Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. However, I do own my own portrayal of the characters, Antonio's song and Romina's letters. Please do not steal in any way or form.

A/N: There's an A/N at the end of the story that explains this a little better. But it's like a SPOILER, so don't read it . ):


Beads, Paper and Glass.

Red, brown, green and blue.
The world will seem suddenly new
Somehow everything will be alright
When you open your kaleidoscope eyes

- Antonio's song


She got the news over the telly. They were reporting on an aeroplane crash in Madrid. She stared transfixed at the grotesque images, searching for a tan hand, a mess of brown hair, a pair of forest-green eyes. She waited for the list survivors to be read.

It never did come.


They had come in a registered delivery. Feliciano's chubby hand-writing told him the package contained unopened letters addressed to 'The Tomato Bastard'. He had signed the Register Slip, accepted and opened the package gingerly.

The letters were dry and crinkly, with Romina's spidery words crawling over their faces. They were dated, spanning a duration of three years; from the time of airport goodbyes to his road to recovery.

Included among the letters was a page torn out from a dictionary.


i.
Today I rolled down the stairs.
And fuck, does it hurt.
All I got was a minor concussion and a broken arm, and a black eye.
It's a good thing I still have my fucking choreia to blame.

(when you're young, bruises and scrapes are easily explained away.)

ii.
When I was eight, my twin and I swapped roles for the day.
It wasn't until then that I was thankful for being me.
Even with a dumbass brain and annoying habits,
Feliciano doesn't deserve to lose his smile.

iii.
We're all gifted in some form of art.
Feliciano can draw and paint. My grandfather can cook and sculpt.
And me?
I carve intricate designs into my skin.

iv.
I was young, and frequently stayed with you.
You were a family friend and was supposed to take care of me.
Barely three days into the job, you asked to trade me for Feliciano.
Thanks, for saying you'd always look after me.

(what a bastard, but she always said that; said it until it lost its bite and became something akin to a nickname.)

v.
This is fucking stupid.
But I want to be loved. I need to be loved.
Am I really that unlikeable?

vi.
When I was ten, we got a new transfer student.
From Berlin, Germany. 52° 30′ 2″ N, 13° 23′ 56″ E. (the land of beer and disgusting wursts and kinky fuckers)
I didn't mind him. But then he stole Feliciano away from me.
Fuck him.

vii.
Today I took motion-sickness pills.
It didn't do much for me, except give me hallucinations of you, grandfather and Feliciano.
The two of you'd always loved sweet Feliciano more than me.
Never mind that I was named after grandfather, or your promises of forever loving me.

(he's dead, he's dead, it's all my fault; that's all she can think. she drove him away to a faraway land, to a death among metal carnage.)

viii.
What's in a name.
It's nothing but a mere term for easier assessment.
Romina, Romi. Tomatita, querida.
How about 'worthless piece of shit'?

(and even more so now.)

ix.
Today I drank a little bleach.
Bleach is for cleaning and hygiene purposes. It's to remove stains and dirt.
It's fitting.
But apparently I'm not worth the removal.

(or maybe she's just too stubborn to let go, she wouldn't know. she locked up her feelings a century ago.)

x.
When I was six, mum and dad died.
It had been Feliciano's birthday, and he hurried them home in the thunderstorm to open presents.
He doesn't remember anything, and I'm glad for that.

(carry on, carry on with his innocence and childlike qualities. carry on with his smile and his love for – when had she become so selfish?)

xi.
Today, I tried.
I took the penknife, flicked it open and held it against my skin.
I was too scared.
I was afraid I'd never see Feliciano's smile again.

(and she wonders, how shallow had her strong façade penetrated her mind? )

xii.
Why am I so weak?
You said it was perfectly fine, because you'd be there to back me up.
Now you're gone.
And I'm still just as weak.

xiii.
Today was another failure.
Who fails at killing herself?
A loser, that's who.
But who's to know that I'd get pulled away from the reversing bus?

xv.
I know why I hate you.
You made me care about you.
And I can't. Not supposed to.
Because when I die, it's to be a nice, clean cut from this world.

(but he makes the blades blunt, the fire cold, the bullets disappear.)

xvi.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words cut even deeper.

xvii.
You made me love you. You said those three words.
And I punched you in the gut.
I get punched in the gut every day now.
Never knew the mafia was so close to home.

(I don't need love to hold me back, not I, says she. and she turns her back and curls up and cries. because she'll never be enough for him.)

xviii.
Today I set up a noose in the wardrobe.
It hangs down from the bar amongst my jackets,
Like a brooding black hole –
And I'm slowly being sucked in.

xix.
Some times.
I'm afraid to take a shower. Or a bath.
Because I don't trust myself enough.
Enough not to drown.

xx.
Today I was taking the trains back home.
There was the roar and the rush of wind, the cats' eyes of headlights.
It took everything to not step down into its sweeping gaze.
I'd never cry in public.

xxi.
I'd never cry any-fucking-where.
Not if Feliciano can stumble upon the scene.
He doesn't need to see his older sister break down.
He just needs to love and be loved. Like it's always been.

(and always will be. she will make fucking sure of that.)

xxii.
Today. Today. Today. I want to erase to day.

xxiii.
Feliciano caught me.
He saw the ladder of scars that climb from my wrist to my shoulder.
He cried, and that brought the whole world in.
I have to say goodbye to him now.

xxiv.
Tomatoes. It's autumn now and the leaves remind me of tomatoes.
It's been six months now.
I wish I could say 'I want to go home', but I've never had one.
Never had a place where I could be loved. Accepted. Safe. Me.

(homes were supposed to be strongholds and places of comfort in worlds out of her reach.)

xxv.
When I was thirteen, I had to go work.
Grandfather was draining the world's reserve of alcohol.
Feliciano had to have tuition and school fees paid.
It was a respectable bar. Well, it was supposed to be.

xxvi.
You came chasing after me.
Told me to go home; you'd take care of everything.
Why, I asked, and you said because you were 'family' and family helped family, no?
I wish I could kill myself for hoping you'd say : because I love you.

xxvii.
Love is like Pi.
it's irrational and makes you go crazy.
And like pie, it's gone all too soon,
Leaving you desperate and aching for more.

(only because the hollow shell of her is much too deep to fill, or because she stops the nozzle before the facet turns on.)

xxviii.
I'm Catholic.
Well. I say my prayers and go to mass and do my best to be good.
But what goes on in my head is anything but good.
I'm afraid. That I'd not go to heaven.
I'm afraid. That God doesn't exist. That there isn't any heaven in the first place.
I'm afraid. That I'd never see you again.

xxix.
I'm preparing myself for the disappointment.

xxx.
I think I'll burn these.
Use it to light my skin
To chase away the shadows
And the lurking demons
To start anew.

xxxi.
For all my loving and care,
I guess deep down I do envy Feliciano.
Maybe that's why I'm doing this, to do something Feliciano will never dare do, to be different, to be noticed.
To stop being a twin.

(and that thought sickens her. makes her blood run cold and her stomach churn, until she's heaving into empty space below.)

xxxii.
I don't know why I do this.
Maybe it's because I need to cope.
Because only the living can feel pain. Because I need to be reminded of your blood on my hands.
Because I need someone to notice.

(obnoxious whiny bitch, she thinks. self-centred. the knife cuts deeper, and she just wants everything to stop.)

xxxiii.
The tub is filled with water. It's cold and hot and I've got my umbrella.
The sissy red one that reminds me of tomatoes.
Reminds me of you.
I love you. Though I never had the fucking guts to tell.


[ and he sits in the park. it's the first time he's been out alone since he was deemed well enough to be discharged from hospital. the wind feels strange on his new skin, and he can't help but lie down in the grass and search for shapes among the clouds. he lies there, and thinks about life, thinks about love, thinks about her.

some one tells him that he's much too strong, much too beautiful to cry. some one tells him he'd get over what happened. some one tells him "life gets better."

he knows that. but he wishes he had been there to hold her and tell her that before she killed herself.

he never should have listened to Romina when she told him to go pursue his career. ]


Silver scales and alice lace,
Reddened cheeks and forest gaze
With anything but half a day's grace,
Look through your kaleidoscope eyes

Discover things of old,
Find things of new
Constant views through the kaleidoscope
Between, are far and few.

So look, look through the kaleidoscope
(of beads, paper and glass)
Experience views that are ever different
Through your kaleidoscope eyes

- Antonio's song


A/N: So in case it wasn't clear enough,
it's Fem!Romano/Spain . And Feliciano is North Italy (non-genderbent) and Romina's male twin. Yes, it's possible.
"He" / "You" = "Antonio" / "Spain" / "Tomato bastard" .
"She" / "Her" = "Romina" / "Fem!S. Italy" / "Fem!Romano"

The italics are, as stated, the verses to Antonio's song. I've never been good at poetry and verse, so the tempo / tune will be waaay off. Forgive, haha.

The little verses are Romina's letters to Antonio. She never intended for Antonio to read them. She used them as a coping mechanism, for self-reflection. Hearing about the plane crash made her believe that she had caused Antonio's death and her depression and self-hatred became worse. But Antonio survived the plane crash and spent a few years recuperating, only to receive news from Feliciano (who cried upon knowning he was alive) that Romina had committed suicide. And so Antonio read the letters. And thus you have this story.

I hope you notice and understand the change in the subject matter of Romina's letters, what Antonio's song is about and why. And why Romina told Antonio to go to Madrid in the first place.

This is probably the most personal piece I've ever written; much of Romina's thoughts & actions are based on my own. So that's why the characters seem OC. And weird.


Beads, Paper and Glass.