He sometimes got nightmares.
And not the ones that you woke up and immediately realized that they weren't true.
Oh no.
Feliciano's nightmares were worse then that.
They were the type to keep one up at night.
They were the type that haunted one during the light of day.
At every meeting, Feliciano would see him; the he who looked so much like him.
At night, the Italian dreams of battle and a child's head upon a spike or a burnt body or even crucification. Each was bloody. Each was gruesome.
During the day, Feliciano hears things.
Screams, echoing throughout his mind.
He told Alfred and Yao about the screams and the dreams.
But they couldn't help.
Cause it was just that.
A nightmare.
Feliciano's own living, breathing, personal nightmare.
And then, when he saw him walk through the cave door, Feliciano knew.
The Italian knew when he saw the others behind him.
He knew when Austria and Spain's voices echoed loudly so he could hear them.
Feliciano's nightmare had been real to begin with.
But now...
... He honestly wished that it wasn't.
It was a nightmare that Feliciano wanted so badly to wake up from. But the only way to do that would be to end the torment and the suffering the was going through, to end the lies and deceit.
To end the nightmare.
