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Pskov wasn't a special city.
Ah, that was far from a name that she preferred.
Lukretsiya wasn't a special city.
That wasn't right. That one is distinctly human. Did she really have to use that wretched name to describe what she was?
Fine, then.
Pskov—though she'd rather you call her Lukretsiya—wasn't a special city.
People would say that she was special. Whether they were her friends, her colleagues, her associates, her rivals, or her adversaries. But she never perceived herself to be any more than the rest of them.
And she wouldn't listen to any of them who said she was special because of her standing, that is as a Personification. What was special there? All of them are, by all means necessary, still human.
Most.
She never understood why everyone thought her to be special. She wasn't, she really was not. And she was sure everyone only thought as such because of how interconnected her relationships were, how she was able to make use of what she had and manoeuvred them well.
But was that special? Was it, when it all comes back to Russia in the end?
Did everything have to go back to Russia? No, but in her circumstance specifically, yes.
That woman was why she was so 'special' anyway. Because Pskov was the capital city of that woman's grandson.
And she wasn't anyone like Vladimir, whose strange abilities always made her be perceived as a trustworthy woman (of which, she is). Neither was she like Tver, whose skills on effectively removing those who she shows enmity with. Nor was she a person with Veliky Novgorod's constitution, to be able to refute with such eloquence.
She had only her presence in liveliness. She enjoyed it, and whatever happened there would usually not be done out of intention. Unlike the previous three she had mentioned.
And she only came to parties recommended by Russia. So, really? All of those so-called 'connections' occurred with her as a benefactor of the age-old policy called as nepotism.
Hm, maybe not. Russia doesn't explicitly put her into positions. She recommends them.
Whatever, that practically counts as one.
It all came back to Russia. Everything keeps coming back to Russia. Whatever it is that she had would all turn back to where Russia was.
Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia.
Russia killed her own grandson and Pskov was her grandson's capital and because she was her grandson's capital she held a special privilege which put her above all the other cities because she was her grandson's capital and she was part of the elite who were bestowed titles of prince(ss) of the imperial blood because she was her grandson's capital and she was Pskov Veche Republic's grandmother and she killed him and she—
"Why are you doing that?" A screeching voice tore through Pskov's ears.
Her voice didn't screech. It was soft, it was soothing, it calmed down her mind, it felt silky even though you couldn't feel voice, it did everything it could to lull her to a sense of comfort and Pskov could only feel hate for someone who killed her own grandson.
Hate hate hate hate hate hate hate does she not feel remorse hate hate hate hate hate hate hate why did she do that hate hate hate hate hate hate hate—
Her incessant staring stopped whatever pandemonium was going on inside her head.
"I don't know what you're talking about." The city replied shortly.
Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia. Russia.
Why was it always her? Why, just why? Why did she do all those things, just why did she have to burden her with something so heavy she never believed she could even bear in the first place just why did she have to do that just why just why just why just why just why just why just wh—
"Well, we all believe in our own little lies," the woman spoke in such an audacious tone that the city felt nothing but a sort of tranquility over it. "Maybe you should discuss about your thoughts to someone."
Of course she would say that, of course she would say that? Of course she would say that. Of course she would say that!
"Like who?" Pskov queried with an uninterested tone.
"Like some of these people in this wonderful ball," she paused, eyes looking elsewhere. Her voice sounded like several others screaming on top of one another. Why does she sound like that? Why does she sound so good that it drove Pskov crazy with how Russia kept invading everything inside her head like how she could just go in Russia's head now? "You should rest, Lukretsiya."
"Okay," Pskov stopped. Why did she say that? "Once you leave I will."
"So picky," Russia commented rudely. "I'll take my leave now, then. Perhaps it would lessen the weight your mind holds. I know I drive you crazy."
There was nothing more in this world that she wanted, other than to stop these unnerving and odd thoughts from within her mind. The cause was Russia, so of course, she had no reason to reject it.
Pskov let out a relieved sigh when she couldn't see the country within her peripheral vision anymore. That blue dress she wore was a particular choice, but that wasn't too important.
Did Russia know about what she just thought about?
How funny.
She shouldn't even be asking that question in the first place. She was her grandson's capital city, and has spent a long time with that woman, for her to know the answer by heart.
Of course she did.
What a useless question.