Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: So I was just randomly listening to Rammstein when I started forming characters in the song and that's how this baby was born. The song itself is Klavier by Rammstein and if you search for the lyrics and English translations, you shall get as such and hopefully an insight to the window of madness as viewed in this short story. Explanations shall be at the bottom if anyone is confused as to some of what I write. Again, the song will help, but explanations shall be available, however, these are only one way of thinking-portray the story as you wish. Anyway, with that over for now, enjoy!
Klavier
I was normal. I always was, despite my blood red eyes and hair that made the moon pale in comparison. As you may have guessed as much, I was born an Albino. My father, a strong built German with long flowing blonde hair and blue eyes was rather superstitious due to the household he was raised in. My younger brother however was the spitting image of him (minus the long hair) and always seemed to please my father.
Hard working. That's what my teachers described me as at school. Even though I would slack off often to have some fun with Antonio or Francis, I could be a hard worker if I wanted to. Yet he never really appreciated that. A simple murmur of 'thanks' or 'well done' was all I would receive, almost as if father wanted to avoid talking to me, or even being around me for that matter. Ludwig was a different case. Hell, he could open a can of beer and receive far more praise than I ever would if I went to the moon. However, I wasn't jealous. Even if Ludwig did often see me as rather fool-hardy, now and then we would share a brotherly moment, something I wouldn't give away for the world.
That changed.
One day I recall coming from school to see father shouting at Ludwig, his good friend Felinciano by his side whilst mother cowered behind father. However, it seemed that they saw each other as more than friends and, after weeks of confiding in each other, Ludwig stood up against father, holding his boyfriend's hand in a firm and comforting grip the whole time as a solace for him, rebellion costing him everything. I knew Feli well from school and he was a pretty decent guy, bouncing around with eager amber eyes, hazelnut hair and a friendly demeanour that could put Antonio to shame. But Vater didn't hate Felinciano himself, he hated his grandfather.
Roma Vargas and my father were enemies in school, and had fought at every chance. Apparently, as I heard through one of mother's drunken episodes, he had gotten drunk off his ass at a party and Roma convinced him to sleep with him. Of course, alcohol isn't an excuse to lose all self- control and soon after, Vater went and married mother, trying to prove to himself that it was just a mistake, just an accident.
I guess that's why Ludwig's confession terrified him so much, because it reminded him of what he was afraid to be, what he couldn't come to terms with. I saw a fist being raised and before anything else could be done, I stepped in and took the blow. Mother was in hysterics, Father and Ludwig were raving at each other and Felinciano was trying not to cry.
I don't quite recall what we screamed at each other, but at one point we stopped after hearing the words he uttered, that he dared to utter.
"I always knew you were a mistake, Gilbert."
Mistake, huh? Mother had long gone into her bedroom to cry and not face her own fears, and Ludwig had guided Felinciano home as the tide of the conversation swayed to that about me and not the matter that was at hand. He argued about how I was the spawn of the devil, of a demon, that I shouldn't even be here and was a curse on the whole family. I retorted by saying that if he believed gay sex was sinful, then maybe I was a product of his sins.
Another hit.
Eventually, after much more fighting, he convinced himself and mother that I was insane. Me, insane?! Father had many contacts and too much money for his own good, and quickly got me situated in a care home for patients with mental illness. He would sway the doctors with the sickeningly sweet temptation of money and how I was always rather quiet as a child, rather cold, rather antisocial.
After a week of chaos and tears, parting goodbyes and bitter resolutions, I found myself in a room opposite to her. Spring green eyes would entice me with her delicate face, waves of chestnut brown hair delicately shaping it. She would sit at the piano in her room which was granted to her upon request of her partner, back gracefully arched as his fingers glided across the keys. Yet they would not make a sound as long as anybody else was there. Only when I was there with her would she play the plethora of enchanting melodies to me, drifting my mind away from this hell hole. I always held my breath when I listened to her, trapped in awe at the sound of a yearning soul, yet I could do little to help it.
Weeks, months, years, they all passed in a blind flurry in the mad house, yet only with her, only with Elizabeta. There were times that she would be depressed, so much so that she would not even bat an eyelash at me. During others, she would lash out at any staff that came near, almost gouging one's eye out. On an average day as she played the piano to me, she mentioned that Rodereich sent her here, that he feared for her sanity as well as his, her voice bitter and cracking as she thought back on her husband. Or, more accurately, her ex-husband according to her. I could only agree. If he sent her to a place like this, he had no right to remain her husband in her thoughts.
Pausing, she had held my arm with her hands, the fingers soft against my linen shirt as her voice rung aloud in the near empty bedroom.
"I'll always stay with you."
Nodding my head vigorously, I offered her a haphazard but reassuring smile none the less. Even in a hopeless place like this, I'll be with you.
Elizabeta got worse. Not just the normal kind of deteriorating, but her moods would swing so violently one minute she was with me, quietly playing the piano and the next she was moving to claw at my throat. The majority of her time was now spent in the isolating room, too dangerous to be around others. Cream white fingers yellowed and the strong sturdy case supporting the once youthful beauty as it curved with it began to grow brittle and wry, the stings that let thoughts be known to man rotted, out of synchronisation with reality and sanity.
The nightmarish routine continued for a while until one day she was back in her own room, unused due to all of the events, the piano untouched. Taking up a stool, she rested gracefully on it, the patterns shifting across the old fabric. Her weary green eyes locked onto mine, questioning her every action. She then spoke with a hint of regret in her voice,
"They're transferring me."
All I could do was gape open mouthed at her, shaking my head in denial as my brain slowly processed the words. I screamed and shouted at her, that she said she would stay, said she would always be here with me. ALWAYS. But she only shook her head. Rage took over me, and I dashed towards her, shoving her up against the piano and struck her again and again, pouring her blood into the fire of my rage.
Slowly, eventually, I took a step back and only looked on the scene in distaste, wishing it could have been different. Locking the door, I slid down the side of the wall and rested my head against it, ignoring the voices as they asked for Elizabeta, that she needed to hurry or she'd be late. Curiosity in the voices quickly turned to panic and the volume rose, screams and demands to open the door as the staff thumped their fists against it. But I didn't get up, I didn't open the door. I just ignored the voices, just like I had my own, doubts that had swum around in me head were quickly drowned.
With a resounding boom, the door was forced open as the staff flooded into the room screaming, oh how they screamed. My father and mother had swiftly followed, finally visiting me after leaving me in this pit of despair. I was quickly pulled to my feet, my father beating me in rage as mother pleaded at him to stop, for the staff's attention, but they were too busy dealing with Elizabeta's bloody corpse. They took her from the piano, the transient bond the two once held forever destroyed as she was rolled out on a gurney.
They questioned me for my motives after the incident. Funny, questioning a supposed madman like me. But when I spoke the truth, no-one believed me. It was that place that made me ill, that 'caring home'. The very stench of the rotting piano in the room was a reminder of her rotting mind, forcing me to wallow in my sorrow in that she would never be the same, that my family would never love me again. The sorrow of the place itself had decayed me, a black hole for misery and suffering trapping the minds of those inside it, slowly chipping away at my real sanity and making me deathly ill.
I remained at the caring home for the mentally insane, my broken family unable to bare seeing me again in the so called state I'm in. But I don't mind, not much anyway. As long as Elizabeta's with me. I perch on the seat that she so favoured, letting my fingers run along the familiar creamy keys. She stood at the end, smiling, waiting, listening. And when my performance began, she held her breath, just like I had. Pianos are such wondrous things.
A/N: Disturbing, huh? Anyway, along with the explanations for some things. First off, I made it that Gilbert's father was overly superstitious, thus giving way to the mistreatment of Gilbert and favouring of Ludwig, because Gilbert was an albino. I'm not saying that superstitious people believe that, I'm just saying that this character does and that's his reasoning for the mistreatment of his son. Secondly, when Gilbert talks back to his father about the whole sin & gay sex thing, there are a fair few people (Plus a quote in exodus 25) believing the sins of parents can be passed down onto children and so causes them to be born deformed or with health issues (hence Gilbert being an albino). Thirdly, Elizabeta is bi-polar and has other problems as well. My idea was that Rodereich feared for his and her own safety, and so put here there, but she thought he was just getting rid of her, causing her great distress. Near the end, I made it that Gilbert snapped as the place slowly wore him down and he actually became insane. At the very end, when he is playing the piano with Elizabeta watching, he is actually in his room & it is just a figment of his imagination from having actually gone insane.
Finishing up notes: Mental health is a sensitive topic, feel free to portray this how you wish-this was merely one way of the song being interpreted. If you listen to the song, it'll make a lot more sense-the song is also German, hence why translation of the lyrics may be needed. Final note, (holy carp you actually read all this?!) Big pat on the back to you! So yeah, thanks for reading and dropping a review never did any harm *wink wink* *nudge nudge*. Happy readings!