What Is Eternal?

by Wrath-Chu

*Sequel to The Darkness Calls* After the encounter with the spirits of the Russian winter, Ivan begins to ponder over his past actions. He must decide whether to cut the puppeteers strings, or to commit a love suicide.

Title: What Is Eternal?
Summary: After his encounter with the spirits of the Russian winter, Ivan Braginski begins to ponder over things that he has done in his past and wonders what he has done to deserve such a fate as he has. As he contemplates to cut the puppeteering strings, he has to make a decision. To continue with his plan...Or to play a game of Russian roulette and take the risk of committing a love suicide.

Pairing(s): Russia

Words: 1,743
A/N: This is a sequel to "The Darkness Calls," and as said before these stories are all part of a large plot I am running on the Hetalia forum I roleplay and admin on. I am exploring why Russia is how he is, and how he got to be there. I am planning on writing a large fic based on the plot, which is revolved around the game Rule of Rose. I hope you enjoy my explorations of his mind, please R&R.

Hetalia or Russia do not belong to me, they belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. What Is Eternal lyrics belong to Trans-Siberian Orchestra. A Love Suicide lyrics belong to the Rule of Rose creators.

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"And in which we say that life is eternal but continue to struggle to survive."
~Neale Donald Walsch

AND HERE IN THE NIGHT
AS I FEEL THE INFERNO
I STARE IN THE DARK
THINKING WHAT IS ETERNAL

Blank violet eyes continued to stare at the open window, the shutters lightly beginning to creak with the cold blowing gusts of wind and snow. Ivan's eyes slowly began to close as the presence of the spirits of the Russian winter lifted from the bedroom. He felt oddly heavy-headed and dizzy...Did he really do what he thought he just did? Did he really...Give the shadows of ice and snow that he so despised what remained of his sanity? He was already believed to have lost his mind long ago during the Revolution that overtook his country...And with the murders of the Czar and his family under the press of orders with his own hands with the so-called 'blessing' of the Winter General.

The sweet smell of candle smoke filled his nose, releasing him from his thoughts for the moment but in the end only caused his already deluded mind to drift to another. He could feel Hell beginning to surround his home, but not the type of Hell that many truly believe it to be. Instead of the burning fires of destruction, it was the ice and snow. Freezing to death, a much slower...More painful death. Even now, Ivan truly wished that he could just stay in the same spot on the floor in front of the window and let the ice take his breath away. However, he knew it not to be possible. He was a nation. The largest in the world, as well as one of the most powerful...And feared.

His legacy was made through fear, revolution, war, blood-shed...Was that really what he truly wanted to be remembered for? No...It wasn't. But as a nation, it couldn't be helped. The eternal was there as long as one person proudly proclaims that they are a citizen of their designated country. The ancients who are gone were still remembered, but it was for their empires...Their glory...Here he was. He had fallen hard before, but never quite to the point where he could feel the icy hands of Hell grabbing a hold of his body and pulling him toward the icy pits of eternal suffering that he knew one day...He would end up in.

THE MAN OR THE MOMENT
THE ACT OR THE REASON
THESE THOUGHTS FILL MY HEAD
AS I CONTEMPLATE TREASON

Was that really what he wanted to be remembered for? Did he really only want to be remembered for his own bloody history and all of his actions that he had been blamed for even still after all of these years. But...Did anyone really see him or just what he has done? No one cared. All anyone has ever seen was Russia. Never Ivan Braginski. Always the nation, never the man himself.

No one ever saw how miserable he actually was...The depression, the loneliness...With only the snow and the shadows as his main form of company. All any of the others ever saw was the seemingly sincere smile, but even then...The smile ever since the days of Revolution was a lie...Just like everything else that seemed to surround him in his life. Fake friendliness from everyone he had countless encounters with, save for a select few who outwardly showed their great distaste for him.

Now...He could actually do something about it. His dreams were in shambles, all of his planning...All of his effort...All in vain. All for nothing. Maybe he would allow the spirits and his Winter General to take care of him...After all...The General always knew best. He always did.

OF DREAMS I HAVE HAD
AND DREAMS I HAVE PONDERED
WHEN LATE IN THE NIGHT
MY MIND IT WOULD WANDER
TO THINGS I HAVE DONE
AND THEN QUICKLY REGRETTED
WHILE DENYING VICES
MY LIFE HAD SELECTED
AND I THINK WHAT I'VE DONE
OR HAVE YET TO BEGIN
AND THE MAN I'VE BECOME
AND THE MAN THAT I'VE BEEN

Everything was falling to shambles...Everything...Everything...Falling apart...Everything that he had done...All of his work with the reoccupation and gain of the Baltics...The victory over Finland during the Winter War...He thought that everything was going so well. His comrades were still in the house, relations with China were as strong and good as ever...Then the Sino-Soviet Split. The Cold War. The Fall of the Iron Curtain. Everyone...His comrades...Abandoning him once they had the chance. Everyone...Leaving him alone once again. Leaving him with only the cold, unfeeling snow...And the shattered mirrors of amber glass dreams surrounding his fallen frame.

It seemed...As though all of his dreams were fated to end the same. To be nothing more than shattered glass on the floor and beyond repair. What had he done to deserve to all that he had gone through? Hadn't the General promised him when he was young that he would be taken care of? He had promised when he was a child that he would never be lonely, never feel alone...But if he had promised to take care of him...Then why did his comrades all leave him?

As he continued to grow into a man, what had he done to deserve all that had happened to him? He had always done as he was asked by his General, followed every command to the best of his ability? Were...His orders not carried out good enough? Fast enough?

Soft, cooing whispers began to fill his ears; a cool, cold fatherly-cruel note lining the voice as invisible fingers stroked through the thin hairs of silver and blonde. The sound of a low thud of metal on flesh came when he felt something cold and sleek drop in his hands. "You are a failure Ivan...Why else do you believe that everything has happened to you? All your dreams will always end in miserable failure, leaving you...A bitter, lonely, shattered wretch of a man. Such a broken doll you are...Not even the snow that you so despise will bring you company any longer. Where will you be then, our little doll? The General and his comrades will no longer bring you aide, he will...Ahh...Relieve you of your dear sisters as you are not fit to even see them. Do you want your strings to be cut so badly that you will not listen to us?"

Tired, violet eyes closed as the whispers of ice purred in his ears, fingers tightly clenching onto the bottom hems of the white scarf that his sister had given to him all those years ago while they were still children. It had faded with time, becoming a smooth, creamy color...And stained with the blood of many fallen men at his own hand. He remained silent as the hollow shadows of words began to sink into his mind, his sisters...His dear sisters...He couldn't stand the possibility...The very thought of not being able to see his his sisters ever again...

He knew what he was happening now...He was beginning to dance the deadly waltz with his own mental state as the placed bet on the table in this twisted game of Russian Roulette...And it was his turn to hold the gun. He wondered...If there was anyone before him to be caught in this web of the mind and potential upcoming glory...His mind began to drift, the sound of the fast-turning metal barrel filling the room.

NOW CAUGHT IN A WALTZ
WITH THE ETERNAL DANCER
I'M COURTED BY DEATH
BUT DEATH ISN'T THE ANSWER
I SAY

IF I COULD SEE SOMEONE
WHO'S BEEN THERE BEFORE ME
AND TRADED HIS SOUL
FOR A MOMENT OF GLORY
HIS PENANCE OR MERCY
BY SPIRITS DEBATED
WHILE JUDGED ON A SCALE
THAT'S BEEN HEAVILY WEIGHTED

Someone had to have been in the same position as he is in now...He knew it...No matter what circumstance, each nation at one time is given the choice to trade their souls for whether it be glory on the battlefield...Or for something much simpler. He had handed over his soul long ago within the eye of a blustering blizzard when he first met the General...His supposed 'father'. He had saved him from freezing to death that night...That haunting chill of the voice as cold as the Russian winter , he remembered what he had been told that night...Like a blind fool...He followed. However, he had assisted him in his advances on the battlefield...Given him the advantages and victories on the homefront...But at what cost? The General was on his side and he always had been, now what needed to be done needed to be done.

Ivan knew in the end once it will be all said and done, there would be no debate or faltering judgement. He knew what he had to do now, no more would he allow himself to be alone. No more. No more. No more. The spirits were right...A love suicide was needed. He may be attatched to puppeteering strings, but his actions and thoughts were still his own.

A love suicide...

He liked the sound of the phrase, very very much. Da...That was what was needed, special participants would be brought in just for the series of games. Soon. Soon. They will know what it is like to commit a love suicide, to be forever alone but sane. No more innocence in love, the innocence was tainted long ago.

Violet eyes closed as his arm raised, feeling the coldness of the gun against the side of his head. He made no flinch or shudder when he pulled the trigger, only a small click filled the room. That particular barrel was empty, with no bullet to speak of.

Lips parted as he let out a quiet whisper, feeling a lone warm tear roll down his cheek. "Where is my shame...When I call your name? So please...Don't set me free...My heart's as heavy...As can be...I would do you harm...But I find myself...Disarmed...Love is no longer innocent as the roses in May...I am a love suicide...I always will be..."