91. The Other Reflection
Date Written: November 9, 2020
Date Posted: December 8, 2020
Characters: Veneziano
Summary: Sometimes, Veneziano doesn't like looking in his mirror.
Notes:
Sometimes, Veneziano doesn't like looking at himself in the mirror.
It's not necessarily something that he cares to admit, especially to his closest friends and family, but he won't exactly hide it either. It's a mirror, he tries to reason to himself.
What could he be so scared of?
On most days, the good days, he can freely look at his reflection as he preens in preparation for a family outing or for a government function. On special occasions, he takes special care to address his features for a lover. While those are the good days, there are times when he refuses to look upon the glass.
Perhaps it's a bad day.
Perhaps it's a day that signifies something in his long forgotten past that creeps upon him like insects crawling the underside of his skin.
Perhaps it's a day that rings dizzily in his head in infamy—a poor reminder for a mind that has seen so much, born so much that he can longer remember.
Regardless, sometimes Veneziano forgoes spending ridiculous amounts of time in front of his floor length mirror. There's something almost… well, his mirror is definitely not haunted because…
It's Veneziano.
He's the one who's haunted.
He's haunted by his dark brown eyes, his statuesque, straight nose. Sometimes, he wants to cover all of his olive dark skin and rip the strands of his dark brown hair from his head. Irrational thoughts, Germany would have called them, but Veneziano can't scratch the feeling that…
Well…
It's irrational because he's irrational, that's all there is to it. That, and sometimes, Veneziano doesn't like what he sees in the mirror.
It's not because he sees himself standing, poised and awkward in front of his mirror.
No, it's because sometimes, he sees other people in lieu of his familiar reflection.
On the days when the world feels too heavy and too complicated to live through… On the days when all Veneziano wants to do is collapse onto his desk or his bed and fall asleep… Sometimes, he can't stand his mirror or any reflective surfaces.
He sees them in the corner of his eyes, dancing in the fleeting periphery of his vision, their presence always uniquely welcome and not at the same time.
Sometimes, their limbs are elongated to that of a lithe dancer's or short and stout like a brawler's. Their skin ranges from the fairest of olive to the more bronze hues that border on the luxuriant gradients of brown. He catches glimpses of their hair: curly or straight, wavy or swaying; blonds and brunets and hues of all sorts in between.
But it's their eyes that grab hold of him by the throat and root him to the spot.
He sees a mishmash of hazels and browns in their eyes that remind him of the earth after a fresh rain; blues, resembling clear sky and tempestuous seas; of greens that bloom like the freshest of produce or the dullest of uncut emeralds.
Their expressions are always the same.
Scornful.
Shamed.
It takes everything in Veneziano not to break down in tears or to freeze up.
It takes even more for Veneziano to turn around and run away from those reflections that shouldn't have belonged to him but did anyway.
He could see business oriented Milano glaring at him.
Closed off Genoa scoffs.
Turino refuses to look him in the eyes and Veneziano is scared of what he is going to find the day he finally does.
So many of his other siblings in the north gift the Venetian with the same treatment, but there's only one reflection that terrifies him above all others.
His stature is stately, otherworldly even. His height practically dwarfs the mirror, his form could barely be encompassed within the small frame of the reflection. His eyes are familiar, but the thick line of displeasure of his mouth isn't.
His appearance is rare, but Veneziano immediately recognizes him whenever he manifests.
The Great Roman Empire.
His predecessor.
His benefactor.
Rome.
The reflection that haunts Veneziano the most above all others.
Sometimes, Veneziano doesn't like looking at himself in the mirror.
