Disclaimer:
I don't own Hetalia. All rights belong to their respective owners. In this case, Himaruya.
The Personal Records of a Doctor: A RDNA-verse Tale
23 February 1934
It was decided that I'll need to take temporary lodgings in the Residence for the duration [1]. Was assured that Bridget can come along and be looked after. Considerate of His Majesty, really. But looks like much work's ahead of me. I got to meet the patient. She waited in the reception. Offered to shake my hand. Smiled at me. It was tired. Forced.
She introduced herself as Francesca [2]. There's an aura about her. Looked elegant. Delicate. Refined. Yet somehow there was clearly a look of sternness in her face. More of a fierceness that seemed to balance out her outward appearance. We chatted. Talked about the treatment at first. Then about my career. And other matters. Showed surprising familiarity on culture, history and a variety of topics. Widely read. No, too unusual for her age. Almost as though she had seen them herself. Must be imagining it. Doesn't make sense.
Then I saw the signs. When we discussed the Terror, strong hesitation took hold. Her posture grew increasingly strained. Was clearly desperate. Claimed that she had been there. Went there as the horrors spread across the continent. Saw terrible things left unexplained. Desperation took hold of her voice. Then lost control. Seemed threatened to strike me had not been for the guards. Fear. Shock. Agony. Pain. Severe trauma of the worse sort. But she couldn't have been a refugee. I'm starting to get the message. Much work is ahead of me.
[1] To keep watch over the patient at all times.
[2] After consideration, it was decided to keep her first name uncensored. Additional information is available in the Residence and select offices. –Ed.
25 February 1934
Submitted my first report a few hours ago [1]. His Majesty's staff had provided me with whatever they had and all else besides. Don't know if sufficient for her. She needs rest right now.
Began the preliminaries yesterday. Wanted to start things off simple. A few diagnostics. Psychiatric tests. The works. Had it done at her balcony. She quietly obliged. Answered everything quietly. Composed strokes. As though she knew exactlywhat to write. But her motions were strained. Clearly holding on to a shred of dignified face. Results showed her to be of sound mind. Looked the part at least. Sane, yes. But hanging on a thread.
That afternoon she offered to guide me around the gardens. Spoke of the different palms and arrangements with impeccable authority. Her enthusiasm was sincere. Yet her pace and gestures were forced. Hiding or likely trying to forget something. Asked her, only to get this reply:
"You should have been there, Herr Doktor. I'm sorry."
The words lingered through supper. Bridget tried comforting me. Saying how the girl was in desperate need for help. That I could help put to rest whatever happened to her. I'm having doubts I could even attempt to.
Then the screams came. It was late at night. About 1 AM. Couldn't sleep. Tried to check on her. As I approached, she started screaming. No,shrilling. Dear God. Couldn't make out the words. Something about death, Reds, and her parents. Rushed into the room as guards came out of nowhere. Carried several vials of sedative. Watched as they restrained her. As several doses of those vials were taken in. She fell unconscious not before long. I couldn't move. Was quietly brought back to my room. They said I needed some sleep. That was six hours ago. Have to work quickly. What have I gotten myself into?
[1] The official records are under the possession of the Dynasty, at the behest of the doctor's family. For purposes best left classified, only select researchers are given clearance to view them. –Ed.
