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It’s a weird thing, being a nation, even without taking Prussia’s creepy necromancy into consideration.
It had been really weird, for instance, that Northern Italy and Hungary had been friends? fellow inmates? something other than filled with loathing for each other, and then suddenly in 1815 Venice was Northern Italy. Venice, who loathed Hungary to the depths of his soul, was also friends with her, had been for ages.
But there’s an extra layer of weirdness, of unnaturalness, where Germany’s involved.
A Northern Italy who was not Veniziano knew a Holy Rome who would one day be Germany. Veneziano remembers, Germany does not. The Holy Rome that was then had the body of the Germany that is now. The body of the Northern Italy that is now is not quite the body of the Northern Italy that was then (it’s not quite the body of Venice either). Germany was there and Veneziano was not. Veneziano remembers and Germany does not. It’s an odd state of affairs.
He thinks, at first when he meets Germany, properly meets him, and gets to know him, that the reality is quite simple. This person made from the corpse that Prussia animated is an entirely new entity. He’s formal, of course, and stiff and strict, but Veneziano is pretty sure that’s just part of being German.
But over time he notices other things, little things. The little ticks Germany has when he’s nervous, the way his shoulders loosen ever so slightly when he’s relaxed, familiar gestures that have no right to be.
It feels like cheating. It’s an unfair sort of thing, and the part of him that was Northern Italy aches a little with it. Because Veneziano never met Germany and knows him, because Holy Rome once knew North Italy and forgot.
But it doesn’t much matter, Italy supposes, laughing at Germany like he hasn’t a thought in his head. It doesn’t much matter what relationship they never had, because the Germany of now, this child who grew up too fast, needs all the friends he can get, and Italy who was Venice is more than happy to be a friend.