Chapter Text
My breaths come out shallow. Quick.
I’m clutching the metal of the cot so tightly my knuckles are turning white. And that incessant, fucking light bulb swings and swings overhead making weird shadows rise and fall in the corners of my vision.
“Ludwig.”
I can feel my eyes start to burn and I screw them shut. This is no place to lose it like this, I cannot show weakness. Not now.
“Look at me.”
Fingers curl gently around my chin and lift up my face. I open my eyes to find fiery red ones staring back at me. His white hair is falling out of place at the front, a few strands hang down from where it was so carefully styled.
Slowly he kneels down, hand softly falling from my face.
“I’m so sorry, Ludwig. . . I won’t pretend that this will be easy on you, because it won’t be. It'll be one of the hardest things you have ever done - but you must remember that you are strong. And you will make it.”
I shake my head, swallowing around a dry throat.
“No I won’t.”
“I would hate to die only for you to squander your life. Live it, Germany, and live it well.”
He wipes my tears away with his thumbs.
“Why can’t I be the one to die?”
He shakes his head.
“You are just a boy. I have lived over 700 years, I am ready. I’ve seen enough of this world, and I will gladly lay my life down to save yours.” He kisses my forehead.
“Remember this, Ludwig; I love you, and I could have never asked for a better progeny.”
I take a shaky breath, my saliva turning thick.
“What am I supposed to do without you?”
He sits next to me leaning against my shoulder.
“Keep your head down and your wits about you. Rebuild, focus on things that make you gentle, that make you happy. And whatever you must do, in reason of course, to get America to like you, do it. If he is fond of you he will take care of you. I know how he is. . . You could break that shell of his and get inside.”
But, I don’t want to rely on America. I want you. I can’t picture a life without you in it, you’re all I’ve ever known. I can’t survive without you. I just can’t.
He rubs my back and we sit in silence. Words bubble in my throat but I never say them. In what seems like maybe thirty minutes, maybe an hour, a few humans come in and take him from me. He goes with them willingly, with a cool demeanor about him even though they are leading him to his death. He winks at me one last time before they close the door.
And I lose it.
There is nothing in this God-forsaken cell to throw or break, so I do it to myself. I scream, I punch the cinder block walls, I throw myself to the ground and claw at the concrete. I only stop once my fists are bloody and my throat is raw. Only stop when my mind is buzzing and numb.
Another group of humans come to my cell. They find me lying on the ground, bloody and dejected. They grab at my arms and haul me up without an ounce of gentleness.
Our boots click loudly on the concrete as they lead me through a sterile facility. I have no clue where I am, or what this place is supposed to be. Perhaps a prison.
We turn down a hall that has a metal gate at the end and my blood runs cold. Something tells me I should not let them take me past that opening so I stop walking. They try to move me, hit me with batons and the butt of a rifle, but I do not walk. I let their blows cast me to the ground.
One of them pulls out a radio.
“#0248 has stopped cooperating. A2, sub3, Onyx.” He clasps the radio onto his belt then resumes trying to help the other two get me up off the floor.
“Well,” a deep, accented voice echoes through the hallway. My blood turns to ice, “it seems you have quite the situation on your hands.”
The three humans turn and salute. One of them steps forward, the one with the radio.
“He has stopped cooperating. We tried force, but he just collapsed. I apologize for having needed to call you, sir, but I did not want the situation to escalate.”
“No need to apologize. You followed protocol to a T. All of you may be dismissed.”
I look up quickly, scanning the hallway for an opening to run, but I’m grabbed by the back of my shirt and hauled up to my feet. The smell of pine and vodka hits my nose and I cannot help but to shudder.
“Are you going to walk by yourself? Or must I help you with that?” Russia’s voice is deceptively sweet. Like you’d want to trust him, but I know better. I know so much better.
“I can walk.” My voice is hoarse. He shoves me forward and I stumble, taking a few quick steps to catch myself. And against my better judgment, I walk through the metal gates, into a dark hallway with solid metal doors.
We walk to the end of the hallway and I stop at a dead end. He opens one of the doors then gestures for me to go inside.
“After you.”
I do so, cautiously entering the dark room. There are no windows, no bed, nothing, save for a chair in the middle with straps. Holy F-
I’m hit, hard, and fall face first into the chair. By the time I gather my wits I’m being manhandled with such aggression I know that there is nothing I would be able to do to fight it. I’m turned around, lifted up a bit, and then one by one my wrists and ankles are strapped in. Another strap goes around my waist. He pulls that one too tight.
Once he’s finished he straightens up, and runs a hand through his silvery blonde hair.
“I hope you find the accommodations comfortable. You’ll be just like that for quite a while.” He gives me a little smile, before turning on his heel and shutting the door behind him. I’m left in a pitch black room.
The strap around my waist is hard to breathe around. It keeps my inhales short, never satisfying. It presses against the bottom of my ribs, digs into the top of my bladder. I can’t shift or squirm or readjust. And I can’t see a thing.
I have no idea how long I’ve been in here for, but my grumbling stomach and dry mouth might suggest a day at the very least. I slept a little, as much as I could in such an uncomfortable state. I tried to keep going back to sleep, because that darkness was better than this one but. . . I couldn’t.
The door opens and a flood of light pours in. I shut my eyes until whoever just walked in closes the door again and plunges us into darkness.
I smell something like apples and sugar. It makes my stomach growl.
A switch is flipped on and a single light bulb overhead flickers to life. It’s dull, but still burns my eyes for a moment. Blinking through the pain I see America. He’s got a chair in hand and puts it down in front of me, backwards. He straddles it, resting his arms on the back of it, looking at me.
“How long have I been in here?” I ask. He doesn’t answer right away. He reaches into his jacket pocket, and takes out a small white box with red markings on it. From it he pulls out a cigarette and places the box back in his pocket. A lighter is soon to follow.
The cigarette glows a bit brighter as he takes a drag. My answer comes with the exhale of smoke.
“Sixteen hours, or so, I wasn’t really counting.” His southern drawl hangs in the air like honey. Dripping, sweet, and suffocating.
I sigh and move as much as the chair affords. In doing so it presses even harder into my ribs.
“For as benevolent and charitable your lot so desperately wants to be, you sure do treat your prisoners well. If I were human I’d be dead.” I comment.
“Good thing you’re not.” He says before taking another drag. My stomach growls loudly and I roll my eyes. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten something?” He asks.
“Almost three days.” This is true. And honestly, I don’t blame them. I would not have properly fed them either. It’s hard to have sympathy for a man with a red arm band.
“Hm. I’ll get Canada to give you something.” He says, taking another slow drag from the cigarette in hand. I turn my face away a bit. “Bother you?”
“I never took up that particular vice.” I say bitterly.
“Ah,” another drag, “I only started a few years ago. Helps.” He turns his face this time to blow the smoke away, and Prussia’s words ring loudly in my ears.
“And whatever you must do, in reason of course, to get America to like you, do it. If he is fond of you he will take care of you. I know how he is. . . You could break that shell of his and get inside.”
I put on a kinder face, relaxing the tension between my eyebrows.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, voice milder than the one I had been using.
“To ask you a few questions.”
“I will, if you answer some of mine.”
He smiles at that and takes another drag.
“Sure, kid. What was the extent of Austria’s role in all this?”
Not a simple question.
“Abysmal. Where is Prussia?”
He puts out his cigarette.
“You knew what his sentence was. It was carried out.”
My chest feels hollow. Like my heart ceased beating.
“What was Austria’s role?”
“I already answered that question. Abysmal. How long are you going to keep me here?”
“See, that’s where we are going to run into an issue. This only works if you tell me the truth. I have no idea how long they are going to keep you here, but being cooperative will lessen that time, surely.”
Silence hangs between us. He lights another cigarette.
“I am telling the truth,” I start, “Austria didn’t have much of a choice. He, like Prussia, resisted me for a moment. But, I made it clear that neither of them could escape joining me. They did what they needed to in order to protect their people.”
“Well, not all of their people, right?”
“Says you. Yours were the first books we looked at on how to build a society that treated a portion of its population like animals.”
His eyes grow cold at that, and I regret saying it almost as soon as it left me.
“Thank you, for your cooperation.”
He stands and I feel like begging him to stay. The words bubble up in my throat but I keep them inside. He shuts off the light and plunges me into darkness once more.
And it’s only then that I let myself begin to cry.
Usually, on warm summer days, one could find Prussia just outside in the backyard, sitting underneath the oak in the shade. I walk outside and sure enough, I find him sitting there, sunglasses on and a small pair of shorts.
He only acknowledges my presence once I’m under the shade of the tree. He lifts his glasses up into his hair and gives me a smile.
“You are much too dressed for how hot it is outside.” He says.
“Why stay out here if you think it is so hot?”
“Because it is nice. This is a page I have taken from Feliciano’s book. Perhaps it would do well for you too.”
“Where is Italy?”
“Here!” I turn and see him walking outside, sunglasses and a little pair of shorts. He’s holding two bottles in his hands. “I just went to get drinks. You should join us Germany, it is lovely outside. . . you are wearing far too many clothes.”
“That’s what I said!” Prussia takes one of the drinks from Italy as he plops down beside him. Feeling a bit giddy, I start taking off my shirt. Prussia whistles and Italy claps.
“Good for you, Germany!” Italy starts, “you are one step closer to complete relaxation.”
They make room for me to sit between them so I do. The summer breeze feels quite nice against my skin. I close my eyes, and enjoy the feeling.
“Japan!” Italy yells out, causing me to open my eyes. Japan stands by the door, arms crossed and eyebrows lifted. “Come join us! Get naked!”
“No thank you.” Japan says, but she walks out toward us anyway. She sits next to Prussia, and leans her head on his shoulder. Prussia smiles and ruffles her jet black hair.
I wake with tears in my eyes, desperately trying to hang onto the dream. All those times we had together, how at ease I felt at the beginning.
Now, it’s all been ripped away. Japan was mortally wounded, and hasn’t been seen for weeks. Italy disappeared not too long before the war ended, and has yet to be found. And Prussia is dead. I will never experience another day like that ever again.
The tears stream down my face.
“Dreaming about him, hm?” Russia’s voice startles me. Frantically I look around but the room is pitch black. The hair on the back of my neck stands up. “He was much too good to you, you know? If I were able to have it my way, I would have killed you instead.”
His voice sounds like it’s coming from everywhere all at once. Is there a speaker in here? Would it sound that clear?
“You’ve been locked up in this room for an awfully long time,” he coos, “so I thought you’d like to play a game with me. You know, to pass the time.”
He laughs softly, deep and sonorous.
The light switches on and I see him, and the chair America left here. But, what really fills me with dread is the revolver he has, glinting in his hand.
He spins the barrel.
“Here are the rules, little mouse. There is only one bullet in here, but I have no idea when it will go off.” He drops into the chair in front of me and I flinch. “It’s a little game of chance, you see? And you’re the only player.”
He places the tip of the gun to my forehead and I can barely manage to swallow. I break out into a cold sweat, anxiety and dread filling my veins.
“You’ll kill me?” I gasp.
“Only if fate allows.” He pulls the trigger and I squeeze my eyes shut.
Click.
“Hm.” He shrugs and points it at my throat. My body trembles, I can’t control it. I can hardly get in enough air with the strap squeezing my ribs and punishing my bladder. “What do you think - will you die from blood loss first? Or suffocation?”
I can’t breathe, God, I can’t breathe! He pulls the trigger.
Click.
I let out a heavy breath and he laughs.
“Four more left. How lucky do you think you are?”
He points the barrel to my chest and I can’t take it anymore. I look toward the ceiling, pleading, with anything that can hear me, to please take me away from this.
Please, please, Prussia, I’m so sorry! I didn’t want any of this to happen, please, save me! I can’t do this without you, please, I’m so scared!
He pulls the trigger. My bladder loosens.
Click.
Warmth spreads quickly in my lap, pouring out onto the floor. Russia looks down, and smirks.
“I suppose that was bound to happen at some point, hm? I guess Prussia didn’t potty train you very well.” He teases, moving the barrel to my stomach. Sweat is dripping from me now, my shaking is rattling the chair.
Click.
“Please.” I beg, hoarse. Quiet.
“The game isn’t done yet, little mouse. You have two left to go.” He trails the tip of the gun down my thigh and places it on my knee.
I screw my eyes shut. He pulls the trigger.
Click.
He’s got wild amusement in his eyes. I can see the sick sadistic joy he gets from this, and it reminds me of me. And what I’ve done. What it feels like to be on the other side of this. To make others tremble and cry and call out for their mothers. To make them feel pain they never thought imaginable. To put them through such stress and hardship that I don’t even need to lift a finger to kill them.
I’ve never been more sorry for it in my entire life.
I deserve this.
He circles my knee with the tip of the barrel, goes down my shin for a moment before coming back up and resting it in between my legs.
“Oh God, oh God,” I heave, “please, no, no -”
“God won’t help you here, fascist pig.” He pulls the trigger.
Click.
All the blood drains from my face and I feel like I’m going to pass out. He only laughs.
“Lighten up, Germany! There were never any bullets in it.” He places the gun in its halter on his belt. “They are going to let him go soon. . . how unfair is that.” He mumbles.
I look up as he turns his head to the side, looking, as if someone is standing there.
“No,” he rubs at his face, “hush, let me think.” He leans back in his chair and my heart starts to pick up again. “Shh,” he says quietly, pulling his hair a bit before smoothing it back in place.
He looks at me.
“There is so much I wish to do to you. I want to hurt you, like you did me. Remember? But they won’t let me. And I understand why. I agree. I’m so tired of fighting, Germany.”
He rubs at his eyes and it makes him seem so much younger than he is.
“I,” he laughs, a little manically, “this is going to sound so stupid, but I trusted you. Remember? That deal we made together. I trusted you. . .”
“I’m sorry.” I spit out, still shivering.
“No, no, don’t lie. You are only sorry you got caught.”
And just like that the gentleness in his eyes disappears. He gets up quickly, straddles my lap and grabs a fist full of my hair. He places his forehead on mine.
“You are nothing like him. I was sad to see him go. I. . . we had history, you know? I guess it reminds me of my own mortality. That we truly do not live forever. . . I do not know if that is a blessing or a curse.”
He kisses me, but it is chaste. He stands up and runs a hand through his hair. He mumbles a couple of things under his breath before he turns to look at me again.
“I am not going to make this easy for you. Your inevitable transition back to civil life. You broke my trust, and that is not an easy thing to gain in the first place.”
With that he leaves.
My head reels.
I wake to the smell of apples and sugar. The breath I take of it is as deep as I can manage. Indulgent.
The straps around my ankles loosen, as do the ones around my wrists and then finally, thankfully, my waist. I take a full breath for the first time in over a day.
“Are you able to stand on your own?” America drawls.
I’m so thankful for this small amount of freedom I could cry. I’ve been in this facility for so long. Many days before this dark room they put me in. Prussia and I suffered a while together before they. . .
I open my eyes and attempt to stand. He guides me, a soft hand at my back and one loosely wrapped around my arm. And when I’m finally up on my feet I collapse onto him.
“Woah there.” He laughs slightly, patting my back. “I’m sending you home today. There is no need to keep you locked up in this room. If I had it my way, you wouldn’t have come in here at all.”
I press my face into his shoulder, indulging in the apples, the cinnamon, the smell of a warm afternoon at home.
We stand there, just like that for a while, until I get the feeling back in my legs. He leads me out and my eyes take a moment to adjust to the hallway lights. I’m offered clean clothes to change into and am discharged from the facility with little effort.
A taxi waits outside for me.
America leans on the open car door.
“You’ll be okay, kid. I’m flying back to the States tomorrow, but I’ll be back in a few weeks to check up on things and help out if you want it.” He moves to close the door but I reach out and stop it from closing. He looks at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Thank you, America.”
He smiles.
“Course, kid.” He closes the door and the taxi driver puts the car in drive.
The house is so dark and empty. It looks exactly how we left it. A bowl of moldy fruit sits on the kitchen table and a fine layer of dust covers everything. My brain is numb, my mind buzzing with all that has happened.
So I start cleaning. Wipe the dust off all the surfaces, sweep and mop the floors, clean the stale bedding and old clothes. I throw away the rotting food in the fridge, salvage what I can from the pantry, and light a candle.
The sun is well behind the horizon once I am finished and satisfied.
I don’t have much food left, so all I can do is have a bowl of oats heated with water over the stove. It’s bland, but I’m grateful for it nonetheless.
Long after the last bite of my food I remain at the dinner table, thinking about how different my life will be now. . . I’ve never lived alone before. . .
Prussia said I needed to keep my wits about me. He said I must live on, get strong again, find something that both satisfies me and makes me gentle.
I will do those things. I will make sure that he did not die in vain. That he gave his life for mine, and that mine will be something worth dying for.
I cannot bear the dark. It fills me with terrors and memories that I wish to get far away from. Always, I have a light on.
I sleep in the basement, in his bed. The first couple of nights it still smelt a bit like him. And for a moment, when I was hanging between sleep and wakefulness, I thought he was in the bed with me.
But eventually I had to face reality.
With the lights on I fall asleep, fitful and light.
I jolt up, almost crashing into Lithuania by doing so.
“Do you always wake up so suddenly?” He asks me, irritation smothering his voice. His hair is pulled back into a little ponytail, although some of the hair around his face is too short to go back and so frames his eyes and jaw instead.
“Why were you touching me in my sleep?” I match his irritation.
“I was trying to wake you. I called your name but you didn’t answer.”
“I’m exhausted.” I say, running a hand through my hair.
“We all are. Get up. You are supposed to shadow me for a while to get the hang of living here in the appropriate manner. Come on, Russia expects us to be timely.”
I stand up from the little cot on the ground, stretching my sore limbs. Lithuania watches as I get dressed and ready, occasionally telling me to hurry up.
“God, the sun isn’t even up yet.” I comment as we walk down the hall of Russia’s house.
“Good to see that you still complain a lot.” He snaps.
“Well, I’m sorry if I am not as vivacious as I normally am, I just woke up from being dead.” I snap back.
Lithuania stops in his tracks, almost causing me to run into him. He turns around and gives me a death glare, so close I have to look up at him.
“Let me make this painfully clear, asshole. I do not like you, not even a bit. So cut this melodramatic act, you did this to yourself.” His voice is tense as he speaks, gaze threatening to kill me where I stand.
“. . . very well.” I say quietly, looking down. And, virtually for the rest of the day I kept my mouth shut, only speaking when needed. I was not in a position to be so abrasive, and if I wanted to survive this, I’d have to play along. Even if that meant doing extensive domestic labor within Russia’s home.
Speaking of, I haven’t even seen the man around. Just stories of him and the fear of disapproval the other Soviet states harbor.
I wake to the sound of birds chirping outside. There are no windows in the basement but I can tell it is early morning by the sound of their singing.
For a moment I just roll over and think about the strange dream I had. But then the thoughts come in, the ones I desperately want away from, so I get up and start my day.
I do not give myself a moment's rest. If I am not helping out in the city to rebuild and hand out aid I’m doing chores at home. If not that, then I am training to build back the musculature I had lost. I try my best to work myself to utter exhaustion before crawling into bed and passing out.
Not once do I want to be alone with my thoughts.
I make a small, bland breakfast. Oats and water again, before getting dressed. I comb my hair in the bathroom, look at the pomade, and decide against it. My goal is to look as friendly and approachable as possible. That slicked back hairstyle was intended to look imposing. And it did.
A sharp knock on my door pulls me out of the bathroom and to the front door.
A familiar face greats me.
“Ludwig,” Austria starts, “I hope I’m not imposing. I wanted to see how you were doing.”
I step aside to let him in, taking his coat from him and hanging it up by the door. He takes a few steps in, slipping his hands out of his gloves and looking over the kitchen as if taken by some memory. He turns back to me, sympathy practically watering over in his eyes.
“I am not sure how you stand to be in this house.”
“I make do. . . this is my home.” I respond, busying myself with making tea.
“If you ever get lonely here, or if the memories become too much, you are always welcome to stay with me in Vienna, my boy.”
“Thank you, Austria. But I will be fine.”
He presses his lips together.
“Of course. You were always the strong, stoic type.”
I pour two cups of tea and follow him into the living room. He sits down on the couch and I place a tea cup in front of him. I sit opposite.
“You do look well, all things considered. And the house is clean. . . I was half worried I would find you half dead somewhere with rats on the counters.”
“I was not raised to be so filthy.”
Austria smiles.
“I suppose not. If Prussia was anything it was meticulous.”
Was.
I’m still not used to using the past tense to refer to him. It just doesn’t feel real. I keep thinking he’ll walk in through that door any day now, loudly announcing his presence. He’d chastise me for not keeping any beer in the fridge before settling for one of the old wine bottles on top of the cabinets.
Austria clears his throat after taking a few sips of tea.
“My, you sure do look like Wolfgang with your hair grown out.”
I run a hand through my hair as he shifts in his seat. He’s probably recalling how much I hate talking about The Holy Roman Empire. But for some reason, I say:
“Tell me about him.” And I mean it.
Austria seems surprised, but jumps right to the task.
“Well, you two are night and day. He was certainly not as stoic as you - wearing his emotions on his sleeves for everyone to see. Though he too cared a great deal about Prussia, however. . .” Austria looks off through the window behind me. He takes another sip of his tea.
“I was married to Wolfgang for quite some time, you see. I knew him well, better than he thought I did. Right away I knew he cared for Prussia more than he ever could me. Those two were nearly inseparable. Wolfgang would give anything to see Prussia well and happy.”
“They were lovers, weren’t they?” I ask, wanting any reason to talk about Prussia.
Austria nods.
“Yes. I was upset at first, but I learned to live with it. I mean, it was a small price to pay to have power and influence over the Holy Roman Empire. . . Wolfgang was actually the first to have Prussia after he renounced his vow of chastity,” Austria laughs, “I thought that was so absurd. A nation taking a vow of chastity? I told Gilbert as much after he took it. And you want to know what he said to me? He said, I don’t have those kinds of inclinations, Roderich.”
I smile a bit.
“Seems he made a full 180.”
“You think?! Once he finally tried the forbidden fruit there was no turning back for him. Though, I do commend him for making it as long as he did. He was chaste for almost four hundred years. That is no easy feat.”
I stare down at my hands. I haven’t even been alive for a hundred years yet - I could not imagine what living for four hundred years feels like.
Austria talks idly about The Holy Roman Empire and Prussia. We sip on the tea until I have made another pot and finish that too. By the time Austria leaves, my head is buzzing about Prussia and our life together.
Alone on the couch I think about how I was sent to live with Austria when I physically turned ten. All I had ever known before that was living in a small cabin in the middle of nowhere near the coast of the Baltic sea. Gilbert had taught me how to survive in the wilderness, what plants I could eat and which to stay away from, how to hunt, fish, and make shelters from the resources of the forest and the coast. He taught me how to read and write, too, schooling me in military ideology and ancient Greek philosophy.
By ten, however, he sent me to Vienna to learn more about art, culture, music, and poetry. He also thought it would be good for me not to be so isolated anymore, and to befriend others like me.
Austria was a strict but compassionate caretaker. He taught me everything I know about music and how to play the piano and the manners I needed in order to interact with polite society. And, at the time, he was still married to Hungary - who taught me how to cook, imbued within me a love for paprika, and how to properly handle a sword. According to both Roderich and Gilbert, Elizaveta was the best swordsman they had ever seen.
Living at that estate I also befriended Liechtenstein, who taught me about friendship, and how to make flower crowns out of daisies and edelweiss. She was very much like a little sister to me, and I had promised to protect her. . .
I never meant to scare her. . .
I will never forget the haunted look in her eyes as she hid from me behind Switzerland. His eyes were full of fire as he declared himself neutral.
And then I. . . and then I meet Italy.
I still remember the first time I saw him, lounging in the study with a book in his hands. He looked up at me as I entered, golden brown eyes so intense, so weathered, I nearly gasped. I expected him to be hard and cold - but when I saw that big warm smile spread on his face I knew my initial impression was wrong.
His voice was so lilting it made my heart tremble. I could listen to him talk about anything for hours - the melody of his voice sung to my soul in a way no melody of Austria’s could. He taught me how to hide in plain sight, how to make traps, and how to speak Latin. He taught me a lot about history and the Roman and Byzantine Empires.
He also taught me how to love. Showed me how good someone else’s touch could feel, made my body shake and ache, drew from me such powerful releases it felt as if the entire Earth stood still for a moment.
I didn’t see Prussia again until I was physically seventeen. At that point The Great War was beginning and my entire life and everything I ever knew was uprooted. Even though I had been training my entire life for war, actually fighting in one was nothing I could have ever imagined. I felt my people die. I felt their houses destroyed, futures ended, and destinies changed. And in the aftermath Hungary divorced Austria, Liechtenstein ran away to Switzerland, and Italy abandoned us.
I still remember the black eye he sported just before leaving Vienna when Prussia punched him for touching me. Gilbert took my face in his hands and apologized for not being with me for the last few decades and held me so close I could barely breathe.
He took me back to Königsberg for a time before settling in Berlin. And then. . . that’s when everything started to change and. . .
I rub my hands over my face. I don’t know why I’m thinking about all of this. Maybe to try and pinpoint where it all went wrong? But I know where it went wrong. I just, God, I just felt so damn rejected by the world and that treaty we signed in Versailles crippled me and I was angry. So angry at the world, and at the Allied powers for blaming everything on me, for making me pay for something we all had a hand in. For looking at me and seeing the Holy Roman Empire. Seeing something they had to cage, not something they could work with and befriend.
I just let that anger take me.
And now they have a reason to want to cage me. They have proof I’m the monster they said I was, I did things so terrible they can hardly speak of it. I took joy in their suffering, I loved having that power.
I loved it when Austria could do nothing but let me into his borders. Loved it when they let me take Czechoslovakia because they were too tired and scared to fight me. Loved it when Poland fell to his knees before me. I loved it when France could do nothing but submit to me. Loved when the Russian Empire grew limp with my hands around his throat.
It felt so vindicating. I didn’t care about what else was happening in my regime - hell, I encouraged it. I got lost in it.
I put my face in my hands and take a deep breath.
I deserve this. This loneliness. Their hatred. I deserve it all and more.
God, I miss Prussia.
They should have taken me instead.