Monday, November 11th, 1991 - 44 days until Christmas
I take one more lingering look at the front of the house before ascending the white, marble steps up to the front double doors. There are two guards standing in front of them, armed and in a strong stance. They step to the side once I am close enough and allow me to walk into the manor. The inside of course is just as beautiful as the outside, and makes me seriously wonder where Roderich got all the marble from. Probably took it from Greece.
"Gilbert." Speaking of Roderich there he is now, at the top of the first set of stairs. "I'm afraid we may not have much time." My frown increases and I ascend the first flight, following him down the main hallway toward his bedroom. Another set of guards stand before these wooden doors as well, stepping aside to let both of us walk in before closing the doors behind us.
And that's when I see him.
He looks bad. Terribly sick, pale face, sunken eyes, light lips. His eyes are closed, labored breathing filling the room with the sound of a tortured and tired soul. The effort to take in air must be great for him. It makes my chest hurt just hearing it.
"How long?" I ask, fighting my urge to sob and run away.
"It started after you left."
"And he has yet to get better?" I ask desperately.
"No, I'm afraid not." My body shivers and I feel cold in the summer air. He's been sick for almost a year now, fighting to get better, fighting to stay with us and now fighting to breathe. I've never seen a nation waste away like this before and it is frightening. And there is nothing I can do to stop the pain, nothing I can do to make him better. . .
All I can do is watch in silent horror as the love of my life slowly dies in front of me. But I remain hopeful as I bite the inside of my cheek to quiet the chatter of my teeth. I remain hopeful that he will eventually pull out of this.
Walking over to the side of the bed I kneel down and take his hand in mine. Those once vibrant, youthful eyes open to reveal the eyes of someone who has seen over one thousand years. To his credit, he has.
". . . Prussia." He manages with much effort.
"Shh, you don't have to say anything." The tears flow freely down my face now as I'm filled with regret. I shouldn't have waited to join the war. I should have been by his side, should have let go of my spite. He coughs quite violently but it seems to make his breathing a little better and his voice stronger.
"I'm worried about you." I kiss his hand.
"Why are you worried about me?" I ask.
"I fear what will become of you after my death."
"You will not die." I reassure mostly myself. He smiles and squeezes my hand.
"I've been having this dream where you and I are human and we live together in simplicity. . . Grow old." He takes a breath in between words, as if he has ran a couple kilometers and is now trying to speak.
"You are seeing our future." My voice is quivering, choking on tears.
"I want you to know that I love you more than I have ever loved anything. . .And if I have had one regret in life it is not being able to spend more of it with you." As much as his words mean to me, I know they are his last. He is trying to tell me everything he possibly can. I can see it in his eyes, he wants to say so much more but cannot. And that's okay. I understand. I tighten my grip on his hand and sob into his chest. His other hand weakly runs through my hair.
"Child, do not cry so. . .Celebrate my life."
The doors open, allowing for one of Roderich's courtiers to rush in, a bit breathless.
"Austria, sir, it has been finalized. . . The Holy Roman Empire is no more. . ." He says, starting off a bit excited before diminishing into a somber voice. Austria nods once.
"Thank you for bringing this information to me so quickly. Tell the king I will be there shortly."
"Of course, sir." The courtier bows before swiftly existing the room.
"He is human?" I ask, feeling my tears well up again.
"It would seem like that is the case." Austria answers, joining me at the side of Holy Rome, or. . . Just Wolfgang, I suppose.
"How do you feel?" I ask him.
"Worse. . . Considerably worse." His voice is hardly a whisper, each breath is now a wheeze. I take a hold of his hand now, his human hand. His face slowly begins to change colors like he is being choked and there is nothing I can do but slowly watch him suffocate to death. "You're. . . So beautiful." My tears begin again. He would use his dying breath to compliment me. Roderich turns away, unable to watch him die. I get onto the bed next to him and embrace him, softly running my hand through his hair long after I feel the warmth fade from him and the room fall into silence. His strangled gasps cease, muscles too tired to keep fighting, lungs refusing to move. Now that he is human, he can finally die. . . Die and stay dead.
I remained holding him like that until the summer day turned into night.
A part of my soul died with him that day. He told me not to turn to darkness but it was hard not to after losing something that I circled my entire existence around. My life, for so long, only had purpose because of him. I fought for him, lived for him, breathed for him. Losing him was the most painful thing I have ever experienced in my entire life, more painful than being stripped of my nationhood. And more painful than being held captive in Russia for nearly sixty years. That pain changed me. And I'm ashamed of that. It only took the aforementioned sixty years for me to realize that, to be forced to come to terms with who I had become. . . Yet even now I'm still not like myself. . . But what even is that? Was it who I was at the turn of the century? Was it who I was before the fall of the Holy Roman Empire? Who I was before the Thirty Years' War? Is it who I am now?
Quite frankly I don't really like who I am now, nor did I like who I was at the turn of the century. My best self, in my opinion, was before the Thirty Years' War, but I know too much now to return to being that person. Can I be who I was between 1648 and 1806 without being Prussia? I mean, honestly, I'm not Prussia. Prussia doesn't exist. . . Was any of those people even me? Or am I someone completely new? . . .
"Hey, are you alright?"
I open my eyes to Canada sitting on the side of the bed, wiping a soft cloth over my cheek.
"I don't know." I answer truthfully. He nods a bit before setting the cloth down on the nightstand.
"It's rather late in the day so I came in here to make sure you were doing alright. . . You were crying in your sleep."
"Yeah," I begin, memories of Wolfgang's death flashing across my mind, "it wasn't a great dream."
"I'm sorry to hear that. . . I wonder if it had anything to do with your regression."
"Regression? Am I getting worse?" I ask while sitting up.
"Not perse. You look a lot younger than you did before, softer and brighter skin, smoother hair, very red eyes." He traces the back of his hand gently down the side of my face and I still.
"I thought getting younger was a good sign."
"Well it can be, but it means that something happened politically. Nothing just happens overnight unless it is. . . From experience being younger tends to mean you are under the influence of another nation."
I look down at the bed, trying to piece together what that means. Does it mean Germany has taken over whatever I am? Or worse. . . That Russia never really let go of me?
"Under an empire, huh? The last time I had to really answer to anyone was when the Holy Roman Empire was still around."
His head tilts slightly to the right as he gives me a small smile.
"It's not all bad. I've been under one my entire life up until recently."
"I guess worse things can happen."
"That's the spirit," he says with a tone that makes me swoon, "do you mind if I take some measurements from you?"
"Of course not, you're the doctor."
I watch him stand up and walk over to the dresser before I stand up as well. He puts his hair up before looking at me over the brim of his glasses.
"Take off your shirt." I do as I'm told, shivering a bit at the cold air. He stands before me with a tape measure in hand and wraps it around my waist, warm hands brushing against my ribs and stomach. "Hm. . You've only added an inch. . ."
"Is that bad?" I find myself asking in a soft voice.
"No, it's really good, any progress is good. However, I can still see a bit of your ribs while you are standing, so you should probably gain at least ten more pounds (5 kg)." He kneels down in front of me and begins wrapping the tape measure around my bare thigh. The world stands completely still as those comforting hands brush against the inside of my thighs. I tell myself to remain as motionless and as quiet as possible, he's only measuring me, nothing more. But as his right hand practically grips my thigh I can't help but shiver.
"Are you cold?" he asks me.
"No, just, uh, ticklish." I lie.
"Really? My apologies." He steps away from me and I let out a small sigh of relief. "But you are covered in goosebumps." He follows up.
"Oh. . . I guess I am."
"Why do you always lie to me when I ask you if you are cold?"
"I uh. . . Because I'm not allowed to complain about that." I admit while staring down at the carpeted floor of the guest room.
"Yeah, no shit." Russia would say while shivering, lips turning blue from the cold.
"We don't have any more wood, and won't be able to get more in at least a week." Lithuania whispers to me.
"Unless we use the peat." Estonia says matter of factly.
"No, we are not stealing peat," Russia interjects, "besides, the storm outside will make it impossible to get any for at least a few days anyway."
Lithuania pulls on my arm and I look at him.
'Come on' He mouths to me. Quietly, he leads me out of the library and down the hallway to one of the empty rooms. It used to be the one China would use whenever she visited, but she doesn't come around anymore. He closes the door behind us and leans against it, facing me.
"It's warmest in here." He says.
"Is it? Or did you just want me alone?" I tease.
"Okay, maybe that's part of it." He says with a smile.
I sit on the bed and he joins me.
"Does Raivis seem a little. . . Small, to you?" He asks.
"He is a child, isn't he?"
"He's physically fourteen, he should be bigger. . . He looks like he's ten. I'm worried that his growth is being stunted from living here. There is hardly enough food to feed four people in this house, let alone eleven. Czechia keeps giving half her portions to him, but she's getting very weak."
"Have you talked to Ukraine about this?" I ask.
"Yes. . . Yesterday she started giving more than half her portions to him. . . But I don't want Czechia and Ukraine to suffer like that, they shouldn't have to. They do just as much work as everyone else, if not more. . . And I'll be damned if I share my concerns with Russia."
I put my hand on his knee and give it a reassuring squeeze. He looks up at me, eyes exhausted.
"I'll try talking to Slovakia and Romania, you try getting through to Poland. I'm sure they would understand and try their best to help Latvia."
He nods and pulls me into a tight embrace.
"Thank you so much. . . I just want Raivis to be healthy. . . He doesn't deserve any of this." I can hear his voice cracking and my heart starts to hurt. As we pull apart I put a hand on his cheek and wipe his tears away. He puts his hand over mine and presses into it.
I'm not sure who started it, but that doesn't really matter. All I can think about are his lips and the way they move against mine. They are a bit dry from the cold, but I'm sure mine are too.
We lie on our sides, facing each other, and kissing like there is no tomorrow. Because honestly, for us, there might not be. He grabs my waist and pulls me closer causing me to moan into the kiss.
"Huh, so this is why you both disappear together." We couldn't have pulled apart fast enough at the sound of that voice. My heart beat races as I stare at Russia leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. "Figured as much, though I had hoped both of you had more dignity."
"It's my fault," I begin, not wanting Toris to face any consequences, "I forced myself on him." I can see Lithuania give me an incredulous look from the corner of my vision as Russia lifts an amused eyebrow.
"Shut the fuck up Gilbert and leave the room."
I look at Lithuania and he mouths to me that he'll be okay. Hesitantly, I get off of the bed and walk out of the room. Just before I exit the doorway, Russia grabs my arm tight enough to bruise. I stifle a gasp.
"Keep your hands off of him, understand?" He says to me softly.
"Yes, sir." I answer. He pushes me into the hallway and shuts the door, leaving Lithuania alone inside. He pulls a key out from his coat pocket and locks the door from the outside.
"Perhaps some solitude will prompt Lithuania to reflect on why he shouldn't be engaging in acts like that. . . Especially with you." Russia comments before walking away. I wait until he is no longer within sight to go back to the door.
"Toris?" I ask. I can hear him walk up to the door from the otherside.
"It's okay." He answers.
"No, it's not okay. How long is he going to leave you in there?"
"I'll be fine, truly. He'll probably come back near the end of the day."
"But-"
"Gilbert." The way he says my name tells me everything. There is nothing I can do.
Sixty hours later Russia unlocked the door.
"Please be okay, please be okay." I hear myself say.
"You're okay, you're safe." A beautiful voice tells me.
I open my eyes and find a soft lavender pair looking at me. As I look around the room I recognize it to be the guest room in Canada's house. I'm lying on the bed.
"What happened?" I ask.
"Perhaps another flashback? I'm sorry, I fear that I triggered that one." I try to sit up but I'm much too dizzy to do so. He helps me lie back down and I grab onto his arm to try and cement myself in the world. "Take it easy, you still need some time to recover."
"Will that ever stop happening?" I ask.
"With time."
"I already went through it all, why must my mind insist that I keep experiencing it. . ."
November 12th, 1991
I really don't want to move. What is even the point? If there is nothing I can do to get away from the past, why even try? I can't even live without being thrown into random flashbacks. None of this matters. I won't get better.
November 13th, 1991
He comes in sometimes but my favorite pastime is staring at the wall. I wonder if this is how Lithuania felt when he was locked in that room for days on end? Or how Latvia felt when Russia took his innocence? Is this how Belarus felt when she was ignored? How Ukraine felt when she was beaten? What about Estonia when he was sent to Siberia? Or even Poland, who had a hell of a spirit that had to be brutally killed? Is this how Czechia felt when she tried to protest and was beaten? Or how Slovakia felt when he saw and could do nothing to stop it? How about Romania when he was forbidden to speak because his language was romantic? Or how Prussia felt when he was brutalized by everyone else. . . This is how I felt. Like what was the point in continuing to live? What does it even matter?. . . what does it even matter. . .
November 14th, 1991
No more dancing, no more fireworks. The wall is as blank as I want to be. Solid, unchanging, unmovable. The only thing that flashes before my eyes is the torture. He was good at it. Russia could find out everything, what bothered me, what made me insecure, what caused me the most pain, what would make me want to die. He did it to everyone.
November 15th, 1991
The tears come freely. They stain my cheeks and wet the pillow, swell my eyes and make my head pound. But even they run out. My eyes dry up but the pain is still there.
November 16th, 1991
"Help me." Latvia's voice rings through my mind. "Please. I don't want to die."
Why won't he leave me alone? Can't he see I can not do anything to help him? We all want to be helped. . . But none of us will be.
November 17th, 1991
Why can't I die?
November 18th, 1991
Why am I still here?