towerofanimus

Entry tags:

Dos

Characters: Spain, open to everyone~
Setting: Fourth Floor.
Format: Action or prose; I'll just follow along.
Summary: Spain comes back after being unfortunately brought away to 'visit' her home.
Warnings: TBA

It was downright horrible.

She didn't want to believe her captors when they said her world was gone, but the truth was laid bare to her when she was somehow brought back to her world without her knowledge.

It was exactly as they said; her entire home has turned into a complete wasteland, devoid of life. She could not feel her people, and the land was dead in her heart. But yet, how could she be sustained? It must have been some sort of magic her captors pulled on her, and she touched the collar on her neck instinctively.

Sí, this must be what's keeping her alive. This strange contraption.

Back at the tower, she curls up on one of the couches on the fourth floor, looking forlornly out of the window.

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The older nation takes a long drag from her stick, eyes closing as she allows the nicotine to calm her frazzled nerves. "Barça, Madrid, Andalusia..." she mutters, a lone tear falling from the corner of an eye. "My beautiful mountains, rivers, beaches... Everything in Spain was levelled to the ground, and there was so much grey."

Her breath catches in her throat, and she takes another puff. "Everything was grey. No greens, no reds, no yellows... Only grey air and grey sand..."

She touches the collar, shaking her head. "Romana, this," she gestures at the violet fluid inside it, "might be the only thing keeping us alive, what with the destruction of our people and land."

"My sister is gone." And in Romana's mind that trumps all the loss of lands, loss of beauties. She would burn down her orchards, vineyards, pull her house apart brick by brick with bare hands if it just meant Venezia would be safe, would be alive.

Hands shaking she takes a drag of the cigarette, exhaling the smoke slowly as she fights down the urge to cry. The mention of the collar catches her attention again, Romana frowning as she touches it. "This?" She frowns, trying to slip her fingers under it.

"... So... if we found a way to smash them... would it all... nevermind."

"If we find a way to smash them, we would die," Spain reiterates, turning to glare at Romana, knowing what she's thinking. "We will find Venezia, querida. There is no way I am going to let them keep the South without her North."

She goes over and gathers the younger nation's hands in her own. "I can at least promise you that."

Romana returns the glare, eyes lacking anything but the pain she feels. "And what if we don't? Huh? What if she's gone and I'm all alone and she is my other half Spanga, you, and Austria, and France and everyone else kept us apart long enough."

Snatching her hands away Romana stands. "I don't think... I don't think I can be Italy by myself..."

"We didn't choose to separate you," she confesses, looking away as she bites her lower lip. "Chiquita, por favor, believe me. "

"But you did. And now, now it looks like she's gone for good. And I've had her, all to myself, for little more than a hundred and fifty years." Arms crossed, Romana looks away, voice dropping to a whisper. "I failed Nonna..."

Spain allows the cigarette to fall to the floor as she stands up and hugs the other woman. It was her first instinct whenever Romana is upset about something; even when times had changed and the other is already a grown Nation, Spain could never let go of her belief that Romana is still her most precious daughter.

"Shh, Chiquita, shh... You didn't fail her."

Her body shakes, Romana's free hand raising to cover her mouth, cover a stifled sob. No. No, she's cried enough, she can't allow herself to cry anymore. Even so, it's clear how near she is to breaking down, emotions thick in her voice.

"I did! I failed her, just like I failed last time! But this time I can't fix it, cutting my hair off, binding my chest, nothing is going to make me be able to save her... I failed Spagna. I promised I wouldn't and I did..."

"Shh, shh, querida, mi corazon, you didn't fail her," Spain continued to comfort the distressed woman, petting her hair and back. "Shh, shh... She'll be here, promessa..."

"Taci! I failed, I failed, Spagna, don't try and pretend it isn't true!" Annoyed at the way Spain is seemingly babying her Romana starts to struggle, giving the woman an angry tear filled glare. "I'm not a child. Don't make promises we both know you can't keep, that won't work anymore."

Spain is hurt at the accusation thrown at her, blinking as she takes a step back.

"You know that's not true, Chiquita," she replies, hands balled up in fists by her side. "I always keep my promises, no matter what."

"Oh?" Her eyes narrow, Romana straightening up. "And how the hell will you keep that? My sister is gone I would know if she was alive. I would fucking know."

Shakes her head, looking away. "You wouldn't understand. You never will."

"I want to understand," Spain remarks quickly, her body shaking slightly. It was hard to keep it all in now, and all her feelings are starting to take hold of her.

"I have always wanted to understand my sisters and my children. Back when we were all a big family, I've always tried to understand everyone..."

"Well you can't. No matter how much you want to, or how much you try, you never will Spagna. It's different. Maybe Prussia, Germany would get it, because they're split. They're two halves to a whole. And when you lose that other half, it feels... wrong"

She trembles, covering her mouth with her hand as she looks away, Romana struggling to keep a grip on her emotions.

Spain says nothing, fists clenched tight. She has tried so hard to understand everyone in her family - her sisters, her children, her people even - but somehow it always backfires on her.

Like now.

"Ah. Of course I will never understand the loss of family, the loss of a blood sister, since I never lost anyone in my life." She crushes the forgotten cigarette under her heel. "Seems like all those years I spent raising you meant nothing to you. I have tried, but you keep pushing me away. So, goodbye Romana."

Turning away to hide the tears in her eyes, she slowly walks back to her room, never sparing a glance for Romana.

Her eyes narrowed, Romana watches Spain walk away, eyes focused on her back. She wants to scream after her, scream that she's wrong, that it hurts more than Spain thinks it would, that it did all mean something.

But she doesn't. Slowly Romana turns away, her cigarette long forgotten, and leans against the glass, letting herself cry.

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