Day 1

Dear Journal,

Happy 16th Birthday to me. This beautiful journal is a gift from Matthew, who bought it for me straight away because he thought that the leather suited me perfectly. He truly is a kindhearted boy. I am grateful to have such a friend.

I suppose I know how to use a journal, but writing my thoughts in a book is still very strange to me. Perhaps I just have to practice?

Sometimes, the room feels too quiet for me. As a birthday treat, I bought myself an iTouch to play music. I hope that music will be able to fill the room. No one knows this, so don't tell anyone, but my room gets lonely sometimes. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to share room with someone.

The sky is bleak and impenetrable, full of cloudy snow. Why was I born on such a cold day?

~Utopia

[xXx]

Day 2

Dear Journal,

I distributed all of my Thank-You cards during lunch. Alfred made a big fuss over it, saying that I didn't have to give them 'thank-you' cards, but I slipped one in his bag anyways. On the other hand, Feliciano was very enthusiastic about my card. He pulled Ludwig and me into a group hug, saying that we should eat pasta together again. I must remember to eat with them and Antonio on Friday.

Arthur and I received a perfect score on our science report, most likely due to Arthur's outstandingly useful scones (they provided us with an excellent source of toxic chemicals for our experiment). Alfred, on the other hand, enjoyed nearly taking everyone's face off with his unfortunate presentation "accident." (I'm sure that he had rigged that beaker to fall on purpose.)

Thankfully, there were no injuries. ("Hit the deck!" someone had screamed.) Alfred will be serving three weeks of daily detention with Mr. Zwingli. Our Swedish Professor, in fact, probably knew exactly what had happened with that beaker.

~Utopia

[xXx]

Day 3

Dear Journal,

Antonio rearranged our seats in class today. As of right now, I reside in a seat in between Alfred, Ivan, and Feliciano. Ludwig was extremely unpleased about Feliciano's unfortunate placement so far away from him (he, Feliciano, and Kiku seem to be keeping to themselves a lot more at lunch). Alfred was busy doodling, but kept glancing warily between Ivan, Ludwig, and me. Ivan's calculative eyes slowly swept the room, a smile on his face, waiting for something interesting to happen.

It was an altogether uncomfortable class. You can imagine the sort of things this semester will engender by the end of the year. I do hope that no misfortune will befall upon us.

Ludwig offered me—

(xXx)

Without warning, a sharp, angry pain bit through my head. I dropped the journal, which had been inches away from my eyes, and winced—hard. I couldn't—shit—my head—everything was reeling. Wheezing, my fingers tangled themselves deep within the locks of my hair. Strangled sounds were moaning from my throat. My body shivered as chills ran up and down my spine. It felt like the world was fragile and if I didn't curl up into a tight ball, it would all fall apart.

Eyes prickling, I cursed in frustration. This was only the third fucking journal entry. What the hell am I getting headaches already for?

I grit my teeth and forced myself to open the book again. The words were swimming in front of my eyes but I managed to find the right page. I'll finish the rest of this, I swore determinedly. Then I'll—stop for the night.

Brain throbbing with pain, I picked up where I left off.

(xXx)

Ludwig offered me a slice of his famously delicious chocolate cake after dinner. It was absolutely perfect in terms of patisserie, yet I couldn't help but wonder if there was a hidden meaning baked into the soft interior of the cake.

~Utopia

(xXx)

Shutting the journal, I placed it on the desk next to my bed as best I could. I turned off all the lights in the room. My head was hurting, my eyes were tired, and I truly couldn't find the spirit to keep reading.

Closing my eyes, I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow—

—and then opened them to the nightmares that awaited me.

xXx

"Are you tired?" Matthew asked me after I yawned in the middle of my sentence.

I grinned it off. "Nah, it's nothing." I took a sip of iced tea. "Anyways, like I was saying, can I ask you a question, Mattie?"

"Yes?" Mattie said. Alfred, Ludwig, Felice, Kiku, and Ivan were eating breakfast, half keeping to themselves, half listening. Arthur sipped at his tea leisurely.

My mind flashed to the journal. "Two years ago… did you give me a book?" I said, making my voice unsure. "Like, a journal or something?"

Matthew paused in his eating and the others—now shamelessly listening to everything—stopped everything they were doing and stared at us. To my right, a sudden aura darkened the mood.

I wordlessly took in the feeling of Ivan's chilling stare, noticing that no one else was as intense as the boy next to me. To the others, he looked like his normal, quiet self. But I could feel the darkness rolling off of him like quietly burning fire. The detective in me awoke, asking a million questions. Why is he acting like this? Was he jealous that Matthew gave m—Utopia a journal? Is there something he wants to tell me? Is there something he doesn't want me to know?

Matthew seemed just as surprised as me when he realized that the whole table was staring.

"Tope had a diary?" Alfred exclaimed. "When? When did this happen?"

"Yeah," Matthew said, cautious of our audience. "Two years ago, for Tope's 16th birthday. I think it was a journal." He focused on me now. "I remember… I think I gave it to you because I thought that the leather was nice."

"Did you find it?" Ivan asked.

"Not really," I said indifferently. "I had a weird dream last night. I remember writing in a journal, and that it was important, but that's it. I was just curious about it."

The others pulled back their ears, none too subtle about it. A few of them actually looked disappointed. Ivan's expression was unreadable, though his mood seemed to lighten a little.

"Wow," Alfred said as he slurped at his soda. "Who'd ever thought that Utopia had a journal? I bet there's all kinds of stuff in it."

"The journal of Utopia," Ludwig muttered. "Sounds ominous, don't you think?"

"Ve, what do you think is in it?" Felice chirped out of the blue. "Do you think she wrote about us?"

"I suppose so," Kiku said thoughtfully.

Alfred took another obnoxiously loud slurp of Cola. "Hey, Tope. If you ever find the journal, you'll show it to us, right?"

Glancing at the American, I was surprised to find a smile on his face that did not quite match the intensity of his eyes. Hiding under the façade of thinking, I finally replied with, "Maybe. But I would read it before showing you guys. You know, just in case."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Just in case for what?"

I, too, raised an eyebrow. "Really? Do I have to explain this to you?"

Felice raised his hand excitedly. "Ve, ve! I know this one!" He winked at me. "Utopia probably wrote about her dolce metà, si?"

"...sorry, what?"

I grinned along with Felice. He was a true Italian, I suppose. "You know," I said nonchalantly, teasing them. "A petite amie. A novio. A schatz."

Ludwig stared at me, his face slightly pink. "O-Oh," he muttered.

Alfred looked jealously between all three of us. "What?" he demanded. "What are you talking about?"

I rolled my eyes. "Alfred, it's a journal, right? Like, a diary?"

At this, nearly everyone at the table grasped what I was trying to say, exluding Alfred, who still looked extremely confused. "I still don't get it," he whined.

I sighed. "A boy, Alfred. I'd read it first before showing it to you because there could've been some legit gushy, lovey-dovey feelings in that journal."

Realization dawned in the American's eyes as he dragged out a very long and very loud, "Ohhh…"

Too late, though. The joke was already dead and gone. Shaking my head at Alfred's obliviousness, I moved the conversation somewhere else. "So, New Years is coming up. Does the academy do anything special? Or…"

"No," Kiku replied. "But many of us have our own traditions to follow."

"Oh!" Alfred exclaimed. "That's what I needed to tell you guys! New Year's party, the lounge, just us…uh…" He silently counted the number of people at the table. "One, two…seven! Oh, plus Francis and Yao, so that's nine!"

I frowned at him. "Alfred, it's ten."

"What? No," he said, pointing to each person and counting. "One, two, three, four, five—"

"You just skipped Matthew."

"I did?" The American's eyebrows furrowed as he counted yet again. "One, two, three…" He blinked. "Oh, you're right. Ten." Alfred grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, bro. I blame it on vacation."

"Yeah, right," Matthew muttered inaudibly.

"So are we all good for New Years?" Alfred said. "We'll eat dinner in the lounge and watch a movie or something. Francis says that he'll even let us drink his best bottle of champagne."

"Where is that tosser anyways?" Arthur said. "Didn't he say that he'd be right back?"

"He's probably off doing what he does best," Ivan said, sighing. "Distracted by a pretty girl."

Everyone at the table agreed solemnly.

"A New Year's party sounds like fun!" Felice said excitedly. "We should all bring something to eat. I can make pasta!"

"Da, I agree!" Ivan said happily. "I can bring hot borscht to ward off the cold."

"I will bring sashimi, if that is alright with everyone."

"If the lot of you are planning to bring something," said Arthur, "then I'll make some—"

"No!" Alfred cried out. "That's okay, Artie, you don't have to cook, bake, or make anything for us! Especially your scones. Your scones taste like crap."

Arthur glared daggers at the American. "Will you stop ridiculing my food? I bake a perfectly fine scone. Besides, I was about to say that I would bring tea. Tea, you blundering idiot."

"Tea? Who the hell brings tea to a party?"

"Do you want scones instead?"

Alfred shook his head quickly. Arthur muttered darkly to himself.

"My scones are perfectly fine… Stupid Americans and their bloody lack of taste…"

"Right. Just keep telling yourself that," I said cheerily.

xXx

Later, in the evening, there was a knock on my door. I answered it to see Eliza's excited expression.

"Hey!" I said. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"And whose fault is that?" she teased. "You're always hanging with the boys. Save some time for your girls, too!"

My mind briefly flashed to a certain Belorussian. How was Natalya doing? Were we still somewhat-friends, or did she still hate me?

To Eliza, I said, "So, what's up? Did you need something?"

"Actually, I was wondering if you were doing anything tomorrow," she said. "Mr. Roderich is coming back from his trip and I wanted to bake a cake to welcome him home. Feli is going to help. You should come, too!"

I hardly even had to think about it. "Sure!" I said, a little excited. "Sounds like fun."

Eliza looked very happy. "This is great! Where are you going to be at 10-ish?"

"Probably here," I said. "Maybe in the dining hall, but I'll probably be here."

"Alright. I'll see you tomorrow. Good night!"

"Good night!"

(xXx)

Day 4

Dear Journal,

I saw Feliks picking up the contents of his bag from the ground. I wonder if someone is picking on him or if he was always so uncoordinated.

Ludwig was absent from class today.

~Utopia

(xXx)

Head throbbing, I put the journal back in the desk drawer and turned off all the lights. The sky outside my window was dark and unclear. Only a few stars shone through the mysterious skyward lake.

That night, the nightmares took a frightening turn for the worse.

xXx

I couldn't fight anymore. I was too weak. I was too afraid.

"St—ay—str—ng—!" a voice cried out. It was loud and screeching, cutting off repeatedly. "I to—you—way—ian—"

"I can't understand you!" I sobbed. I couldn't escape. I couldn't do anything. "Help me!" Muscles strained to resist, but my mind was already beginning to shut down. The darkness looming above me was crushing my bones. I could hardly breathe. Everything was so overwhelming.

"Sta—strong—" the voice cried out again. "Be—are—of th—ussian—"

"What?" I was suffocating. The darkness was taking over.

"—Russian!" the voice screamed. "Stay away from the—"