"Cerdeña." Antonio's voice was stern, the usual cheeriness had faded into the parental tone that Francesca was all to familiar with. She knew that he was serious this time, not only because of the slight frown he wore on his tanned handsome features, but because the Spaniard, her now former ruler, had addressed her by her official name in his own native tongue. Which wasn't a common thing unless she was getting scolded for blowing up the oven.
Francesca Millis knew exactly what Antonio was talking about, but refused to acknowledge it. She didn't want to accept the fact the the safe haven she built her life around under Spanish rule was slipping from her fingers. Fear and suffering were distinguishable on the horizen of her future, the unknown waters of a knew life brimming with deadly creatures. It wasn't often that a nation feared change, but then again, she wasn't a nation anymore.
Ruler after ruler after ruler. That was the foundations of her life as a personified country. Moving from place to place, not staying long enough under a single rule to build upon it and rise up againgst her charges. The longest time she spent so far with anyone one country was Spain, and even then it wasn't a smooth ride.
The sound of footsteps coming closer brought Francesca back to reality, a place she would rather not be a part of right now. She sat amongst the grass on a small feild, a few hours outside of Cagliari. It wasn't often that Antonio let her return to her island to check up on her people, but today was one of those days. Except, he had only brought her here to pass her on to someone else. It was unfair, she didn't get a say in the matter. A long time ago, people fought for her fertile lands, now they carry it like a burden, another territory to look after. Nonno Roma always favoured Feliciano and Spain always favoured Romano. She didn't mind, it's not like either of her so called 'brothers' had any type of impact on her life. Maybe a few letters in the mail here and there but that was the extent of their contact. What's the use? She always thought. Neither of them had anything to gain from each other. Relationships were just a waste of time, an excuse to output unesssary emotion. She was either content or angry, depending on whom it was directed at. For the most part, she was content with Antionio, but sometimes he was stupid beyond belief, even if half of it was an act. And besides, she could only conclude that from the rare occasions that they spent together as he was always looking after a young Romano.
A breeze wafted to the air as the footsteps drew clooser, the grass brushing againgst her hands and her long black skirt rustling along with the wind. It was so serine, in her little feild. If it wasn't for her company or the chain of events that would soon set into motion, it would almost be perfect. A small ball of unease and tention still sat in the pit of her stomach.
"Cerdeña, listen to me." Spain's voice was as stern as ever, pushing her to keep attentive. Every fibre in her body wanted to let go and get swept away into the breeze, the strong clutches of reality disintergrating into a thousand pieces.
With a sigh of defeat, she turned her head slightly to the left, watching the Spaniard carfully crouch down next to her small frame. She continued to sit like that, with her knees pressed to her chest in a poor attempt to feel safe. "What?" She muttered, turning her head away, back towards the endless feild of gold and green. It was a stupid question for she knew the answer all to well. Her time here was up.
"Nothing bad is going to happen, I promise. It'll be alright, filla." Antonio's voice took on a more caring and sincere tone, one that he frquently used on his young territorys. The words did nothing for Sardinia, she had heard that tone before and it was useless. Pontless. Stupid. Nothing he said was true, it was all lies. It was all an attempt to calm her nerves, to persuade her that nothing bad will happen when you 'become one'. Francesca knew better. She was taught at a very young age by a village elder by the name of Antonella who knew what she was, to always keep a weapon concealed within the long tendrils of her traditional skirt, for you could never trust your own kind and their cunning ways.
Francesca didn't know what else to say. She knew that she didn't have a choice, a say in the matter of her becoming unified with her 'brothers'. In the end, it wasn't really up to her. It never was. She was almost like a pawn in massive game of chess, but instead of peices depicting knights or horses, there were small countries and territories being controlled by larger forces. For her, the game was over. She stood silently, her thin lips pressed in a hard line. Her back was still turned to Antonio. She refused to let go of the little bit of pride she still held. "I guess I don't have a choice, do I?" Of course she didn't have a choice and she knew it.
"I'm sorry." For a second, Francesca thought she heard genuine sorrow in Antonios quiet voice, but the slight tapping of his foot indicated that he was becomming impatient with her procrastination. She had every right to take her time. Who knows when she would ever see the light of day, feel the kiss of the sun on her dark skin of hear the wind bellowing past her ears. In a way she didn't want to let it all go, but then again, she didn't have a choice.
Francesca gave up. There was no point fighting the innevitable. One way in, no way out. That's how it works for people like her. It was the life of the dammed. There were a few out the that were like her and in the end they all had the same fate as she was about to face. She isn't a country, she never was. Francesca knew that she wouldn't live forever and accepted that a long time ago. She just thought that maybe she would have a little more time. She turned to Antonio and followed him out of the field. After all these years she was still shorter than him. That last slither of pride she held was staring to circle the drain. They fell into a wordless step, not bothering to fill the gap between them with useless words and unessesary emotion. It would just be like putting salt on the wound. Francesca allowed herself one last glance at the beautiful field, which she grew accostomed to in the short amount of time, and tried to memorise the colours that seemed unimagionable to even the most talented of artists. Maybe in the afterlife, if there even is one, she'll remember the only pure thing that was left in her world.
After a while of silent walking, they reached the sea, a small beach with a pier that led to waiting boat. Usually the familiar salty air would calm her nerves, being an island nation does have its perks with strong connections to the sea. But right now, the smell had a copper tinge to it, leaving the taste of blood in her mouth. It did nothing to brighten her future. The boat before them was of standard size, the brightly coloured hull was almost mocking her with it's warm colours that are usually associated with happiness. Large white sails were attached and moving smoothly in the wind. The boat looked almost peacefull againgst the setting sun on the horizon, the rich hues of pink and orange reflecting off the hull. It was a shame that the boat would literally bring her to her death.
"The boat will take you to the mainland, the others will be waiting. Adéu, la meva filla, bona sort." It wasn't the goodbye that Francesca was expecting, but it was good enough. It wasn't everyday that she was shown affection, so it did mean somthing to her. She nodded back at Spain, her words drying out on her tounge. It was useless trying to speak right now, she was convinced that only soundless screams would come out. With that she turned, making her way down the pier to the waiting boat. She climbed aboad and found a place to sit, staring out across the ocean, killing time, procrastonating.
Another thing she was taught, by Hungary while being under Austo-Hungarian rule, was to keep in mind the positives of any givin situation, which was a task in itself. Francesca almost laughed at the stupidity, as there was no way out of her situation. She thought she might aswell, seeing as there was no reason not to. First of all, she wouldn't feel the crippling effects of the frequent civil wars that erupted between her villages. No more goat hearding, which ment to more horns getting stabbed into your thigh by and agressive kid. She would miss her villagers, especially Antonella, who passed down generations of wisdom to her, only for it all to go to waste. At least, Francesca thought, no body else will know her secrets.
It wasn't long before the boat reached it's destination and by this time it was dusk. The air took on a more fresher feel, making goosebumps erupt all over her arms. She got off the boat and there they were waiting. The next moments were a blur. She saw her brothers, the signing of some papers. Then they were watching her. Their scrutinizing gazes all fixed on her, waiting. Thats when they started to fade. The clear picture slowly glassed over, and it soon became like looking through murkey water. The outlined figures were moving towards her, and she felt heself being sat down God knows where. Then the sound went. It was like being underwater, the pressure on her ears making everything muffled. As her heaing and seeing abilities declined, her other senses did so too. For a moment she went completly numb. No longer could she feel the heaviness of her hair pulled back in a tight bun, of the feeling of her clothes against her skin. Then a dull pressure spread from her toes up to her head in a final wave, washing away everything in the process. In a vain attempt, she tried to look at her feet but saw nothing. Everything was gone. She no longer exsisted. She was just a state. It's like she had never even exsisted in the first place. There was no significant mark on historys pages that she had left. No one would remember her and no one would care.
In a way, she was free.
Oops, didn't mean to kill off my OC :D Oh well.
Translations:
Cerdeña - Sardinia If I have the time and/or effort, I might translate this into Italian~
filla - daughter
Adéu, la meva filla, bona sort - goodbye my daughter, good luck.
Hetalia (C) Himaruya
Sardinia (C) i-is-kitty