Total Words: 6,712
A story from the past
By: Melody Syper Carston
Trying a newish style so bear with, please. (Newish because it was kind of used in "Mein Bruderlein," but it wasn't quite the same as this…)
Dedicated to my twin who has been dealing with a lot of drama on this website. Said drama has pushed her to delete all of her stories from this website for fear of them being reported, and move herself over to DeviantART. Critics United needs to lighten up... targetting one person at a time as if they can rule us all... As if they're better than us... I swear... I'm so sick of them.
Oneshot: Stories
"Lost in the darkness, try to find your way home. I want to embrace you and never let you go… Almost hope you're in heaven, so no one can hurt your soul, living in agony 'cause I just do not know where you are. I'll find you somewhere; I'll keep on trying until my dying day. I just need to know whatever has happened… The truth will free my soul."—Somewhere by Within Temptation
Tell me a story?
"Tell me a story…
"A story about love between a young girl and boy. A story about two nations who fought with and for each other. A story about the nations who planned to conquer all of the earth, one kiss at a time. A story about simplicity… A story about a spontaneous Italian and a strong German… A story about the past, present and future…
"Tell me that story," Feliciano had caught himself saying such a phrase on more than one occasion. It was only said on days like these…
On days where the Italian was left alone in his shared home. On days where he was stuck in his art studio, windows open no matter the weather outside. On days were memories from his childhood would plague his mind in painful ways—ways that ate at his mind, ways that ripped out his heart, ways that made him writhe in agony, ways that brought him bouts of uncontrollable hysteria.
He would stay in his studio and paint these memories as they would appear. His story slow and steady as he worked, but fast enough to catch all of the important scenes and details in the plot he spins aloud.
"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful you maid who had soft auburn hair. She was a good maid, and she always did what she was told no matter the request from her caretaker… She was a shy nation but always very curious."
He finds himself laughing on these days. Laughing about the cute little memories that fill his mind. Laughing at his crush. Laughing at how foolish he had acted when he was younger…
Laughing to cover the pain in his heart.
He would train his honey brown eyes on his paintings on these days. Train his eyes on his work to keep his mind off of the fact that he was crumbling inside. He was weakening.
And vulnerability meant easy capture.
"This young maid would one day grow into a weak, foolish nation that fell in and out of love over and over again. A nation that needed constant protection from enemies and monsters. A naïve little thing she was."
This line usually earned a bitter laugh at the end. A bitter laugh and a sharp shake of his head.
"He bravery was constantly wavering. But at the thought of a certain young knight, her heart would skip a beat in happy bliss. She was always searching for this knight. Watching how proudly he carried himself… and how observant he seemed to be. The young Italian was too much of a coward to confront him… so she kept her distance, watching the beautiful blonde boy."
A wistful sigh would escape him as he stilled his brush, taking in the sight of the young Italian kissing the young German, eyes pricked with tears, hands clasped together tightly as if never wanting to let go for fear of losing one another.
"He was the best thing that ever happened to the girl."
On these days, he would cook for his friend and lover, a nice Italian dinner and would act sweeter, happier around him. His laughs would be genuine and his smiles were full of life and emotions. These were his good days.
"In this world you tried, not leaving me alone behind. There's no other way. I pray to the gods, let him stay… The memories ease the pain inside. And now I know why… All of my memories keep you near. It's all about us, imagined you'd be here. All of my memories keep you here—the silent whispers, the silent tears."—Memories by Within Temptation
X~*~X
"Tell me a story about fear…"
On rainy days like this one, it wasn't uncommon for the Italian to request something like this. It was the perfect time for a scary story. He enjoyed a good scare with loud roars of thunder and sporadic flashes of light tearing through the sky in the background. The fear that coursed through him would keep his mind off of the fact that he was alone once again.
He would stay in his studio, huddled in a corner with hands clasped over his ears as he talked quietly, weaving a short story of fear that he remembered clearly from his childhood.
"The young knight, observant as always, soon noticed the maid, watching as she hummed to herself, carefully cleaning around the house. He noticed the tiny glances and the small blushes that she would send him when she thought he wasn't watching. He would smile to himself when she realized he had caught her staring."
He always finds himself shrinking in on himself, cowering in that corner away from the storms—cowering away from the fear that gnawed at his mind, cowering away from the loneliness swallowing his throbbing heart, cowering from the enemies that were clawing at his door always, always, always.
Cowering from his past
He would squeeze his eyes shut tight on these days, not wanting to see how empty his home was. Closed against the tears pooling in his honey brown eyes.
Tears showed weakness—Easy capture.
"The blonde knight grew to admire the little maid, envious of whoever had the small girl's attention. And his sight would go red whenever he saw the girl's caretaker scolding or punishing her for one small mistake or another. It wasn't her fault…was it? She could help it! He wanted to punish her caretaker the same way he would her."
This would usually earn a small squeak or a jump, for a particularly large clap of thunder would usually sound in the background here.
"He wanted to confess to the girl, to tell her that he, too, wanted to stay with her and protect her—much like she wanted for him. But he could never get the chance. Between the wars and the chores, he barely had anytime on his hands. He would watch her instead, with cold blue stares that intimidated the girl. Other days he would try to confront her, but she would merely run away from him in fear."
A small whine would leave his lips as he slowly opened his eyes and let his gaze wander around his cluttered studio—only lit by the quick flashes of lightning outside.
"He took to chasing after her, calling her name and begging for her to return to the safety of home. He was determined to protect her with his entire life."
On these days, his lover would find him on the verge of hysterics, huddled in the corner and shaking as the storm outside raged on. He would feel his lover lift him up and carry him to their shared room, where they would hid under the blankets—closed away from the storm occurring outside. His lover would tell his own stories—fairytales he had retold and memorized countless times before—until the storm had calmed and they had both fallen into a peaceful rest. These were his dark days.
"I feel them getting closer; their howls are sending chills down my spine…And time is running out now; their coming down the hills from behind. When we start killing, it's all coming down right night. From the nightmare we've created… I wanna be awakened right now!"—The Howling by Within Temptation
X~*~X
"Tell me a story about family."
It was always a bright, warm day when the Italian requested these stories. It was a great day for something familial. Something cute and sweet and simplistic that would leave a nostalgic smile upon his face as he spun his sweet tale of home and heart. He had many of these little shorts stories, a memorized list that he would choose from at random, plucking one out of thin air like magic.
He would be outside in the sun on these days, soaking up the warmth from the light above as he created this story off of the top of his head. His hands would dance through the air as he lied back in the warmed grass.
"Once upon a time, there was a young knight and a little maid. The both lived under the same roof together, and though they never told another—for they were both much too scared to admit it—they both loved the other with all of their hearts."
He smiles on days such as these—smiles as he pictures the two figures (one a brunette girl, the other a blonde boy) laughing and teasing each other, smiles as the girl's voice comes into his mind as she giggles and sings, smiles as the boy's hasty sentences and flustered expressions repeat in his mind, making the girl cock her head to the side.
Smiles and pretends to be oblivious.
He could look up at the sky, squinting against the brightness of the day and take in the gorgeous colors. Always remembering to appear absentminded and oblivious.
For obliviousness his grief which lead to tears that showed weakness—Easy capture.
"In their home lived two others: The maid's caretaker and the caretaker's wife. They lived together almost like a family, supporting each other in any way they knew how to."
A soft smile would tug at his lips at this. A smile and a tinkling laugh as his eyes once again slipped closed to the world.
"Sometimes, the blonde knight's little brother would visit and take the blonde knight and the little maid on adventures. Other times, the four would stay at home, keeping to themselves and not speaking to one another. But once she was finished with her chores, the little maid would always go out and search for her Knight-in-Shining-Armor. Together, they would play and laugh and joke and pain and dance."
A small line or tune of some song from his childhood would come to mind here, and he would hum it once, twice, thrice or more in a row as he pictured the family all together, laughing and enjoying life. And then just the little maid and the knight alone would surface, and he would want to paint them like countless times before.
"But the two would always return to their family in the end."
On these days, his lover would join him in the grass, and they would lie in blissful silence together until evening. He would invite his brother, and his lover would invite his. Together the four would catch up and joke and laugh. Just like a family would. These were his blissful days.
"Winter has come for me, can't carry on. The chains of my life are strong, but soon they'll be gone. I spread my wings one last time. Is it a dream? All the ones that I love calling out my name. The sun warms my face… All the days of my life, I see them passing me by."—The Swan Song by Within Temptation.
X~*~X
"Tell me a story about happiness."
On days that were filled with meetings and hectic stress, the Italian would often request something that would bring positive thoughts rather than ones of negativity and frustration. He always found these stressful days to go a bit more smoothly with a story such as one of these to go along with it. They calmed him.
He would be in the car or on the plane ride across the ocean when he would request one of these. Twisting his hands or pulling at his fringe in nervousness. He had to keep his mind away from the sickening way his stomach was knotting or the dreadful way the plane was lurching about. Something that would keep his stomach from emptying into his lap.
"The young maid often dreamt of her blonde knight. She would dream up strange talks that seemed so real that she had problems distinguishing what was real and what was imaginary. It frustrated her to no end when life seemed perfect only to be ruined by her dream ending, and multiple times she had woken up crying in anger. Why couldn't her dreams be her reality?"
On these days, he relaxes into his seat—relaxes as his voice calms him, relaxes as his nerves are soothed, relaxes as his tense shoulders go slack and the tight knots twisted into the stiff muscles unwind once more.
Relaxes as the terrible emotions are covered once more.
He would ignore the strange stares he would receive from the other passengers that were close enough to hear him talk to himself and weave these stories. His eyes would close, he would lean back in his seat, and he would continue as if he were alone in his studio. Sometimees he would even sketch out certain details if he was feeling particularly relaxed.
Relaxation soothed raging emotions and brought about obliviousness which hid the grief that lead to tears that showed weakness—Easy capture.
"On this particular day, her knight confronted her with a proposition…'I want you to stay with me, by my side for all of eternity. I want to protect you and hold you, and together we can become the strongest empire in the world. Won't you go with me?' he had asked her as they had been catching their breath after a particularly long game of chase."
His mouth would twitch upward as he spoke, his voice wavering slightly. A twitch of his mouth, a wavering in his voice and a crack in his mask of oblivious relaxation.
"That day, she shook her head, tears pooling in her expressive honey brown eyes as she did so. 'I can't,' she had cried, 'I can't do that to you. Nonno was once a great empire—the greatest—and I watched him collapse because he got to big and hard to manage! I can't bare to watch someone else I love collapse as well! I wouldn't be able to take it.' Her voice soon dissolved into desperate sobs as she stared into those shocked icy blue eyes of her blonde knight. 'Please don't try to become the greatest empire!'"
A choked breath would escape his lips here, and he would swallow hard to keep any other emotions at bay.
"He knight understood, waiting for the girl to calm down before he held out his hand for the girl to take. As soon as she did, he tugged her into his arms."
On these days, he would keep close to his lover, clinging to his lover's arm until it was his turn to speak during the meeting. He would present his work and ideas with ease, keeping his eyes locked onto his lover and his thoughts locked onto the story. The meetings always went smoothly. Those were his positive days.
"Come into my world, see through my eyes. Try to understand, don't want to lose what we have. We've been dreaming, but who can deny? It's the best way of living between the truth and the lies. See who I am; break through the surface. Reach for my hand; let's show them that we can free our minds and find a way. The world is in our hands. This is not the end."—See Who I Am by Within Temptation
X~*~X
"Tell me a tragic story."
No matter the weather, whenever the Italian was feeling particularly upset, he would request tragedies. Something tragic to show himself that his life could be worse, that he was in a better position than what he could be in. They were almost like a little boost of confidence in his little life, terrible stories for a boost in confidence and positivity.
On days that he and his lover get into petty arguments that left him alone and in tears—buried under the blankets and drowning in his own misery—he would whisper the request through sniffles and whimpers.
"Once upon a time, there was a young blonde knight that was very brave and confident. He fell in love with a small cowardly brunette maid, who also loved him with all of her little being. They were determined to stay together for eternity, to love each other and to protect each other for the rest of their lives. But fate had a sick way of telling the little couple that love would come at a hard bargain."
He often would find himself not caring on these days—not caring how much his voice would crack, not caring how badly his heart was tearing, not caring if he was drowning in his own self pity.
Not caring that tears were now cascading down his cheeks.
He didn't care if his eyes were now so blurred with tears that he could no longer see in front of him. It didn't matter, anyway. Seeing as he always hid the blankets in the dark. He couldn't see anyway. Why did it matter if he was sobbing or not? He was in the safety of his home, away from the enemies.
Why did it matter that he was no longer hiding the tears that showed weakness—Easy capture?
"They truly believed that they were going to be protected from fate's destructive path, but reality set in all too fast. It came so suddenly, like a slap in the face to the couple."
His hands would clench up here. Fisted hands and a sardonic laugh.
"A war came and took her knight away. The maid was left with her caretakers, a chaste kiss, and a promise from her knight that he would return to her. 'I promise I will return for you, my love. Wait for me until that day.' And so she waited. For years she waited for her love to return with his shield, not on it. For years she grew older until—one fateful day—she turned out to be a he, and he gained his independence from his caretakers. He still awaited his knight."
A sob would cut him off, and he would wait until he had once again regained his composure before he began again.
"But his older brother finally confronted him and told him flatly, 'Your knight is dead. He died in the war.' And the former maid was left alone in his own sorrow."
On these days, he would hide from his lover, thinking about their argument and about the past. He kept his distance, for fear of worsening his lover's mood. When his lover finally found him—always in the same place—he would slowly pull the blankets away until he could meet his lover's eyes. They would apologize to each other, placing chaste kisses on each other's lips, cheeks, hair, jaw… and sometimes the kisses would go farther and their affections would grow more passionate. These were his bittersweet days.
"If I tell you, will you listen? Will you stay? Will you be here forever? Never go away? Never thought things would change—hold me tight. Please don't say again that you have to go. A bitter thought. I had it all, but I just let it go. Hold your silence; it's so violent since you're gone. All my thoughts are with you forever. Until the days we're back together, I will be waiting for you."—Bittersweet by Within Temptation.
X~*~X
"Tell me a story about safety."
Even on days like these, the Italian would rarely request these types of stories. Only when he felt extremely on edge and uncomfortable in specific situations, did he ever ask for a story on safety. Alone and unprotected, he would practically beg for something safe to soothe his panicked mind.
He would be on the battlefield, in the middle of a terrible war and wanting nothing more than to flee like the scared Italian he was when he was request a story such as these. Hiding somewhere safe, away from the enemies, closer to his allies for protection.
"As the former maid grew, he became more and more fearful of others. The only person he felt safe around was his brother—whom he had reunited with finally after so many years—and even then, he was afraid of his brother losing his temper and lashing out at him, although his brother never did. The boy feared being sucked into a war and never returning—just as his blonde knight had. He wanted to be everyone's friend! Not everyone's enemy!"
He would often find himself afraid on these dreadful days—afraid of making noise, afraid of being caught by the enemy, afraid of being considered weak.
Afraid so he mouth's his stories instead.
He would close his eyes and pretend to be invisible, hoping with everything he had that no one would find him until the war was over. He would desperately try to swallow his fear and muster up some sort of bravery, but he knew that his sad attempts were useless. There was not a speck of bravery in his system. There never has been, but he pretends. Pretends that there is no such thing as fear.
Because with fear twisting in his mind, there was no relaxation that soothed emotions that was followed by obliviousness which hid his grief that lead to tears that showed weakness—Easy capture.
"And he was dragged into a war at once. One of the worst wars he had ever been dragged into. He was without allies, every nation for themselves, so he took to hiding. In an empty field, he hid himself away in a tomato box—white flag lying next to him in the dark box—repeatedly praying his rosary, fingers moving over each bead automatically."
His shoulders would shake from fear, wanting nothing more than to run to his lover and hide behind the blonde, screaming for the blonde to save him.
"But as the feeling of fear had finally calmed into acceptance, he heard something outside of his box, tapping the top, and trying to pry the wooden hiding spot open. The former maid panicked, trying to dissuade the intruder from opening the box. 'I'm just a tomato box fairy! Please don't kill me!' he had begged as the person finally tore the lid off. He jumped up, white flag clutched between his hands and eyes shut tight. He begged—loudly—for the person to spare his life, making up any excuse he could to keep the intruder away from him. The intruder in turn frowned, muttering in confusion, 'You are the heir of the Roman Empire?'"
He would usually stop here and raise his voice to a mumble as he said a quiet Hail Mary, voice trembling only slightly— "Ave, o Maria, piena di grazia, il Signore è con te. Tu sei benedetta fra le donne e benedetto è il frutto del tuo seno, Gesù Santa Maria, Madre di Dio, prega per noi peccatoti, adesso e nell'ora della nostra morte. Amen."—tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. And once he had finished the prayer, he would bring a hand up to swipe at his eyes as he finished his story.
"The Italian gasped, opening his eyes only to be met with a familiar icy blue gaze of—'Holy Rome…' the little maid whispered, tears collecting in his eyes once more."
On these nights, his lover would find him, using his white flag as a makeshift blanket as he slept restlessly. His lover would smile sadly and scoop him up to carry him someplace safer so that they could both rest in semi-peace. These were his sheltered days.
"Where are the heroes in my time of need? Is my cry not loud enough, or have they gone all numb? They just stand and stare out in the rain, thinking but not acting that they're not to blame. Falling and crawling, a fight to stand up. Memory still haunts me in the dead of night."—Overcome by Within Temptation
X~*~X
"Tell me a story about trust."
The Italian enjoyed requesting these types of stories. He knew many different stories having to do with trust, for he had always had troubles with trusting people far too easily only to be let down again and again. It provided him with variety, much to his enjoyment.
On days were his patience was tested and his trust was pushed, he would request these, eyes narrowing in frustration and contempt. He would need something as a balance to these annoying feelings washing around him. Something that would soften the sharp edges of the world—the way he could when he worked with charcoal, smearing the sharp edges into shaded curves and lines that created a beautiful piece of work.
"Once upon a time, there was a small Italian nation that grew up naïve and unprepared for the real world. He feared almost anything and trusted people much too quickly. And when he was thrown into the War-to-End-All-Wars he went into hiding, for fear of being hunted down and killed. But he met a familiar face during that war. A face that would become an ally that would become a friend that would become something more."
He found himself thinking on these days—thinking about his past and his mistakes he has made, thinking about his present and his mistakes he is making, thinking about his future and his mistakes he will make.
Thinking of the consequences of these mistakes.
He would train his eyes to his sketchbook these days, letting his hands do all of the work, letting them move on their own accord as he thought. What would have happened if he hadn't have made the mistakes he had made? Where would his life have gone if he had made a different decision rather than the one he made? How many people would he trust if he had been braver?
Trust lead away from weakness—Easy capture.
"He was the one that initiated it. Their being allies. He just wanted someone to trust, someone to protect him in the god-awful war they were being tossed around in. He wanted someone that was bigger, braver, more feared by others. Someone familiar. He wanted his knight. His knight that he loved and trusted and still waited for. And now he was by his blonde knight's side. Safe and protected."
His hands would clench around the charcoal in his hands, blackening them even more than they were.
"He kept close to his knight, following the blonde's every order and only complaining when he felt it was absolutely necessary. And in turn, his knight would protect him from the enemies. His knight was reliable—just as he had been when they were children growing up together. And he quickly began to trust the knight just as much as he always had."
A scoff would leave his lips as he said this, eyes narrowing in disgust—once again—at his naivety.
"He felt braver with his knight behind him every step of the way."
On days like these, he would avoid his lover until the very last possible moment, sneaking into his lover's study and staring at him like a helpless child would, before shuffling over to him and wrapping his thin arms around his lover, burying his face in his lover's broad chest. Neither would say anything; they would merely stand there in that same position in silence. These were his careful days.
"Can you still see the heart of me? All my agony fades away when you hold me in your embrace. Don't let me down for all I need… make my heart a better place. Give me something I can believe. Don't tear me down… you've opened the door now, don't let it close."—All I Need by Within Temptation.
X~*~X
"Tell me a story about sorrow."
The Italian wasn't a fan of requesting these, preferring something happier over something that would eventually make him tear up. Only when he felt he could handle such a story—when he was half asleep in his unconscious lover's arms, safe and comfortable—would he ever request these. And even then, it was a very rare request.
On days full of chaos and exhaustion—yes those were the best days to request a sorrowful story. When he was too tired to care about what exactly he was talking about, he would whisper these little tales to himself and burrow deeper into his lover's arms—like a security blanket wrapped carefully around his shoulders.
"For years the wars raged on. And finally, when the little Italian thought he couldn't take it any longer, they were gone. It was over, much to ever nation's relief. But there was still the rebuilding stage… His allies, his friends were told to, 'Clean up this mess! It's your fault, anyway!' But his blonde knight would not have that. And a second war was started."
Often, he found himself tense on these days—tense because of stress from his chaotic day, tense because of exhaustion from being a personified nation, tense because of the tightness in his muscles after a long day full of training.
Tense as if ready for an attack.
He knows he should feel safe; after all, his lover one of the most intimidating nations in all of the world, but he could help feeling a little tense. It kept him prepared for just about anything.
Because being prepared meant hiding weakness—Easy capture.
"What the Italian didn't know was that he'd soon be dancing right in the palm of his knight's hands. He didn't know that, though; he merely followed his knight's orders to become a successful ally. 'I will be the best!' he would think determinedly. But as time passed on, he realized he was nothing more than a mere puppet to his knight. Nothing more than a mass of land to control. Nothing more than a step closer to world dominance. Nothing more than a pawn on the frontline."
He would burrow even further under the blankets—even closer to his lover—on these days.
"When he confronted the German, the blonde denied it, saying he was merely trying to perfect the world. The former maid was outraged by this answer. How dare this man think that placing his camps in Italy was a brilliant idea? They were supposed to be allies! Why would he do this to his own people let alone others? How was this helpful to the world? This was torture to both the people of the countries and Nations of the World Wars!"
He would sigh here, blinking once, twice, thrice as sleep began to take over his exhausted system.
"The little Italian was the first of the Axis to surrender to the Allies. And he never once looked back."
On these nights, his lover—detecting the other's tenseness—would hold him closer, whispering softly in his native German tongue. He could feel his lover's hands—large and calloused from years of hard military training—carding through his hair as his lover began to hum something soft and mystical sounding. He would mumble something sounding like, 'Relax, Feliciano; go to sleep, liebe,' as they both started to drift off once more. These were his exhausted days.
"These are the darkest clouds that have surrounded me. Now, I find myself alone: caught in a cage. There's no flower I can find in here. Not withering, not pale to me. Everyone with a friendly face seems to hind some secret inside. He told me he loved me while he laughed in my face, he just lead me astray. He took my virtue. I feel so cold inside, sorrow has frozen my mind"—Caged by Within Temptation
X~*~X
"Tell me a story about forgiveness."
Often the Italian would request these when he felt he hadn't lived up to someone's expectations. He would need something to brighten his mood if only by a few notches. Something that was positive and left a fulfilling side note with him as the words he spoke danced through the air and faded out in the distance.
On days where he felt small and unwanted. When he couldn't stand the criticizing of other's around him any longer—be it about his attitude, his naivety, his integrity, or his loyalty—he would start out to seek out someone with something positive to say about him as he narrated a small story along the way. One of forgiveness and satisfaction.
"Once upon a time… there were to great wars that many nations fought in. There were two teams. The Axis Powers and the Allies Forces. And for years, the huge groups fought, argued, killed, and insulted each other. The Axis was losing; they knew that, but they still fault hard for their victory that would never come. And little by little the Axis began to disintegrate."
He would often find himself searching on these days—searching for someone that would counter all of the negativities with a positive, searching for peace and quiet in the chaotic world, searching for his lover because he had no idea where the man was.
Searching for something that would put his mind at ease.
He would scan each room of his home, wanting to find something that could do all of these things all at once. Something like his Lover who could say just one thing and make everything fifty percent better. He needed something like that. A boost in confidence and a hug.
Because hugs were comforting and relaxing which soothed emotions which was followed by blissful obliviousness that hid his grief which lead to tears that showed weakness—Easy capture.
"The little Italian was the first to break away: surrendering almost immediately to the Allies. He was too outraged by his allies to even want to be a part of the wars anymore. His German knight was second to drop out, giving up as his home was targeted again and again and again. And their last ally—A Japanese fighter—surrendered last after he was bombed twice in a row by the enemy. He was too weak to fight anymore."
He would then stop to call out his lover's name, frantic to find the blonde.
"For years after that, the groups worked on reconstruction and punishment for the losing side. The camps destroyed, a country dissolved, a wall constructed to split a country, and so much more. And the Axis didn't speak to each other at all during this time—unless caught up in a world meeting. They didn't speak—not until the wall came down. And when it did, when all they could do was thank the Saviors, and watch as a country and its brother's were reunited once more… only then did they finally speak. It was the knight who started it. 'My friends,' he started as he broke away from his brother's embrace, 'I would like to apologize… for everything that has happened between us. And everything that lead to this. I am in your debt. And I do hope that I am eventually forgiven for any wrong-doings.' The knight seemed so broken as he said this, so relieved, so exhausted, so sincere. The little Italian wanted to forgive him then and there, but felt it necessary to think over if it was the best decision or not."
And that was when his lover would walk through the door, calling out to him as he made his way into the vicinity.
"But when he knew it was the right decision, he made his way over to his former ally's home and greeted him with a hug and a quiet, 'I've decided to forgive you.' And their relationship grew stronger from there."
On these days, he would rush over to his lover with a giggle and wrap his arms around his lover's neck in greeting. He would then ask for a night out to dinner or to go on a small date—if his lover wasn't too busy of course. And of course, he would bring up the fact that he felt like the other nations were bullying him and whatnot, hoping to get some sort of satisfaction—usually a small peck on the cheek or on the lips and a denial of anything negative said, 'They're not true. Just something to wind you up to see you react.' These were his uncertain days.
"Couldn't save you from the start. Love you so it hurts my heart…Can you forgive me for trying again? Your silence makes me hold my breath; oh, time has passed you by. You gave up the fight, you left me behind. All that's done is forgiven. You'll always be mine. I know deep inside: All that's done is forgiven."—Forgiven by Within Temptation
X~*~X
"Feliciano…"
At this, the Italian would glance down, a small smile planted on his face. His lover would come into view—blue eyes half lidded, blonde hair splayed out on his pillow, one arm tucked behind his head, the other wrapped around Feliciano's small waist—watching him with a lazy curiosity. Feliciano would prop his elbows on the blonde's chest, chin resting on top of his arms, as he waited for the other to continue with his sentence.
"Tell me one of your stories."
Feliciano's eyes would pop open in surprise, for these requests were quite rare, indeed. He treasured moments like these like they were a privilege that could be taken away at any moment. He would nod slowly as his eyes squeezed shut in their usual ecstatic smile as he asked, "What type of story, Luddy?"
Ludwig would snort at the nickname, rolling his eyes before squeezing the Italian closer to him. "What type?"
Feliciano would nod. "Ve~ I know lots of stories… narrow it down~! Love, fear, family, happiness, tragedy, safety, sorrow, forgiveness, and et cetera, et cetera. Choose one~!" He would wait patiently for the blonde to answer his question, moving to rest his temple against his folded arms.
And here, Ludwig would smile. A small, ghost of a smile that slowly grew into a teasing one. "Oh, I'm not sure, Feli… There are so many to choose from," because he knew that even though his Italian pretended to have patience, he had too much he wanted to say and feared that he wouldn't have enough time in the day to say it all. Feliciano would never last longer than thirty seconds before trying to hurry the blonde into choosing one.
Feliciano squirmed to free his hands so that he could speak once more, "Ve~ Please choose one?" He would open his eyes here, silently pleading with the German.
"A story about the past," Ludwig would answer. "Anything of your choice."
And so, with a bright smile, Feliciano would start his story, changing his tone for each of the characters, slowing and quickening his pace depending on the state of the plot. He would start from the beginning. Spending these Sunday mornings in bed with his lover, telling his story from start to finished.
Ludwig listened, mesmerized by the skill of which his lover told these stories. It always surprised him how quickly he could come up with something proper to tell.
"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful you maid who had soft auburn hair. She was a good maid, and she always did what she was told no matter the request from her caretaker… She was a shy nation but always very curious…"
"Armies have conquered and fallen in the end. Kingdoms have risen then buried by sand. The earth is our mother; she gives and she takes. She'll put us to sleep, and in her light, we'll awake. We'll all be forgotten there's no endless fame, but everything we do is never in vain. We're part of a story, part of a tale. We're all on this journey. No one's to stay. Where ever it going, what is the way?" –Never-Ending Story by Within Temptation
X~*~X
A/N: This took longer for me to finish than I wanted it to. I started this May 22, 2011; started writing it again May 16, 2012; and finished it May 26, 2012. But anyway, there it is. "A Story from the Past" all there and whatnot. So… I'mma start working on Chapter… Five… (?) "Dreaming Out Loud," see if I can find some inspiration to write "My Snow White Queen" (A dark!RusPru fic), and find some inspiration to start adding more parts to my Ouran fic "Notes".
Happy Summer, guys (For me anyway)! Reviews are very much appreciated; Critiques are welcome (though if you call it "concrit" we are going to clash.I've stated above and I'll state it now, I'm not going to deal with Critics United running this website. And if any of you have a problem with it, don't hesitate to say something about it. It won't end well for you); Everything is replied to, so don't be afraid to ask questions. I think I'm going to start answering anonymous reviews in my profile. Just so those of you not signed in or account-less know.
"I don't see why people add disclaimers in their stories. I mean obviously they don't own it or they would be multimillionaires that actually did something with their life instead of writing things for fanfiction. If they actually owned all of this shit then it would've happened and they wouldn't even bother to think about this dumbass website." – One of my friends on disclaimers.
Bye, my lovelies~!
—Melody Syper Carston—