Yay! Ludwig's POV! :D

"He's just what the doctor ordered to straighten you out!"

"He'll be the finest music teacher you'll ever have!"

"You're missing out on culture, and there is no better person to school you in culture than him!"

The more Mutter discusses the matter, the more apprehensive I become. Am I being sent to a music school or a charm school? Or perhaps I am being sent somewhere worse…

Mutter points out the car window every few minutes to educate me on the nearest piece of Austrian culture.

"Look, Ludwig, there's the Narrenturm. Did you know that it is continental Europe's oldest insane asylum?"

I tense up and scream. "DON'T! ONKEL TOLD ME ABOUT THOSE PLACES! THEY ARE MOST UNACCOMMODATING!"

"Ludwig, what ever made you think I was taking you to the Lunatics' Tower?"

"Because…"

"Mein Sohn, the Narrenturm is not even a psychiatric hospital anymore. It's only a museum. You are not going to a psych ward."

"Onkel said that people will lie to supposed lunatics to keep them from throwing a tantrum as they are are taken away!"

Mutter sighs. "This is why I am taking you away from your Onkel. Onkel Wolfgang is mentally ill, and sometimes, quite honestly, I wonder how he made it out of the psych ward. Especially considering what sort of environment you have been forced by your father to live in, you need to spend your months in Vienna in a safe, cultured environment, which is more than I can provide for you at home at this time."

Mutter drives up to a mansion, practically a palace, that is larger than our own von Shellz manor. The front door opens to a ballroom that is even larger than the one at Castle Koopa, if one could call that a ballroom. I feel a jolt of excitement at the sound of a familiar piano tune being played on a magnificent piano at the far end of the ballroom. The pianist is a tall but delicately framed man with pale skin and dark hair, clad in a blue outfit straight out of the 18th century.

I walk closer to the man, somewhat hesitantly, for, as I watch how swiftly and gracefully his fingers stroke the keys, and how flawlessly he plays the composition, perfect down to the very last note, I realize that I am in the presence of a true master.

I turn around to see that Mutter has already left. Intimidated, but at the same time curious, I take a deep breath and will myself to approach the musician.

The musician seems unaware of my presence as I look up at him. His eyes are closed in passionate concentration, behind glasses frames that make him appear decidedly more elegant, and sweat is beginning to bead on his forehead. Envious of the master's delicate white fingers, I watch patiently as they fly across the keys until Mozart's 12th piano concerto comes to an end.

The man wipes his forehead with a fine linen handkerchief and opens his eyes, and turns to face me. His eyes are large and indigo in color, with a clear, lucid sparkle.

"You are the young country that has been turned over to the care of Austria, am I correct?"

"Um... well I..." I am tongue-tied, and slightly confused by the man's sentence.

"Well, pleasure to make your acquaintance, young Mister Dark Land. I am Roderich von Edelstein, but you may call me Mister Austria."

"D-Dark Land? My name is Ludwig-"

"I would rather call you Dark Land, if you don't mind, to avoid confusion with that other country whose name is Ludwig," Mister Austria snaps. "Now, since you belong to me now, I am going to supervise all of the industry and politics in your land. The only thing you have to do is loyally obey me without asking any questions. Do you have any questions?"

Well, better him than King Dad. Confused as I am as to how Mister Austria is going to supervise Dark Land's industry and politics, never mind how he would get my father to allow him to do that, I am nevertheless sick with giddiness in anticipation of being schooled by this master of masters, and thus have only one question in mind to ask him.

"When can I start?"

"Right now. But first I have to find appropriate attire for you to wear."

I giggle. He's going to dress me in the same elegant formal clothing that he is wearing! What glee!

"Shut up with the giggling, it's annoying."

Mister Austria, already back from his upstairs linen closet, throws the clothing at my face.

I shove the clothing off my face and gasp. It is servant's clothing, and female servant's clothing at that, and quite old-looking, like clothing displayed as an exhibit at a history museum.

"But Mister Austria, these are maid's clothes."

"I know. These were the very same rags that Italy wore when he was part of my former empire. I see no point in buying new ones when there is nothing wrong with these that a bit of patching cannot fix."

I notice, as I pull the dress on, that it does indeed need patching; there are burn holes, moth holes, and it has long since been stained with tomato sauce and yellow age.

I gape at Mister Austria, before turning away from his cold but enchanting blue-violet stare to gape longingly at his piano.

"Oh, I see, you thought you were getting a turn on the piano! Pardon me while I scoff!"

Mister Austria scoffs for a bit, then grabs my hand to study my fingers.

"You do not have the hands to play piano! All you have is stubbly claws!"

"For your information, these stubbly claws placed SIXTH in the International Chopin Piano Competition!"

"Sixth! Ha! Why did you not place first!"

"What were you expecting? I am only five years old! That is far more than you can reasonably expect from any child at my age!"

"That is not an excuse. Mozart was already composing when he was your age."

"I have composed quite a few pieces myself," I retort. "What were YOU doing when you were my age?"

"I was out conquering other countries and building my empire. How's your empire coming along?"

I refrain from humiliating myself with discussion of the embarrassing state of my father's empire.

"Well things are going to change now that I am in charge, Mister Dark Land. In the meantime, since you are so precociously competent at musicianship, I suppose that I can reasonably expect you to perform simple tasks such as household sanitation."

Mister Austria pulls me painfully by the hair to a closet that contains a broom and a dustpan, both of which he throws at my face.

"Now get to sweeping! I want my ballroom to sparkle for the Opera Ball!"

I cannot help but fret over being forced to do such a dull task. I have often watched servants that spend their entire lives sweeping my father's castle, and I have wondered what sort of degenerate mind would be content with doing that for any period of time, let alone as a vocation.

Some cultural experience this turned out to be. Mister Austria ascends his staircase, and I then begin to hear him play on his other piano.

At least I will have lovely music to toil away to. Still, Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata being played at a time like this only serves to assist me in dwelling on my already damp mood.