No. I… I worked here." An obvious lie. Strange looks were given, but the man and boy left him alone for their work. Ludwig sat down at the pearly white steps, studying it intently. Water-damaged, split wood, yes… The years hadn't been good to anyone. The gold paint of the sunflower had long washed away from the top, but the little diamonds around it were surprisingly intact. He opened it, and the moment he did, he flinched.
"And in this labyrinth, where night is blind-"
It was playing perfectly, just like that night. The melody was stifled by the construction nearby, but he heard it clearly in his memories. It was loud and taunting, sweet and deceiving.
"Those pleading eyes that both threaten and adore-"
He breathed sharply. He didn't know he was holding his breath. He looked down at the box, and the porcelain ballerina with the broken hands had ceased her twirling when the music stopped. How long had it been over?
The rusted hinges creaked as the music box closed. He kept to the steps of the Bolshoi, remembering, small things that were previously forgotten. Yes, there had been good times- they were just overlapped by the horrible.
Somehow he recalled when he first came, personally invited, by the director of the theatre himself. He didn't care for music or the arts, but his family did, and they'd want a report on the quality of the Bolshoi Opery Troupe. Ludwig made the trip to Moscow, travelling by himself for the first time. It was a far cry from his native Germany, and he remembered looking at the theatre with apprehension, despite its beauty and the bustle all about it.
Long ago, it seems so long ago
How surreal and paralyzing it was
He may not have remembered me
But I remember them
YES. This story is going to be EXACTLY what it sounds like.
Lol on the Hetalia kink meme, I stumbled across this veeeery old one about anon wanting Phantom of the Opera!RussLat. Anon asked for no genderbends (sob on my part) and anon had assigned all of the nations what characters they were going to play. I know anon had just a small oneshot in mind, but I really wanted to make this a series! Some of the characters will be a challenge to write (like Germany crushing on Latvia), but that's all part of the fun~ And the updating will be much swifter since, hey, the whole plot is already laid out.
THEREFORE- none of the Phantom melodies/storyline/characters belong to me, obviously. I edited some of the lyrics to make sense, too. This won't be a completely songfic, since that's just annoying, but I'll throw in lyrics.
So! Enjoy this new fic~. And Yus, of course it's going to be RussLat D: RAOUL DESERVES NOTHING