Title ~ Ghost

Pair ~ PrussiaxAustria

Rating ~ Mature

AN ~ My first multi-chapter fic. I hope I don't lose steam in the middle! If you like what you read, please review. :3 It gives me the willpower (or at least makes me feel guilty enough) to keep writing! Just to warn you all, it will involve character death. But the dead person is still going to be in it, so don't run away yet!

~PROLOGUE~

Open our eyes. A warm summer day. A soft breeze, carrying sweet scents of a large, blooming garden. This place is familiar and yet... Three tall glasses of iced tea, wet droplets beading on the outside. Two people, sitting at a glass table, in the shade of a covered porch.

One, a once-vibrant brunette, dulled by years of work and carrying tell-tale signs of hardship in her sharp green eyes. Something is lurking in the murky depths of those twin souls, a ferocious and uncompromising protectiveness waiting to be awoken. Perhaps a twinge of fear passes through our conscious. This is not someone to trifle with. The other, a strong, thick blonde built like a workhorse, bearing no physical signs of the trauma scarring his memories. His cold blue eyes are downcast, we want immediately to touch his shoulder, pat his head, be the comforting big brother. But something attracts our attention before we can ruffle his pale hair out of its perfect gelled state.

We pan out. The not-quite-a-mansion, not-quite-a-house that they sit in front of scowls at the beautiful blooming landscape like a scar on the face of Venus. It remains shuttered, the heavy brocade curtains drawn and moth-eaten, paint peeling and cracking in places, ivy slowly encroaching on the house's front from its stronghold on the West side. The garden is overgrown and contains nearly as many weeds as flowers and trees.

Is it abandoned, perhaps? Why has the couple chosen to meet in such an odd place? And then, we hear again. Almost imperceptible, a soft tinkling like broken glass. It swells in power and depth, a melody shapes from the shards. It is no specific piece we recognize, but in one moment, we find Bach and Vivaldi, Beethoven, Mozart, and more that we could never remember on such short notice. The player of this broken glass must know hundreds of pieces to string them along so eloquently, drawing and weaving each and every note from an ocean of compositions into something beautiful and rotting. Like the house and garden.

So it is not abandoned after all. There is someone inside, someone playing music. The couple outside have stated to talk.

"-he wouldn't." The brunette is speaking, a frown creasing her brow. Her voice is soft and accented with someone we don't immediately recognize, it is almost Russian, with hints of German and dashes of the language of Vampires. Finally, Hungarian comes to mind. She absentmindedly brushes a wrinkle out of the faded red skirt draping down her long legs. Her long hair drapes down her back in an almost identical manner, curling softly near the tips. She still wears a flower pin to keep it out of her face; it sits cheerfully on her right temple. A flowing, off-white, long sleeved blouse and dark, form fitting vest seem to be almost too much for the heat of the afternoon, but she doesn't seem to notice. In one movement her shapely legs uncross, she shifts, and booted feet flick the skirt in the breeze to settle in a new position.

The blonde seems saddened by whatever she said, because he heaves a heavy sigh and seems to curl into himself without moving. Lovely green-eyes reaches across the small garden table and takes the hand that was resting idly, she squeezes it gently. "I told you..." she almost mutters, glancing out at the unkempt lawn. "He doesn't ever leave. I think that he would starve in there if I did not cook for him. He is not the same person, Ludwig." She releases his hand and sits back almost angrily, picking up her glass of tea. "He blames himself, I think, for what happened to your brother."

The newly-named Ludwig seems confused by this; he too looks out over the lawn. The mention of his brother seems to have brought more melancholy over him. "My brother never blamed Roderich for any of it... In fact, I think it was the only thing that he didn't blame Roderich for. He didn't blame me either, not explicitly, but... sometimes, the look in his eyes... I could never say no to him." This brings a soft laugh out of his female companion, he in turn lets a small smile lighten his features. He is immediately recognizable as German, his voice is deep and rich, comforting but the barest hint of the danger that sleeps in his blood still lingers. He is garbed simply in a black suit and tie, minus the jacket which lies over the back of the intricate wrought iron chair he is seated upon.

"No one could ever say 'no' to Gilbert. Via pleading or scheming, he would always get what he wanted, eventually." As she speaks the smile in her eyes slowly fades, replaced with a look of mourning loss that mirrors her German companion's. "I miss him, Ludwig. He was my best friend and my greatest rival and there will never be anyone like him on this earth again. But it is not healthy the way Roderich lingers over him. We must do something before he smothers himself with the grief."

Ludwig nods and looks over at her, the haunted look gone and tucked neatly away, to be dwelled upon another time. A general, well-meaning curiosity has taken its place for now. "What do you suggest, Elizaveta? As you said, he won't leave the house. He won't answer his telephone; I have not spoken to him in a long while. He did not attend the funeral, and I know for a fact he has not visited the grave or the memorial site a single time."

The woman of hidden steel has a name now; Elizaveta. She shrugs sadly, another sad sigh escaping pale petal lips. "I don't know... I don't know. Talk some sense into him, Lud. You have, for the most part, always been the sensible one here. And you were close to both of them. Convince him somehow that what he's doing is not what your brother would have wanted." She quietly sets her tea on the table; it seems to surprise Ludwig, as if he had forgotten that the cool drinks existed. He examines his own quietly.

"I will do my best." He promises, glancing towards the front door of the gloomy house, condemning it with a small shake of his head.