Mary-Luise
Prologue
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Slipping through the cracks of a dark eternity
With nothing but my pain and the paralyzing agony
To tell me who I am, who I was
Uncertainty enveloping my mind
'Till I can't break free...
(Rockleetist & Ashe - Bad Apple)
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She cannot believe it. It was simply not possible. Palette knives are supposed to be blunt! Nations aren't supposed to die, damn it! Not like this!
But it hurts, Gott, it hurts!
"I'm so sorry, Luise," that thrice-cursed voice purrs, her painted lips quirking upward. How could she miss that? How could she miss the jealous longing evil glint in her eyes? Is that because they're so damned blue bright innocent like her own when she was younger? Is that...
"But don't worry," the wretched girl continues sweetly, excitedly, so like him yet so different it hurts, "I'll take good care of your Feli. I promise."
How dare you! She wants to spit, to scream, to rip her nonexistent heart out of her chest, to reach out into the escape, but the hands - oh those gagging and choking and crushing hands - make it impossible. Curse this world for making her human, for making her so freaking helpless -
A sharp pain in her chest jolts her out of her thoughts, and it takes her a few blinks to make out a rose with more missing petals than she dares to count.
"Don't cry, Luise!" the fake girl exclaims, running her knife along her left cheek in a way reminiscent to Prussia's so long ago, save for the blood mingling with her tears... Oh, Bruder, she silently cries, please forgive me... "You'll have lots and lots of friends here!"
Friends? Like Italy and Japan?
Her body racks as another petal falls to the red-stained ground. Maybe being a human isn't so bad... her people wouldn't feel anything this way... right?
Right?
"My daddy made me a sister, too. You remember Red, don't you?"
Red? As in 'The Lady in Red', the painting that tried to kill her? Of course I do, she mentally snaps back.
"You do?" A deceptively innocent, beaming smile. Another petal gone. "That's great!" And another. "You'll get along, I swear. You two are so alike!"
She feels her eyes droop at the last word. There's only one left, my dear... a voice whispers comfortingly, one more and this will end.
She decides not to think of it, though. She wouldn't let her win. Never. She won't give a damn about Guertena's extended family. She'll face death with a smile. A smile as pure as Feliciano's, as confident as Gilbert's, as calm as Kiku's.
Mary's nostrils flared. I can't believe it! How can she smile? Isn't she in pain? Isn't she angry or anything?
Apparently not, her faithful doll hisses.
The last petal falls.
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For a split-second, the people of Germany feels like they've lost a part of themselves. The feeling vanishes, however, as a fabricated little girl sees the real world for the first time.
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A shiver runs down Prussia's spine. He'd never admit it (as awesome people like him fears nothing), but somehow... somehow he knew that from this point, his life will never be the same.
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Italy squints at the plaque, racking his brain. Aaawh! Why did he agree to come here? He couldn't even understand what these say! Sure, the brochure's in English, but it only tells him the cost of the tickets and the gallery's rules! No mention of the paintings' titles, no, not at all!
"I shouldn't have left Germany!" he lamented, glaring at the rose sculpture as hard as he's able to, with his closed eyes and all. "Japan!" he turns to the stoic man next to him. "Do you know what this means?" He points at a particularly long, difficult word.
Japan gives him another one of his empty, unnerving look in response. "I don't speak German either, Italy-san. Why don't you look for her?"
"Ah, of course!" Italy giggles. "Grazie, Japan!" He hums to himself as he skips along corridor after corridor (though not without the usual distraction by the more 'interesting' artworks), curl bobbing as he whips his head to every direction in search for a certain blonde. But another blonde catches his eye... Ooh, she looks so pretty in that pink poncho and layered dress! He flashes her his best Italian smile and winks. Unfortunately, the girl's blush - unlike the others - isn't even remotely happy... wait! Ah~! The girl's approaching him, heavy-looking purse at the ready... With a squeak, Italy dashes to the second floor, pushing apart the sea of people.
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"Huwaa~! That was close!" Italy pants, leaning onto a wall. "German girls are scary~!" He pants some more, each breath (thankfully) steadier than the last. "Ah, I hope I find Germany soon..."
Two minutes later, when he finally stops sweating (standing under an air conditioner really helped!), the Italian decides to look around first. Germany can't be going anywhere! he thought as he capers to the wall of paintings. He inspects The Hanged Man (He's really freaked out by that one!), The Lady in Red (She's so pretty, with red eyes like Prussia and long, silky brown hair like Hungary~! "I wonder if she was real...?"), Lady with a Newspaper, Worry ("Ah, poor guy!"), Bitter Fruit, Twin... something, Something on Table, Something Diamond... He's starting to regret leaving his dictionary at home. Heh... why do these paintings have to be named with such big words, anyway? He shakes his head before continuing his walk. The candy-like Taste-something Tree is really nice and colorful, unlike that plain, boring Something Spectacle. Fusion (is that right?) is creepy, though, it's like... it's like the woman is melting. He turns around the corner, shuddering all the way (unintentionally missing Your Dark Figure and Enlightenment) until he arrives in an unnaturally dark corridor. He lets out a small shriek. "Um... Hello? Is anyone here?" he squeaks, fumbling with his phone's LED light.
A feminine voice answers him. "Germany!" he cries, relieved. His friend is crouching just below the frame of Something World (he doesn't bother to look at the painting), waist-length hair somehow out of her usually tight bun. Italy quickly throws himself at her, showering the young woman with kisses and hugs. "Oh, Germany!" he sighs, sobbing into the nape of her neck. "I'm so glad I found you!"
He receives a slap, along with a red-faced Germany. "W-wer sind Sie?"
Italy blinks, confused. "Hunh...?" He rubs his cheek, cringing at the pain. "What do you mean, 'who are you'?"
The reply isn't in English.
"I can't understand you!" Italy protests. "I'm Italy! Your friend! How can you forget me? Noooo! Germany doesn't remember me!" Being the sensitive wimp he is, he bursts into tears. "Whyyyyyyyy~?"
A hand stops him from yelling further. "Ve? What'sit? You remember now?"
Germany shakes her head. She points at him. "Sie sind... Italy?" He nods vigorously, grinning. "Yeah... and you're Germany. In your language, it's called Deutschland!" It's her turn to blink in confusion. "Mein Name ist Mary," she insists. "Mary Guertena."
Wait, what...? "Guertena? Your human name is Mary, si, but it's Mary Beilschmidt, Germany. Don't tell me you forget that too!" Italy yells. "Sure, Guertena's art is nice, but... It's not like he's your dad or anything!"
Germany shoots him another blank stare.
Italy swears, throwing his hands over his head with a frustrated groan. "I'm serious! This isn't funny, Germany! You can't pretend to forget how to speak English too!" He stands up, pacing around the dimly lit corridor, fuming. But how can he not be angry, really? Germany doesn't remember him! Germany! She, his best friend (and more), of all people! How could she? What the hell happened? The gallery isn't a dangerous place, she can't possibly bump her head or something like that! Even in times of peace like this she still acts like a soldier! She's above such clumsy things, unlike him! And she certainly is capable of defending herself from even the toughest guys... Ve? Why would tough guys go to an art gallery? Yeah, artworks are expensive, but... wait! Maybe there was a robbery! But wouldn't there be security everywhere? And Switzerland! He's very protective of his people, he'd be barging in with tons of guns if there was, wouldn't he? Ah, this is all so confusing! "I'm going back to Japan!" he finally announces. "You coming with me?" He offers Germany a hand. She hesitates for a moment, but finally rests her suddenly porcelain-smooth hand in his. Heh? Porcelain-smooth? Aren't Germany's hands calloused from centuries of hard work? Italy recalls smelling her hand once, it's a pleasant mixture of earth and cities and beer, but now... they smell like... like paint. Paint...? Paint! He gasps in realization. "Did you just touch that?" he asks, smiling once more. "Ve~ I knew you're not that stiff!" He pulls her up with unnecessary force. Maybe Germany's strangeness is a good thing, maybe he can ask her to play with him! And have siestas! And teach her English! Oh, the possibilities! This way, he can be with her more often! He wraps his arm around Germany's broad shoulder, relishing in the feeling of being so very close and warm. "Let's go!"
Italy, in all his excitement, doesn't see it, but Mary's eyes never leave the hallway as the Fabricated World - her family for as long as she can remember - vanishes from view.
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Weiss Guertena, or rather, his self-portrait, awakens to a great cry. A giddy smile twists his lips as he quickens his strides towards the Sketchbook. The girl, his new daughter, has arrived.
Notes:
I apologize for reposting the rewritten version just now. I was occupied with real life, and with the little free time I have, I hope I can post the rest of the fic.
Guertena obviously hasn't taught the girl he 'raised' for centuries English. In my defense, I'd say that's because Guertena's art hasn't been famous for a while. When it was famous it never went on a world tour or anything of the sort, so Mary can only speak German, since it's the language he uses the most. And in this AU, she's only been in the gallery's killing spree for a couple of years - before that, she probably spent time by playing and/or moping for the real world. Or devouring all the books in the library.
If you're wondering about Ib, well... You'll just have to wait and see.
P.S.: Any corrections, suggestions, or comments? Let me know! And last but not least, thank you for reading!