CAPTER I.
(( Author Note: This is an AU fic about Antoino (Spain), and Lovino (S. Italy). It takes place in the early 1700's. Spain is stricken with insanity, though because of the time period, Lovino is convinced he has succumbed to the devil. Human names and Country titles are used. This is my first actual fic, so please cut me some slack. ;3; 3 ))
The dreamy Tuscan-esque villa sat in complete silence, on that faithful night. Nothing but the occasional cricket chirp stirred the warm evening air. As lovely as the terra-cotta coloured home was, many souls swore never to encroach on its grounds, for they knew of the impending doom should they cross over. The man of the dreadful reputation was a Spaniard, twenty-three years of age, or so he appeared. Some say he had been around since the dawn of Europe, others say he was just simply heir to the throne. Really, no one knew. The sun had settled comfortably behind the west, and the dashing Spaniard retreated to his cellar, like a spider to darkness.
A crooked smile teased at his lips, exhibiting small pieces of still bloody flesh caught between perfectly pearly white incisors. There, he opened a heavy metal door, riveted with massive iron bolts and a giant lock with a key hole. Antonio, so he was called, carefully fingered through a large ring of keys, hanging from his leather belt, and found the correct one to open the large door before him. The door opened with a creak, and he stepped in with boisterous confidence. The dungeon cell was damp and dank. It reeked of the previous corpses that had been unfortunate enough to stay out the rest of their lives there. On the wall, hung a man. He was slender and starved, and his belly was bloating from gout. He was weak and frail, but managed to lift his heavy head and stare at the healthy brunette before him.
He gave Antonio a long, hard state. The Spaniard was dressed in elegant silks and lace, velveteen and fur. The gold accents, buttons and ribbon on his intricate uniform glistened in what little light there was to offer. Antonio shifted his weight to one hip, and admired his own gloved hand. "Usted pobre alma." he scoffed, raising a brow at a frayed thread. A quick, subtle movement was all it took for Antonio to appear at the hanging man's side. A blade was stuck to his arm, up by the shoulder socket. Warm trickles of blood splashed against the cobble stone by Antonio's feet. The smell of iron wafted into his nose, and he begrudgingly breathed it in. Something within toiled relentlessly, and those emerald green eyes grew wide, and dark pupils shrunk, despite the darkness. Antonio shoved the dull blade perfectly between the socket and humerus, and he forcefully whittled the blade through tough tissue. The man screamed and cried in pain and horror, and he knew his end was soon, just like the other corpses that lie rotting on the floor.
He saw it happen to the others. He had been in that cellar for weeks, and once, he say Antonio shred through a mother and her unborn child, that grin plastered upon his sun-kissed face. Pain shot through the man's entire body, and he did all he could to try and writhe free, but that only instigated the primal instinct within the Spaniard. Hastily, Antonio pulled away from the writhing man, and tore off his gloves. Under his nails were crusted with dried blood and skin. Long minutes past, and Antonio fought to remove the victim's frail arm, and with success, a terrible cackle rose from his throat. It echoed through the cell, and up the winding stairwell, though the door Antonio neglected to shut behind him.
He took a few steps back to admire what he had done, the bloody arm gripped firmly in his right hand. The victim hung there by his remaining arm, bleeding out, panting and whining to Antonio to spare his life. Though, his pleas never got through to the brunette. He turned his heel, showing his back to the man. It was as equally as decorated as the front of him. He turned, as if to shield himself from letting the man see what he was going to do with the severed arm. Antonio lifted the arm closer to his face to examine it in the dim light. The blood trailed down the man's arm, delicately weaving up and over Antonio's bruised fingers. He smiled, eyes lighting up with pure joy and delight.
His stomach ached for a taste of that fresh spilled blood, that red flesh and chewy skin. His own blood pounded in his ears during a brief moment of contemplation as to where to begin consuming the appendage. A primitive grunt echoed against the brick walls as Antonio's sharp teeth buried themselves into the grey-pink dermis. He whined with delight and closed his eyes, savouring the raw taste of his delicacy