Soldiers, Memories, Message for the Queen, Norwegian Pirate, Am I Not Human?
I absolutely love this chapter. For anyone looking for the perfect song to read along with, the second part (especially when the action happens) was written entirely to "Am I Not Human?" by Two Steps From Hell. Love this song so much, it's haunting and active and love love love.
About the second part however: it is a LOT of italics and if you're like me it can start to make you dizzy. I have another copy of this chapter where the Italics/straight font is inverted since that's how it was originally, so if you'd like me to switch the two then please either say so in your review or PM me to request the switch.
Final Loop
Romano's Ardent Prayers
"Isn't there someplace safe where we can stay?"
"Veh~ In a dream like this I don't think we need a sanctuary, do we?"
"Oh, Italy..."
Being a nation had its perks, you know? For Romano, one of the simplest ones was that once someone knew who and what he was, they made sure not to get in his way. At least, that was how it worked when he was within his own shady borders.
He didn't want to think about those though. Borders. Lines. Distinctions. He didn't want to think about them, or be reminded of them, or wonder what might have been going on with them. What was left of you when the other you was taken away? Did you become him or did he just cease to exist?
South Italy was Catholic- North Italy had been Catholic too, so all of Italy was Catholic- or mostly Catholic. Enough of them believed in the divinity of the father that Romano felt himself compelled to believe the same way even if it was confusing trying to apply mortal theory to eternal life. So he just didn't think about it. He didn't put all the sins of nationhood on one mortal body, Christ would have needed several brothers to suffer and die with him to absolve all the dark sins the world's nations had committed. If the nations were the personification of the world's wrongs, then it was better for the Saviour to just focus on the individual souls rather than the collective personalities.
Wasn't there a passage in the bible about all nations dying once the final day arrived...?
"If you wanted to keep everyone safe, where would you go?"
"H-Hol-" The sweet scent of daisies and blue cornflowers...
"Lets check out the music room again, Italy." The distant sound of piano keys drumming without a melody...
So Romano didn't want to think about Christ dying. Or any supposed brothers-of-Christ. Or Romano's own brothers- specifically not his little brother. No brothers. No dying. No Salvation. No martyrdom. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to remember the only sibling who had really mattered, mattered more than Spain, mattered so much more than that bastard France. Romano didn't want to think about Vene-
"Should I... go back?" Back to the real world, back to the nightmare?
"This is a dream, Ita. A beautiful dream. Don't you want to share it with me?" Share this dream, share this life?
"Stay away from him, you bastard...!"
Romano opened his eyes slowly, grumbling, looking up at the elaborate dome topping the cathedral. The zenith was almost completely shadowed despite the sunlight pouring in from two lower windows, dust hanging in the golden rays as they struck lovingly painted murals and sculptures, each one crafted by reverent hands. Two massive black candelabras hung from the ceiling, their wicks unlit since it wasn't a special occasion and the daylight was more than enough to let the devoted kneel for their prayers.
Being a Nation had its perks: you weren't allowed to sleep in the Duomo di Napoli, but as soon as the Archbishop of Naples had seen Romano, he'd been left alone in the cathedral to do as he pleased. Which, sadly, wasn't very much...
He hadn't meant to fall asleep after morning mass, but it wasn't the first time it had happened either. Stiff and sore on the stones between two long pews, Romano could have at least chosen to go to sleep on the polished wood, but no: it had to be the floor instead.
He grumbled to himself in irritation, fighting off hunger pains as he straightened his black jacket, brushing the dust off his slacks. There were no patterns in any of the fabrics he was wearing, no pin-stripes, no decorations, no bright buttons. His hat was black felt but had nothing on it but a small strip of black ribbon over the brim. He didn't put it on, he was in a church, damn it.
His shirt was black, his tie was lopsided but he didn't fix it. He was exhausted as he stood up and inched his way out into the isle. He was only a row or two from the front anyways, kneeling quickly before standing again and turning to head out down the middle. He had to get out of this place.
He was starving, he couldn't remember how long he'd been here already and the fact that he couldn't think of anything to eat just nagged at him. Romano wasn't the kind of person to think 'I'm hungry' and not immediately have his mind jump to recipes and ingredients and techniques. But nothing was coming. He wasn't himself.
"Every time we pass that door, you stop...?"
"Veh... Memories." The second level with the pale wood floors, the white-washed walls. No sign of the mirror-eyed monster.
"Do you want to go inside, Ita?" The black velvet hat, the soft pink smile. Nothing hiding in those perfect blue eyes...
He wanted to go outside. Romano walked quickly because you weren't supposed to run in a church. He had the distinct feeling that he'd tried this before and that it hadn't gone well, but he couldn't remember why. It was just a church- the grandest one in southern Italy, but still just a church. Its massive doors were open at the west end of the nave, white light obscuring the city street beyond as a pair of holy sisters were calmly making their way inside, rosaries swinging from their waists.
"Again..?"
Romano froze. A child's voice, but raspy, broken, hiding somewhere nearby. He'd heard that voice before, in the memories he couldn't remember while he slept where he shouldn't be. Romano stared ahead of him at the holy sisters. When one bowed her head to the other he thought he saw something behind her black wimple. Something grey, something otherworldly- but not the sort of 'other' you ever wanted to see, hovering, just outside the doors of a church.
The mirrored gaze was gone before he could tell if he'd seen it or not, as in, whether it was even real.
But he heard running footsteps and knew his own feet were nailed to the floor. The sisters slowly passed him slowly in their graceful way but the footsteps didn't stop. They wouldn't stop: the sprinting steps that launched a spirit of fear and dread past him, disturbing the air and causing his hair to blow back and his shirt to ruffle. No sight, just sound and sensation- or maybe not even sound, maybe the air hadn't moved.
Running. Running back towards the alter, screaming towards the cross. A spirit seeking sanctuary, searching for help- any help, even if it was help from a God that would make all mortals one under his light. Even from a deity planning to destroy all the nations who kept his children apart.
Romano knew before he turned that he wouldn't see Veneziano, but he turned and he looked and he prayed just the same. His eyes felt hot and his throat was tight but he still hoped that maybe, just maybe, he'd see his little brother tearing towards the heart of the Cathedral.
"What's in the closet, Ita?" A frown that didn't sit on his face quite right, didn't pull on his cheeks the way it should or draw in his lips like he remembered.
"Nothing we need." Unease, discomfort, things that didn't belong. Maybe- "Veh~ lets go back to the others!"
"You keep looking at that door..." Fear? "...Where are you hiding?" Words that didn't sound like his words...
"Huh?" A smile that didn't look quite like his smile...
He didn't see him.
"You bastard..."
Romano just saw the two sisters turn as they heard his voice and looked at him, both women shocked and insulted as he profaned God's holy temple with the swear.
He didn't care.
"You bastard, why didn't you trust me...?" His words were soft but he hoped they were still sharp enough to have an effect. He locked his jaw to stop himself from shouting the way he wanted to. His hands rolled up into tight fists and he felt them start to shake. Romano's lungs emptied in a huff and then refused to fill back up. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Why had his brother been sent to Hell?
Veneziano wasn't supposed to be in Hell. He wasn't supposed to be suffering anymore. He'd fought the devil and compacted with him to try, again and again, to get his friends out, to free them from whatever sin had corrupted that mansion. So Veneziano wasn't allowed to go to Hell. What kind of God would condemn a soul like his to hell-fire because he gave his soul to free nine others? Yes, he'd signed a deal with the devil, but no, that didn't mean Romano's little brother belonged in Hell!
His faith couldn't deal with it: Veneziano was not one of the damned.
Romano marched away from the aisle and around behind the pews, avoiding the sisters as they went back to whatever they had come here to do. He found himself in the shadowed alcoves which punctuated the nave, his attention drawn to the soft lights of the votive candles set up by the faithful.
He'd never known St. Januarius; the Patron Saint of Naples had lived during Grandpa Rome's time, long before Romano had been aware of anything around him. But the Saint's statue was familiar to Romano after all these years and his presence was almost soothing. Almost. There were several tall yellow candles burning brightly around the Saint's bust, the light shining off the metal skin and picking out the gold threaded through the red cape and cap of his office.
Romano had already lit a votive for Veneziano, now he lit another. From one martyr to another, Januarius had to do something on his brother's behalf. There was no alternative.
Another, smaller votive was still burning at the alter of the Blessed Virgin. If Januarius couldn't help argue for Veneziano then the Holy Mother had to forgive him for his sins instead. She had to forgive him. No exceptions.
"Again?"
Romano's hands shook so badly that he dropped the candle before he could light it properly, the wax pad hitting the floor and rolling away through the shadows. Instead of crawling after it he lifted his shaking hands to hold the sides of his head. He pressed his palms down over his ears, eyes closed so he could block out the voice, block out the memories.
"I'm having so much fun, Italy, thank you for dreaming of me."
"Holy Rome...?"
A doorway so narrow you had to duck and go sideways. A staircase that vanished up into the space between the second and third floors. Over the hidden annex. Low ceilings, a cache of food, running water and places to bathe and sleep.
A smile that wasn't his smile. A laugh that wasn't his laugh...
"So much fun. Tell me..." Blue eyes that weren't hiding anything, a smile that didn't say anything. A bad feeling that meant far, far too much. "Tell me, when it ends this time, will you play with me again?"
Again...?
He was hungry, he'd just been about to leave but Romano found himself kneeling outside the small barrier set up across the end of the nave to keep people out of the sanctuary. He'd almost made a complete circle of the church, a loop he kept running round and round between the pews. This was what he'd done just before he'd collapsed between the benches and gone to sleep. He couldn't break out of the cycle, he couldn't escape from this place. He was down on the stone floor and he didn't care where the Holy sisters had gone. He just bowed his head and kissed the cross hanging from around his neck, eyes shut and lips moving soundlessly against the metal.
'Why are you showing me this?" Why? Why? It didn't make sense why... "Why does this keep happening to us? My brother isn't in Hell, you can't be that cruel. He was so good.' Veneziano who had always been virtuous. Veneziano who had always been pious. Veneziano who had always been more conservative than Romano, more traditional, more tolerant of Vatican and willing to put up with the Micro-nation in more ways than the southern region could stomach.
If he had to remember then Romano wanted different memories. He wanted real ones. Good ones. Or maybe he'd even take the bad ones too, just not the worst ones. Please, stop showing him all of this... If he had to hear his brother's voice then- then let it be something stupid! Let it be something Romano could remember without so much pain. Maybe he could even smile... Like:
"And this is my big brother Romano! We've always been governed separately, so he's kind of a dick!" God wouldn't send that laughing fool to Hell... Bastard.
"Oh boy, it's hug time-!"
Stupid hug-therapy!
The devil had tempted his brother into that house, because Veneziano was an idiot.
"At least I'm keeping liquor stores out of your neighbourhood!"- Pah! Who cared about liquor stores and Mafiosos when his brother was too stupid to see what kind of danger he was always getting himself into!
He'd probably walked right into that death trap with a grin on his face- and look where it had gotten him! He'd been the stupidest nation who ever lived! An air-head and a fool and a scatter-brained flower child! Veneziano couldn't recognize danger until it smacked him right in the face- he hadn't even realized they were losing the Second World War until suddenly the allies were marching through Romano's house!
But those weren't things their God could punish him for!
"Why won't you answer me, you bastard?" Romano felt pain wrap around his heart slowly. It felt like wires were crossing and twisting carefully around the beating organ. It felt like soldiers forming ranks around Naples, getting ready to march through the city streets. Romano dropped the cross so it could hang around his neck again, reaching up to the ornate barricade set up in front of the sanctuary and clinging to the low wrought-iron gate.
He was shaking, he realized that only after he heard the gate begin to rattle, his weight resting on it as his back hunched and his empty stomach began to twist and kick at him, demanding food. But he couldn't stand up, he tried it and his knees turned to sand, leaving him stranded on the floor.
Damn it...
Romano closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath, and when he opened them again...
(W-what the hell?)
They were dead. He'd known it would be that way but he'd tried anyways, tried to see if he could come back and make a difference rather than just move forwards and keep making the same mistakes. His memory was so full of holes now, if he just kept plowing forward they would all lose their sanity long before they manage to escape.
And that was still the goal. Escape. Get out alive.
These ones were dead, it shocked him how he didn't have the will to weep over them anymore. It was even the same, terrible room as the first time. The white bricks were washed with red, Prussia flung on his back with one leg bent the wrong way, his blood cooling and congealing on the floor. Germany had the back of his skull smashed open, Japan had been impaled on Prussia's sword when the Thing felt like having a bit more fun with them. The dank basement air was filled with the stink of their suffering, the only sound was the shallow panting of the only one who hadn't finished dying yet.
(This isn't me. No, why is this-?)
He didn't remember how he survived this loop, Feliciano just knew that he had. He'd reached the clock and he'd promised himself he would make it next time.
Walking forward, his steps were wet with blood and stopped once the toe of his boot brushed familiar auburn hair. Looking down, his own honey-brown eyes were looking up at him, fogged with pain and blood-loss. His blue uniform was torn open and there was blood pulsing weakly out of the gash across his chest. Painful.
"I'm changing the game." The Italy on the floor didn't recognize Feliciano as he knelt down, but that was alright, it would have only confused him if he'd remembered. "You're going to help me." He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out the wrinkled red pepper from the supply room, pinching his double's bloody mouth open and slipping the herb inside. He forced him to chew, forced him to swallow a mouthful of beer despite the bad taste. His double choked and gagged on the floor, retching at the spice before his eyes rolled back into his skull and he passed out.
(W-why are there two of him? Did he do this? Is he doing this?)
It actually made it easier to bandage him up after that. Feliciano considered shooting him instead, even pulled out America's pistol and held it to his double's head... but then he put it away. It wouldn't do them any good.
"I can't stop you from making my mistakes, even if I held your hand all the way." But he couldn't do that, it would change too much, break and ruin too much. They'd all lose their souls to this mad-house if he did something as bold as that... "So make them. I... guess I'll have to forgive you."
(Vene, what's going on! Tell me where you are! Veneziano!)
"I need that key." Reaching down to his unconscious self, Feliciano grabbed his bandaged wrist and swung it around, hauling Italy up onto his shoulder so he could drag him away from the massacre.
(Veneziano!)
"I'm getting them out of here..." It was hard work, his other self was heavy and Feliciano himself was still injured from before, from what had happened... "I'm getting everyone out of here, even the ones who haven't arrived yet." He could still smell Romano's blood on his clothes-
(I'm right here you idiot!)
-the crimson had soaked through his uniform, it was going dark brown along the edges as it dried...
Enough of that.
(You know what? Fine. I get it.)
If the Thing knew what he was doing, the monster didn't show itself. It was disturbing how silent the mansion always became after everyone else was dead. It always worked out like this, once the other nine were dead the monster would stop appearing unless it was specifically to taunt him. Sometimes it would show up and just walk behind him, follow him all the way to the clock room and wait for him to turn time back again.
Again, and again, and again, and...
(This was the loop where you tried sacrificing yourself in the basement, isn't it? It was just you, Kraut-Breath, his brother, and Japan. The monster burst through the door and-)
Funny, he couldn't remember where the clock room was this time around. It always changed location, it was just another facet of what made this place so terrible to be in. He had to stop and flip through the pages of the journal, but it wasn't there, it wasn't at the end of the loop where it was supposed to be...
So instead of directions he got to pull himself together and stop crying when he found the few pages of taunting script that were done in black ink, not the crimson from the journal's haunted pen. England's words had stunned him the first time he'd seen them, right after everything that happened in the annex and he'd tried figuring out what they could do without the safe room... He still couldn't look at these pages without going to pieces.
Maybe he'd try something else, start the other task he'd assigned himself first. Right. He could do that.
(In that loop you thought would die, but you just woke up confused in the clock room with no real memory of what had happened. You figured it was either the monster or that maybe one of your friends had survived and then tried drawing the monster away. You used the clock and you started again.)
Fourth floor, of course, the furthest possible place from where the last of Italy's friends had died. He was exhausted by the time he made it up there, but that wasn't going to work, he couldn't afford to take a break now. He left his past self in the hall and quickly headed back down to the second floor, locating the hidden metal piece before returning to the fourth. Hm... He'd have to figure out a way of getting these back in position for the others in the next loop, but Feliciano just wasn't worried about it right now. In a dead heat that monster hadn't come close to catching him once.
It took him a long time to get going on the offensive, something to the tune of sixty kilometres a week, but in reverse?
(I guess this is how you survived that loop then, isn't it? Does this mean you were going against fate, or an agent of it?)
With the keys he unlocked the door to the moon puzzle, and without deferring to the journal he dragged his past self's unconscious form up the new staircase, his eyes closed as they moved into the next bloody room. He went straight over to the three and just let his other self lay like that. Everyone was right: Italy's siestas really were kind of annoying when you were the one doing all of the hard work around him. Now about that switch... could he throw something and hit it?
"Uguu~?" What the he-?
(-the fuck was that?)
He turned and... the mochi? He was... stunned to say the least when he saw the white, round, limbless blob staring at him from the doorway. Somehow, he'd had completely forgotten about it. Again. And this time he noticed how it...
(...Why does it look like America? The glasses, the little hair thing...)
Weird. But not what he should have been thinking about. No, instead, he just nodded and finally understood. The creature looked deeply disturbed by the corridor it had just moved up and the bloody floor in this cold room, but it wasn't running away.
"Of course, you had to be here before the loop ended in order to get stuck..." He was mostly just thinking out-loud, but when he heard his own words he winced slightly. That was crass... "By the way, you're going to get shoved behind a book-case for a while, but at least you'll be safe there, okay? I'm not really sure what will happen to you after that, but I think you'll be alright." It could have been a lie, it might have been the truth, either way the Japanese pastry gave him a horrified look.
"Please! Please, before you go, can you help me really quickly?" The little creature looked confused, wary- it was looking at two Italys after all, one of which was considerably more bloody than the other, and they were both from the Nor... n... nevermind...
(And that's how you solved the puzzle with only two people... and without resorting to dragging bodies up the stairs.)
He stood on the twelve while his double lay sprawled over the three. Mochi hit the switch and the door opened up in the back wall. After that he dragged his double back down the stairs, telling himself he could keep going even when it took him another hour of searching to find the big clock again.
First floor. Of course. Exhausted but forcing himself to ignore it, he gave in a little and ate some of the food he still had with him from the safe-room. He felt better for it but sleep was out of the question. First floor in the library, he could run back here as fast as he had to once he was finished upstairs...
(So, what are you planning? Why don't you ever think out-loud in these things, you secretive little bastard?)
Resting for just a few more minutes, he went over the plan one more time in his mind, nodding to himself at each individual step. Alright. He could do this.
"Ve!- Ve?- I meant chigi!" That came out wrong the first time. Embarrassed, he turned away from his unconscious double, clearing his throat before trying again. "You stupid ass, Veneziano! Chigi! Get up!"
(IS THAT SUPPOSED TO BE ME, YOU BASTARD!-?)
Placing his hand over his double's eyes, he focused for a moment and then felt his healing power well up and spill from one into the other. His past self groaned almost instantly, his body starting to twist and stretch as it was woken up. Steeling himself, he tried thinking of his brother without crying, using the fact that he was crying to make the words come out better.
"You're so stupid, falling asleep here! You think you can just die, you bastard?"
"F... Frate-?"
(Fuck. I'm not your brother anymore, you don't sound nothing like me! Get me out of this dream! I quit being your brother!)
"Damn it! Don't speak, just listen, stupid!" This was so much harder than it could have been. He couldn't do this with the blood on his clothes, he couldn't do it with Romano's face in his head. His memories wouldn't go back far enough to- "I'm going to go kick those monsters' asses, and then I'm coming straight back here you got it!-? And when you hear me coming, you're gonna use that damn clock and go back one more fucking time, Veneziano! Do you understand me!-?"
"S... Si? Roma-" His past self was trying to reach out to him, Italy's hands grasping at his uniform and feeling at his lapels. He struggled to get his head free but Feliciano just kept his hand in place, not letting him open his eyes. A dream, he'd think it was all just a dream when he woke up...
"If you fail me now you bastard there'll be nothing but marmite for you to eat! So don't die!"
"Veh~!"
"Just get ready, damn it!" Did he need anything from here? America's gun was at his hip and he had the journal in his other hand, if he broke down now he'd never make it out of here, he had to get to the fifth floor and back, he had to.
"Romano!"
So he turned and he sprinted out as fast as he could, almost glad that the library was dark and that it obscured the colour of his uniform as he bolted down the hall and burst out through the door, leaving it wide open. The monsters would leave his past self alone, and even if they didn't it just meant that Italy would use the clock a little bit sooner.
Really, of the two it seemed more likely that they'd follow Feliciano and leave Veneziano alone. He saw two of them just standing by the stairs on separate levels before he was back at the fifth floor, neither one moved, but they were watching him. Waiting to see what he was up to. So he ran.
(Wait, wait- woah-! I don't get it, you can't just-!)
He ran up the stairs, he ran through the puzzle room and he ran by the locked cell holding the hoards of blood-thirsty abominations. He sprinted straight into the room with the bleeding numbers, and without even pausing to take in the toxic atmosphere he bolted straight towards the multi-eyed mass.
A 1 painted itself on the white floor as he sprinted, one of Germany's grenades in his hand as he pulled the pin out with his teeth and threw the round canister across the room. A terrible ringing sound filled the air even without the explosive charging so close to him, and as the Thing dislodged itself from the wall he didn't have it in him to hesitate before he cut a path close to its body and around behind.
(Faster! Faster! CHIGI! Don't take risks like that!)
Its grasping body missed him by an inch and only because he lunged for the key just as the grenade detonated, filling the air with shrapnel and sound. His hand closed around the cold steel and he tucked his shoulders to roll and clear himself of the beast's back. The roll put his feet on the floor and he was off, again, sprinting as fast as he could as he felt the rage starting to bleed out of the walls. The Thing didn't know what he was doing.
Holy Rome was mad at him.
He'd done this too many times, he knew what this was like and dodging the hoard was more a challenge for his focus than his body, punished as it was. The cell doors were open as he tore down the crimson hall, the screaming and wailing filling his ears as he charged and limbered himself up enough to abruptly pivot to the right when a gorilla-armed abomination dropped in front of him. Don't fight, just snake around its hulking limbs and keep going. Don't stop thinking, don't stop moving, and don't let one interfere directly with the other. You don't think about which road to retreat down when the enemy is closing in, you just choose one and run!
"The keys! Take one to the second floor!" He started screaming before he was all the way down the stairs, fighting off his flight instinct as he saw the horrified Mochi sitting on the fourth floor and side-stepped around it to shout the rest of the instructions. "Hide the other key under the rug in the fireplace room! Do not fail them!" Feliciano jabbed his arm in the direction of the room, then grabbed the banister and flung himself down the next four stairs to start down to the third floor.
(Go! Front door! Get to the front-!)
Not the front door.
(What!-?)
The library.
He was sweaty and bloody, his hair snapping in his eyes when he found his path blocked by a monster whose neck was so long it looked like he could snap it with a well-aimed kick. But he knew better than to take the bait, he could hear the heavy footsteps of another super-sized monster approaching from the left- a blind corner that he couldn't see around. Dive through the gap between the first creature and the wall, roll and kick off the other side of the hall to keep going. Don't stop breathing, don't stop running.
Down to the second floor with one of France's knives in hand. He plunged it into the wall and used it as an anchor as he swung himself around, feet in the air and momentum maintained. He left the knife behind and ignored the bruises down his back from falling the rest of the way down the staircase. Hands and knees, he clawed at the floor before his boots found traction and he was off again like a shot, just one glance spared towards the front door.
Just one guard that way, standing there with such a curious look on that face. A smile on those lips, and a tilt of that head as fingers caressed that cape. But nothing in those eyes. Those glassy, mirror-ball eyes...
Draw another dagger, don't hold your breath, keep running. Time heals all wounds so don't hesitate, just hold the key in your hand and make a tight fist, place the knife point right inside the elbow and-
(What-?)
-pull!
(NO! VENEZIANO! NO! NO! NO!)
"GO!" The library door was still open, the monsters were not inside, his past self still was and, if he remembered anything through the pain, it was that when he'd been the one standing at the clock he'd been too confused to argue. "GO NOW! GO BACK!"
White lightning and gold chains filled the air, the chime of a grandfather clock rocking the house on its foundations and sending him skidding to the floor well beyond the range of the first journal's magic- his journal negated the effects anyways, it wouldn't go along with itself, it refused to, and therefore he couldn't go either.
(No... no... little brother... why would you...?)
Instead Feliciano was left kneeling in agony, his hand pressed down over the bloody limb he'd mangled with the knife. But it had to be done, he'd had to do it, it was the only way it would work and if he wasted this try on something that only might succeed then he would condemn everyone, including himself.
He couldn't carry that weight anymore. He'd sacrifice his arm for his soul.
(Why...?)
The energy calmed, the magic faded, the lights dimmed down and through the sweat dripping down his face and the tears pouring from his swollen eyes, Feliciano could see the clock still standing there. It was an ornate, beautiful thing. Solid oak wood stained a luxurious and stately red, a colour that made him sick to look at but it was still captivating just the same. A gold face and weights, a pendulum decorated in silver with brass braiding all up the sides to increase the beauty. Pure black wire hands twisted in elaborate fingers symbolized seconds, hours and minutes, two smaller faces set up in the gold backing to indicate the day of the week and month of the year. It was so quiet until you started focusing on it, the tick-tock, the tock-tick, the heartbeat in the centre of the trauma.
The clock would fade away and hide itself again if he took his eyes off it. He didn't know how he knew that for certain, but he couldn't afford to argue, not with a wound like this.
So when he heard Holy Rome's footsteps behind him, heard that laugh creeping through the dark towards him...
(G-Get away from my brother, damn it!)
When he felt those hands rest kindly on his shoulders, and felt those soft breaths touch his cheek and roll down his jaw...
Tick-tock, tock-tick...
"You've hurt yourself, Ita..." That voice... His eyes just wanted to drift shut when he heard that voice, when he felt that smooth cheek press against his and knew that black hat was being tilted just off his head because of how close they were. But the clock, it was right there. "You should be more careful, my dear one."
Tock-tick, tick-tock... Such a broken sound, that heartbeat.
"...You killed my brother." Don't close your eyes. It was just like 'don't stop running'and 'don't stop thinking'and 'don't stop breathing'. He couldn't close his eyes, if he did he'd lose the clock.
"So we could be together..."
"You're not him." Don't close your eyes, don't close them, the message had to get through...
(Message...?)
Tick... tock... tock... tick...
"You gave your heart to me... Ita..." Don't look at him, don't look at the hand that stroked the shredded sleeve he was holding shut, the simple touch made him recoil violently, hot blood spilling over his legs. Don't watch those fingers slip past those lips so that tongue could taste his blood... "And I-"
"-and I'm showing yours to someone." Someone who had to get the message. He had to. Fratello, you have to-
(Woah- wait! You can hear m-! ?)
"... Ita." That voice. That voice poisoned with the low sound of a threat. That voice tainted with the sting of a serpent's hiss.
"Again." It was deep enough now, he couldn't push it any further. His hand came away from his mangled arm and the journal was open in front of him the next moment. Feliciano didn't even know what page he opened it to, he just slammed his palm down over the bloody text and smeared the dark crimson over the page. "Again!" He kept his eyes on that golden clock face, he ignored the terrible pain of those hands clenching his shoulders and bruising, stabbing, tearing.
White fire and yellow stars, blue comets and green rain, the bellowing chimes of the clock as the hour struck and the journal unleashed its power. Time came apart like the fibres of a rope, the colours of a tapestry. He heard the heartbeat pounding through it all, felt it pumping the life-blood of this hellish place like it was about to give out from the strain.
Feliciano turned and looked at the grey-skinned, mirror-eyed monster that had dragged his soul here, he bared his teeth at it like a grin.
And he screamed: "Just TRY and catch me next time!"
And then he was gone.
Tick... tock... tock... tick... tick... tock... tock... tick...
And the heart kept beating.
Someone... in HetaOni used daggers, but I can't remember which one it was. I know Belarus and Korea do, and I know France uses a rapier and not knives, but it made sense to me that France would have a couple on him anyways.
Again, if that was just too much Italics text for you then please let me know and I can swap this chapter with the inverted one. Absolutely no content changes, just a reversal of the italics/basic fonts.
See you next chapter! Since New Years Eve I've completed just under 30,000 words on this project alone! Lots of chapters! Yippee!
