31. In His Eyes
Date Written: February 28, 2019
Date Posted: October 5, 2019
Characters: Veneziano
Summary: Veneziano contemplates human relationships and children.
Notes:
Nations, as a rule, deliberately didn't use human convention to describe their relationships. There were the occasional, "he's my brother" or "I think of her as a sister", but rarely did the terms stick. America no longer viewed England as his brother, Japan thought himself separate from China, and many others had acquiesced to the same convention.
Furthermore, Nations, as a rule, rarely associated with humans unless they were in the know about Nationhood. Of course, there were no punishment to become those if that should ever happen, but… death and experience was more than enough incentive to deter those from going down an ambitious road concerning humans.
And Nations, as a rule, did not go around procreating. Sexual libidos and want for intimacy aside, there was no way to procreate. Male Nations had the capability, but their seed rarely made it to fruition. Female Nations rarely carried the babe to full term.
And that's if they actually tried.
Children born of Nations were very rare—only half a dozen were documented after the fall of Rome. China, the youngest of the Ancients and the first of modernity, showed only a brief recollection of such rare children.
Perhaps that is why Nations took to colonizing, to brand their image into a weak link of their kind. Perhaps it was to fill a hole that humans couldn't offer them.
Nations weren't meant to bear children.
But perhaps they could raise them?
Italia Veneziano looked down at the small bundle that lay within a small cot. Its small face was pink with warmth, fat from sucking its mother's milk. The small hands—so tiny!—were balled up and unconsciously batting away the clothes.
"Are you having a bad dream, little one?" The centuries old young man brushed a few strands of the tuft of hair that strayed from the tip of the child's head. Like the rest of the child, the head was warm and fragile—the promise of something more, something greater in the future.
Carefully, oh so carefully, he took the child in his arms. A warm feeling took hold, streaking from the center of his chest to the tips of his toes. All Nations, no matter how jaded, cynical, or bloodthirsty loved children.
Children were the lifeblood, the precursors of society. That future of life was innocent, their hearts still untainted and immaculate in the eyes of dystopia.
Italy wished for this.
Within his arms, the child breathed deeply and batted its hands about.
"Are you fighting?" He asks in jest. "Are you fighting for me? Please, little one, I don't need warriors now." His stern, but still so soft eyes, watched the babe as he lightly touched his forehead to the slumbering infant.
Italy stayed like that, his presence simply a backdrop again the monsters of life. Perhaps one day, when the child was all grown, they would meet again.
It's a prospect that both terrifies and excites him.
How can a child retain such innocence?
How can a child be so pure and so untainted given the shambles of society?