Oay, so this is my first fanfiction, ever. Please, help me in any wayy possible be it through constuctive critisims or through praise. Flames aren't allowed, but if something upsets you, be sure to tell me ASAP so I couldcorrect it. Thanks for reading in advance :D
Oh and don't think I own. If I did, I sure as hell wouldn't be writing fanfiction!
Gerade ein Gedächtnis
The painting looked old. The heavy layers of dust covered the fine detail that made it unique. It was sensible that the person on that canvas was someone that was to be forgotten, however, when the little Italian man gently wiped away the dust, he was mesmerized by the intensity of her marveled at how well the artist captured the liveliness of her face and eyes, at the brillience of her skin tone, and at how young the girl was.
She looked about nine, but you could see a radiance, an elegance, that shown out of her portrate. 'She must be like one of us,' he though, 'but I she doesn't look familiar.' He cleaned more dust of the panting and whiped some off of the old timey frame that he remembered seeing at Mr. Austria's house back when he lived their. Their was something that caught his attention though, and he rubbed rapidly to remove the small spiderwebs that clupped at the courners of the words.
"'For my one and only'," he read. He smiled a bit, thinking that it was such a cute thing. Then he remembered whose house he was in. His brows came together as his smile fell. Why would his love have something like this in his attic? He shook that thought out of his head, thinking it to be foolish that he would have to compete with someone who his love clearly wanted to forget.
"What are you doing here?" He turned to see his love's angered face staring at him.
"I wanted to be useful," he explained, "So Gilbert told me to go clean an attic!"
Ludwig sighed, "Go downstairs Italy, why don't you make some pasta?".
This disturbed Italy. Ludwig had never asked him to make pasta before. Hell, sometimes he wonder if Ludwig hated pasta, if such a thing was even possible. He gave him a frown. "Ludwig," he asked with an annoyed tone, "Who is she?"
Ludwig's face paled slightly, but he kept his composure. "She's a memory," Ludwig said, "Someone for long, long ago."
Content with the answer Italy went downstairs. Closing the door behind him, he vaguely wonder if what type of pasta he would make. He didn't even notice how his "love's" voice cracked towards the end of his well composed sentence. However, he did hear Ludwig say one last thing before he left: "You will never be just a memory, mi amor, mi Helena."
Gerade ein Gedächtnis= Just a memory- German
Did it totally suck? Was it a fail? Or was it alright?