Chapter Text
Prologue
Centuries later, Romano would look back and decide it was partially Spain’s faulty idea of child/underling-rearing which sent events into motion.
If Spain hadn’t insisted that Romano, as an underling, should do chores around the house, then there wouldn’t have been any need for a clumsy child to climb the bookshelf to replace a stray book, which meant the bookshelf wouldn’t have tilted from the haphazard climbing and fallen over, starting a domino effect that ended with more than half the library in complete disarray.
But, Spain had insisted.
So, the bookshelf overbalanced.
And Romano, not wanting to be scolded yet again, ran off into the depths of the mansion to hide in a musty, old room until Spain returned and had enough time to calm down once he discovered the remains of the library.
So, yes. In some ways, it began with Spain’s carelessness. In others, Veneziano’s established position as the favored descendant of the Roman Empire took the dubious place of honor.
Either way, centuries later, an adult Romano would kneel willingly at the feet of a monster he had unknowingly helped create, stare down at a pair of military boots so well polished he could make out his own reflection, and wonder absently if Spain would be horrified to know of his role in bringing Romano to this point. Would he even care enough to be upset?
Like Feli who had cried piteously, begged and clung and even attempted to bribe him to stay. Promises to be a better brother, to be around more often and not skip off to spend time with Germany and Japan, to let Romano be the official representative of the Republic of Italy in full, anything you want fratello just stay please don’t go with himdon’tgopleasedon’tleaveme.
However, Romano had turned his back on his younger brother before, and this time wasn’t all that different, aside from the permanence of his choice. It was painful and gut-wrenching but he’d done it once, so he could do it again, no matter how Feli’s pleas looped and echoed in his head for days and weeks afterward.
You made the right choice, Luciano would reassure him again and again with the kind smile – now tinged with smug victory – he saved for Romano alone. The guilt won’t last long at all.
16th century Spain
Small feet pitter pattered down the seemingly endless labyrinth of hallways as he wandered in search of an unused room to hide away in, someplace Spain wouldn’t think to look. At least, until the older nation’s anger faded into concern then evolved into frantic searching. Only then would Romano reveal himself, thus avoiding the worst of the scolding for the mess he left behind in the library. It was the perfect plan. The tiny nation spared a moment to gloat to himself over his brilliance before continuing on the quest for a hiding place.
Unfortunately, his good mood didn’t last long in the face of being completely and hopelessly lost. Who decided to build a house with so many hallways that all looked the same? Then again, who left a helpless kid to wander said hallways on his tiny lonesome self?
“Stupid Spain,” he grumbled quietly, eyes flicking back and forth between two identical doors. “This is all your fault.”
Eventually deciding to follow his curl, Romano turned to the right door and lifted up onto his toes to reach the handle, old hinges creaking loudly after years of disuse as he cracked it open to warily peek inside. When nothing jumped out at him after a minute or so, Romano impatiently swung the door wide open, allowing the light from the hallway to spill into the room and cast shadows along the far wall. Large white mounds seemed to glow in the mostly dark room, and it took a moment of frozen terror for Romano to realize they were nothing more than white sheets thrown over what might’ve been old furniture.
Slightly more emboldened now, he stepped inside towards the closest white mound, inching a hand towards the sheet and pulling it off with some effort, a terrified scream ready to be let loose sitting at the back of his throat. What came out instead was a mighty sneeze as a small dust cloud enveloped him and he stumbled back, hacking and coughing to clear his airway. After quick shake of his head and a little hand waving to clear away the worst of the dust, Romano peeked through his lashes at the old-fashioned chaise he had uncovered. Humming thoughtfully, he climbed up onto the thin cushion and bounced a couple times to test the softness, only to decide it didn’t satisfy his high standards.
Really, Spain should be ashamed of himself. From the unsecured and misfortunately arranged row of bookshelves to the confusing hallways and old, uncomfortable cushions; how many disappointments could one house hold?
His eyes darted around the rest of the room, most of which still remained in shadows from the dim light and sheet covered furniture scattered around, and his gaze landed on something tall leaning against the wall. Curious, Romano hopped off the disappointing chaise and moved closer to carefully pull off the sheet, revealing a full length antique mirror. The heavy sheet slipped from his fingers as he stared wide-eyed at his new discovery, taking in the elaborate frame to the smooth pane of glass.
The wonder quickly faded, however, as he stared at his reflection, frowning at the fine layer of dust coating both his clothes and hair, the bruise on his cheek already beginning to darken from the tumble off the bookshelf earlier.
His little brother would never look as unkempt as Romano did right now. Veneziano, who was good at everything he put his hands on, would never have made a mess when trying to tidy up, and thus, wouldn’t need to run off into a dusty old room to hide. Perfect Veneziano who was perpetually cheerful and artistic and cute and everything Romano wished he could be. Grandpa Rome’s favorite. Austria’s favorite. Spain probably thought Veneziano was better, too.
His vision blurred as tears began to prick at his eyes the longer he stared at himself, and slowly, Romano reached out a hand to rest his palm flat against the cool glass, painfully aware that he stood alone in a room filled with things hidden away and left to be forgotten.
If only he had a fraction of what made Veneziano so popular…
He could be satisfied with a tiny little fraction if it meant someone would look at him and want him. Italy Romano, the rude, unskilled, lazy, useless brother. Not Veneziano. Not Grandpa Rome’s inheritance. Just…Romano. It wasn’t too selfish a wish, was it? For just one person who could care about him despite all his flaws?
“…Why are you crying?”
Two things happened simultaneously upon Romano hearing the voice directly in front of him. One, he let out a startled sound pitched somewhere between a screech and a yet-to-be-invented dog whistle. Impressive on its own but doubly so when he jerked violently away from the mirror and somehow went tumbling head over heels to land a couple feet away from his starting point, a shivering bundle of clothing, terror, and much deeper down, hurt pride. Especially when a soft, tinkling laugh drifted to his ears.
“I-I’m not crying, damn it!” Cheeks puffed up into a pout, Romano channeled all his fear into a ball of righteous Italian fury and righted himself to scowl at the mirror; only to falter and gape as a child – slightly smaller than himself – smiled kindly back at him from the pane of glass, a tiny palm pressed against its side of the mirror exactly where his hand had been moments before.
“Are you alright?” it asked, and he realized belatedly that the image spoke in a North Italian dialect, a Venetian one that Veneziano usually preferred. And looking closely after wiping away the lingering tears, he could make out a familiar hair curl curving to its left.
“…Veneziano? You’re Veneziano, aren’t you? You scar– surprised me, you bastard! How’d you get in here, damn it?” Romano ran forward to peek behind the mirror, squinting into the tight, empty space between the mirror and the wall. No way, this had to be a trick! Leaning back to look at the reflective surface, Veneziano’s image obligingly waved at him, content to wait through Romano’s growing panic. Still nothing behind the mirror after a second look. “Chigi! How are you doing that?!”
Its head tilted curiously to the side. “But, I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re in the mirror! Are…” The color drained out of Romano’s face as he gasped softly. “A-Are you a ghost? Did you come here to steal my soul?”
“Oh, don’t be silly.” The image giggled again and now that he was listening, it didn’t sound quite like Veneziano’s usual giggles. “I’m not a ghost and from where I’m standing, you’re the one in the mirror.”
The color returned to his cheeks tenfold, and he sputtered through a string of half-formed denials, finally ending with him ineffectively hiding his face in his hands since he had his fingers splayed in order to keep a wary eye on the image in case it really did come here to snatch souls.
“Hey…why were you crying earlier?”
“I-I wasn’t crying, you bastard! It was just dust getting in my eyes. That’s all!” Romano swiped his sleeves over his eyes to erase any evidence and stepped closer to the mirror, trying to figure out if it really was Veneziano in there. “…Damn it, it’s really dark in here.” A more thorough visual sweep of the room had him zeroing in on a set of heavy curtains, and he spun around to point a finger rudely at the image. “Stay there and don’t move, got it? You better still be there when I get back.”
Seemingly unperturbed by the lack of manners, the image nodded and hummed quietly to itself while rocking back and forth on its heels.
Well, it certainly acted like Veneziano.
Romano hurried over to the window and roughly yanked the curtains open, spilling sunlight into the room; and when he turned back around, Veneziano smiled brightly at him from the mirror. Romano had never heard of magic mirrors before, and he couldn’t see why Spain would leave one lying around in some out-of-the-way room to collect dust. Yet, the evidence was staring at him in the face and waving him over.
He dragged his feet on the way back when he suddenly remembered why he’d been crying earlier, all his resentful thoughts about his little brother rushing to the surface, leaving a curl of shame writhing in his stomach. Not once had Veneziano ever purposely shoved his accomplishments in Romano’s face with the intention to hurt. His little brother might show off a little in his usual exuberant way, but that was how Veneziano had always been, cheerfully oblivious as he tried to share his happiness with others.
“…Romano. You’re Romano!” The image exclaimed – like he couldn’t tell who he’d been speaking to despite the rude language and general lack of manners – and pressed both hands firmly against the glass as though he could phase through if he wanted it enough, bouncing excitedly in a distinctly puppy-like manner. “Veh~ I’m so happy to see you!”
Incredulous at the cheerful reception, Romano looked up, mouth already half open to snap out something he’d likely feel guilty about later, and promptly froze. The coloring was all wrong; the hair too dark, tinted into a reddish brown. His skin tone looked a few shades darker than normal. And the eyes…Romano didn’t have a knack for differentiating colors like Veneziano, but he knew he had never seen eyes that color before, neither on humans nor a nation. So, while the facial expression was familiar, the red-violet – magenta, maybe? – color of the image’s eyes was somewhat off-putting. “You…look different.”
“Hehe. You look different, too.” He stilled long enough to stare fascinatedly into Romano’s eyes. “I’ve never seen eyes that color before. They’re so pretty, Romano.” His expression broke into a wide grin. “I’m so happy I found this mirror. It’s like a miracle, isn’t it?”
“…I guess so?” Romano muttered uncertainly. Miracle was a strong word, after all, and Holy See would probably object to it being used so casually. Then again, the papal state would probably object to magic mirrors in general.
“Dios mío! ROMANO, WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE LIBRARY?!”
Spain’s sudden scream of horror, amplified by the empty hallways, had Romano jumping nearly a foot into the air and scurrying over to the door to close it gently, wincing fearfully as it creaked back into place. After a tense minute of huddling against the solid wood and listening for the footsteps, he straightened up with a sigh. Safe for now. Spain would likely check the usual hiding places first, so there was time for the older nation to calm down.
“…Romano…did he do that to you?”
Blinking, he turned to give the now strangely grim-faced Veneziano a confused look, frowning faintly as the image pointed to its cheek. His hand rose in imitation, and he jerked his finger away at the newly remembered ache. “O-Of course not!” Romano defended, trying to cover the bruise with a hand. “Spain wouldn’t do that. He’s stupid and a jerk and makes me do lots of chores even though I mess up all the time, but he never hit me before. He…he wouldn’t…”
He trailed off uncertainly. What did he know about Spain? Just because the older nation hadn’t raised a hand to him yet didn’t mean it would never happen. Everyone got frustrated at him eventually. Even Veneziano would go out of his way to avoid him sometimes.
Dejected tears began welling up in his eyes again.
“Oh no! Don’t cry, Romano. If you say he didn’t hit you, then I believe you. And it’s okay to mess up! I mess up, too, sometimes.”
“…Really?” He sniffled quietly and shuffled back over to the mirror, shaking his head. “But, everyone thinks you’re better than me, so it doesn’t matter if you mess up a little.”
Veneziano’s expression suddenly turned fierce and angry, and Romano jumped back a step, his heart jackhammering in his chest at the jolt of fear that spiked through him. “Then everyone is wrong! I’m not better than you. We’re both Italy, aren’t we?” The image placed a hand on the mirror again, a sad, pleading look replacing the sharp flare of temper. “Different parts but still Italy all the same…right?”
“It…it doesn’t work that way, you bastard,” he whispered, though his hand slowly rose to press his palm over Veneziano’s. “We’re not strong enough to be a whole Italy.”
“Not yet.” Somehow, those two words carried weight, like a promise rather than an empty if optimistic claim, and Romano shivered in response.
“Romano! Where are you? This isn’t funny! Come out here! Romano!”
He glanced over at the door for a moment, judging Spain’s tone to be worried and panicky enough that it was probably safe for him to come out of hiding now. “I have to go or Spain will start crying.”
“I understand. Will you come back so we can talk again? It’s lonely over here.”
Well, Austria was boring and talked about all sorts of even more boring things whenever he had anything to say, so it wasn’t surprising that Veneziano felt that way. At least here with Spain, he could mostly get away with lounging around and eating pizza or pasta when he felt too lazy to attempt chores. “…Alright. But only when I’m not busy, damn it!”
“Veh~ I’ll wait for you for as long as it takes, Romano.”
His cheeks flushed bright red in several seconds flat. “B-Bastard! Don’t say things like that so easily!”
“…Spain?”
“Hm? What’s wrong? Is your cheek still hurting?”
“Do you…have you ever talked to a mirror before?”
“Of course I have.”
“Really?”
“Yep! I give myself pep talks all the time…I need to with how much my boss keeps yelling at me.”
“…H-Hey…why are you crying, you bastard?!”
End Notes:
- Human names will be used later on to differentiate between the 1P and 2P characters a little more easily, hence why it shows up in the prologue but not afterwards.
- Mirrors: Full length mirrors technically shouldn't exist at that point in time, since making glass is highly complicated work and large sheets would break too easily. But, I needed a full length mirror for plot reasons, otherwise, a certain 2P would have to try to squeeze himself through a historically accurate mirror and inevitably get stuck. Mirrors back then also didn't have the clear panes we have today, so it wasn't strange for the reflection to be tinted a different color, which is why Romano didn't worry too much over the color differences.
- Eye color: From what I've seen of many 2P fanarts, none of the 2Ps seem to have green eyes. It's all red, blue, purple, a brown tossed in here and there, or shades in between, but not a single green. So, Romano's eyes will be a huge source of fascination to Luciano. There's also the symbolism to consider but that's for later.