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One who was filled of wisdom once told him, that imperfections makes man, man.
Not specifically in that wording, it was something more along the lines of...
"Man's imperfection makes man."
That chain of words which forms that sentence rang in his head for a long time. America wasn't even sure how much time has passed since he heard her said that. It felt like a few hours to him, but he knew that it had just been a few seconds, maybe even a minute, since she said that.
It sounded familiar to him, of course it did. Because someone once said those exact same words to him when they were both young. Younger. The wisdom-filled one who said that was already double—perhaps even triple, quadruple?—his age. So, younger.
How long ago was that, even? It was during the time he squabbled with his so-called brother-figure needlessly. That was around the time he first met Alaska, if he remembered correctly. Anyone would have to give him pardon for not remembering clearly, he wasn't like his 49th state's mother, whose memory was indelible.
Though, yes, the one who said that to him was wise indeed. Those words might mean nothing, but he'd made that into how he worked since then. People seem to forget how he'd actually been so passive over the mistakes people make. It might make him seem lenient, but he wasn't, he simply understands that mistakes happen.
He looks uptight, yet still lenient, and that was how he'd rather be seen as. And he was exactly that. Punishment would certainly work to have them not repeat it once more, but in the end, they are all imperfect and no such thing as perfection exists within mankind.
Man is imperfect and that is what makes them man.
Did she abide by those words like he did? Was that why she was called The Merciful by her subjects and peers?
Why was she called The Merciful in the first place, anyway?
No, that shouldn't be what he should be asking right now. The correct thing to ask was over the fact that the one who just said that to him wasn't the one filled of wisdom from the past just now. It was someone who looked just like her. It wasn't Russian Empire.
"How do you know that?"
"Know what?"
There she goes, acting innocent and unknowing as she usually does. America knows better, though. Russia was far from an innocent woman, and even more so an unknowing one. Hell knows what she just did in Malta just a few hours ago. If he were to put a bet to what she did, it'd be gathering information as she does as always.
Maybe that shouldn't have been what he asked. The fact that she knew those words, something that he was sure was something that Russian Empire told only him, meant that she had access to Russian Empire's memories, whether it be consensual or not.
That must be it. The Empire had told him that she said that only to him. He asked once more in the First World War, and she said the same. She died not long after, and he was still confident that it stayed the same. Russian Empire seemed to like those words a lot as well.
He did not like the fact that someone who had her face—yet who was obviously not her—said that to him. It almost felt like he was being mocked by Russian Federation. By Russian Empire. She had the same eyes, the same posture, the same gait, the same structure; everything, but the soul.
How did she do it, then? How did she manage to get hold of Russian Empire's memories?
Does that not mean she had the ability to look into the memories of anyone else? That wasn't good.
Russia was the most well-connected Personification he has ever come to know, perhaps on par with Soviet Union. Well, Soviet Russia, the main Soviet Union wasn't as knowledgeable as his mother-figure. And she knew of the memories of someone long dead.
Russia was, what, The Empire's granddaughter?
It hurt him a lot, to see a face of someone who he knew was dead, in the place of her own kin. Though, yes, he had to admit that Russian Empire was no saint (even though she was one in title), yet character-wise, that woman wasn't like anyone he could compare to.
It was as if she was blessed by an angel. He hated the fact that both Soviet Russia and Russian Federation felt like they, too, were blessed by an angel as well. As if it was a silly little joke, to have those three be so similar yet so different. Russia took upon Soviet very well, but Soviet to Empire? Hardly.
America knew there was no difference in character between Soviet Russia and Russian Empire.
Russia was looking at him with displeasure.
"What?"
"I asked you a question."
"How did she get that title?"
She scoffed. His eye couldn't help but to twitch.
"Lovely, you're avoiding my question. What title?"
He hated how much Russia loved her technicalities, so much like Soviet Russia did, so much like Russian Empire did.
"The Merciful."
"Oh, that's quite complicated..."
"I have time."
"Well, the title was not hers, at start. It belonged to Golden Horde, whose name was Azim ar-Rahim Altanbars. Focus more on the Ar-Rahim part, because that name specifically means 'The Merciful'. As in one of Allah's title as The Merciful. When Tsardom of Russia gained sainthood within the timeframe of the Raskol, she er, kept saying things about mercy. Different from how Golden Horde did, though, but either way, that name became a saintly title attached to her name. Saint Yekaterina 'The Merciful' of Russia."
"So why did the Great Powers use the title for her?"
"You know Netherlands, yes?"
What sort of ridiculous question was that? Perhaps she noticed his displeasure, noted by her empty laugh. She probably did that on purpose, then. Of course he knew, she was his mother. She didn't deserve that title, but that was what was supposed to be bestowed to her when he was born.
"I do."
"Tsardom and Netherlands were close, at least by the late seventeenth to early eighteenth centuries. She heard the nickname and started calling her with that title. Spain got wind of it, then it spread to Austria, then to everyone else."
"And now you hold that title."
"Well, there's a reason why."
"Titles are not hereditary."
"Don't you think that Tsardom and Empire are different people?"
"I don't actually."
"Oh, yeah, you're like one of the very few people who consider her the same person but don't consider myself as the same person with Soviet. And Empire."
The way she kept talking about Russian Empire made his skin crawl. She wasn't her. That can never be true. But, yes, he believed Tsardom and Empire to be the same person. Personally, it made more sense for him for them to be the same person. Hell, her subjects never talked about any considerable change.
They certainly talked about a change between the Tsardom of the Rurikids and the Tsardom of the Romanovs, though, so he'll say that those two really were different people. Like how Russia was to Russian Empire. Because, no, it is simply impossible for her to be The Empire.
"You are not her."
"Which her?"
"What are you trying to say here?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why did you say that to me?"
"What, the thing about imperfections?"
Frankly, America wasn't in the mood to even speak more about those same exact words. But that was really his only chance to get her to speak.
"Yes."
"Hm, I wonder why?"
She only said that whenever she wanted anyone to tell her more. And he wasn't having it. She really had her way on getting on his nerves quite easily, it had always unsettled him. Because Russian Empire did too, but that was part of character. And, yes, this was part of Russia's character too, but Russia is not Russian Empire.
There was no denying it. They were so different to one another to even be called the same person.
He knows they are.
"You're really adorable, I'll have to give it to you."
... What?
"You said you wanted to know why I said that, didn't you?"
"... Yes."
"Russian Empire said that to you in 21 November 1862. She never said that to anyone else."
"She did."
"Today's the 21st of November, do you not realise?"
"What's your point?"
"162 years. That was a long time ago."
"Stop stalling, Yelena."
"I'm not. I really only said that because it came to my mind, because I thought about anything important in today's date."
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
"Why did you say that?"
Russia only stared at him quietly. That meant that she was either thinking of a good response, or she just didn't want to think of a response at all. He was hoping it to be the former, but by the seconds passing, it felt to him that the latter would be the one chosen.
"Do you know why Russian Empire said that to you?"
"No."
"She looked at your soul to see what kind of person you are."
"And what did she see?"
She stayed quiet once more.
"Yelena..."
"It's hard to put in words... but I guess the easiest way to explain it, is that she saw your doubt."
"My doubt?"
"It felt right to remind you, that you, in fact, aren't perfect; because man is imperfect and that is what makes them man."
He couldn't help but to hate Russia even more, because that was exactly what Russian Empire would've said to him if she were still alive now. Curse her, curse how much she looked like Russian Empire, curse how much she sounded like Russian Empire, curse how much she behaved like Russian Empire.
Curse her, because it could never be true.
But he knew that Russia wasn't wrong. America knew that very well. Russia wasn't one to make the wrong decisions, if she ever did in the first place.
Russia stared at him as if she knew what he was thinking of right now.
Well, maybe she did. Because he wasn't one man as expressive as how Alaska was.
Or maybe he was.
Was he?
"Lysander... whenever someone gets on your nerves, guard your eyes, not your face."
Because the eyes are the gateway to a man's soul.
Perhaps that was one of the imperfections she meant, how he couldn't ever hide his feelings from her.
Curse her.
Curse her for being Russian Empire.