MCA [Kagerou Project] replaced Hetalia as my favorite fandom. I'll probably be writing more of those fanfictions in future times.
Review! :D
"Here." The soldiers muscled him into the cell, though Gilbert made no effort to resist. He merely fell to the floor when they shoved him, and rolled out of the way of a pair of booted feet when one stomped at him. "Your shoes," demanded one guard brusquely. Gilbert meekly complied, removing his boots for the guard's scrutiny, and then standing for a rather invasive and rough pat-down. They reassured themselves he had no weapons or tools, and the barred door slammed unceremoniously. A face twisted with anger snarled "Murderer!" before disappearing down the hall.
The albino blinked, brushed off his clothing, and took stock of his surroundings. A typical cell, damp stone walls one three sides and thick iron bars blocking off the front. However, he'd not been condemned to the pits, where the truly mad raved, supposedly in mounds of their own excrement and chained to the wall. His cell was habitable, if austere.
The construction of this castle was extraordinarily unique. The dungeons were located below most of the main halls and passageways, but in a few places a deep gash was carved into the earth, showering the lucky convicts with light, if not the occasional peep of sky. Though on rainy and chilly days, they suffered, it was a privilege many coveted. Gilbert was not located fortuitously enough to see the sky, but enough light filtered down that it was not entirely miserable.
He wondered if his brother or Elizaveta had had a say in his location. It was most certainly a coincidence, wasn't it, that others kept trying to lessen the burden he assumed all on his own. The mysterious rage bubbled in his chest, freshly whetted; with irritation, he quelled it.
And so began his life in the prison.
It wasn't as bad as he'd originally feared. The worst part was either the boredom or the food.
It's definitely the boredom, he decided, lazily folding his arms behind his head. I can get used to that slop. But what am I going to do all day?
Gilbert was lying on his back, tracing the maze of cracks in the walls with his eyes. Right from the first he realized the need to keep time, and he'd managed to scrape feeble tallies through the mold on the wall. Those wouldn't last, though, and his mind was focused on finding a better solution to this problem, turning it over and over in his mind. The bigger, hazy problem of this murder and however long the sentence was was only an abstraction.
He felt at peace.
It was not to last.
There was a small commotion at the end of the hall. His hall was relatively devoid of other prisoners, but he was pretty sure there was a person in the cell directly adjacent to his. There wasn't much of a fuss. There was the low cadences of the guards standing watch, and then a higher-pitched, insistent voice. It seemed to be cajoling them into something.
Go away, he thought vaguely. I'm having deep thoughts here.
Finally, there was a grudging squeak of rusty hinges and a soft shuff-shuff sound.
Oh, no. That was the sound of a skirt sliding over stone, and he could only think of one person who wore a skirt that would come and visit him. Go away, Elizaveta, he chanted silently. Why can't you just leave me alone?
The footsteps neared.
Gilbert scowled, but then smoothed a superior smirk over his features, an expression he almost dropped when he saw who his visitor was.
It wasn't Elizaveta.