So here's my spiel before anything: I don't own Hetalia, I don't own the characters (Mr. Hidekaz Himaruya owns it all!) I am doing this because I want to work on my writing skills. It is not for monetary gain. It is not to make people feel uncomfortable. It is not to fulfill some dark fantacies anyone has. If you want to have a real story to read (one with original characters and such) please go pick up a Charles Dickens novel. Thank you! Also, even though the characters or original story is not mine, I do know that I have put time and effort into writing this story. DO NOT STEAL IT! The only one who can is Mr. Himaruya (mainly because he created Hetalia.) Thank you!
Alright! (Almost done, I swear.) So this is a story I started based on three specific HetaOni AMVs I saw on youtube. I cannot promise if this will turn into a HetaOni fanfiction. I also cannot promise any bloody scenes. However, I will try to write and interesting and thrilling story nonetheless. And if you have suggestions, don't be afraid to say something. ^_^ I love it when people help me out (sometimes. . . but that's another story.)
Enjoy!
Prologue
Italy shuddered once again in his sleep, as the once happy dream of making pasta turned more and more into a nightmare of his past. In these modern days, Italy was usually never plagued by nightmares. However, every so often one would rear its ugly head, torturing the poor European nation as he fought to wake up. No matter how much Italy fought against the images flashing through his mind, waking was just out of reach.
Beads of sweat fell from his brow, while his body quivered. His legs and arms twisted into the sheets, tightening as he struggled to get free. Italy just could not get free. He whimpered as the haunting terrors grew and grew on his fear.
As the dawn's light started to shine through the window, Italy was able to break the spell. He stopped his struggling, taking deep breaths to slow his heart. Finally, Italy opened one eye. He peered around the part of the room in his sight. Then, after a moment, he opened the other eye; and lifted his head ever so slightly off the pillow. No. No monsters.
Italy let his head fall back down, and closed his eyes. He slowly untangled his limbs from the sheets, arranging himself into a better, less hurtful position. Laying there, he noticed his pillow, and parts of the sheets were drenched in sweat. However, at that moment, when all his muscles were screaming of aches and pains, and his eyes urged him to just keep them shut, he just did not care enough to change them.
'I'll do that later,' he thought to himself. 'before the meeting today . . . or maybe after . . .'
And with that last thought in mind, Italy drifted off to a dreamless sleep, forgetting the nightmares he just recently fought against.
Please R&R! Thank you!