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Soft. So impossibly soft — like sinking into the most expensive silk in the world. He runs his hand across the ground, digging his fingers deeper into the tender young grass. He doesn’t open his eyes — he simply revels in the stillness. He can feel the gentle caress of sunlight on his face, and the wind, playfully threading through his hair, as if someone is tenderly brushing his bangs aside. Everything around him seems to hum in a quiet, celestial chorus. Time has frozen, and life has allowed itself a brief intermission.
This is good.
So peaceful.
Then — someone leans over him, blocking the sun.
Seriously? Can't they just let me rest for one second?
He furrows his brow, and a strange sound drifts down from above.
Is someone... crying?
Finally, he opens his eyes and finds himself staring into two pale lakes, gazing at him anxiously from a face he knows all too well. For a second, he thinks he spots a flicker of resentment in those eyes, but the vision vanishes as quickly as it came, and now two cornflowers are looking back at him.
“I've been waiting for you.”
“Have you really?”
In reply, they nod, and an old black tricorn hat tumbles from that fair head. He hears his own bright laughter as if from a distance, and realizes how unusually loud it sounds. Too loud. Like it doesn't fit in this quiet place.
"A lot of them already left." The boy's voice is careful now. "Württemberg and Bavaria said it wasn't worth waiting for you."
He snorts. "How kind of them."
A hand reaches out to him, and then he's on his feet, surveying an endless green field. His gaze drifts back to the boy. It feels so strange to look each other in the eyes again, rather than to gaze down at his brother from above.
The Holy Roman Empire can't stop studying him. The boy takes a small step forward, places his hands on his shoulders, and draws him closer.
“I did it. You saw it, didn't you, Rome?"
“Of course, i did.”
"Germany is unified. Powerful. Just like I promised!"
He wraps his arms around those small shoulders — and only now realizes how shorthis own arms are. He glances down. Simple armor. A white cloak that sways with every breath. He's small and young again.
"You did well, Gilbert. You did everything right…”
He's pulled tighter into an embrace, and he lets a wide smile spread across his boyish face once more. His brother's hand strokes his shoulders softly, tracing slow, soothing circles on his back. Somewhere in the distance, rain begins to fall, and the sound swells with each passing second - but he no longer cares.
***
Why did he forget so much?
He can’t recall organizing anything, or getting ready for church, or talking to Veneziano that morning. All that remains in his head are scattered images and impossibly vivid fragments of the day that passed:
on the morning walk, the dogs showed little enthusiasm for play and quickly turned back home;
that tie coiled around his neck like a noose, refusing to let him take a full breath;
this time, he wasn’t the one behind the wheel;
the pew in the church was unbearably uncomfortable;
he felt cold and hot all at once.
He remembers someone beside him every single minute. Touching him. Reaching for him. A shoulder. A knee. A hand. His face. Veneziano was there, solid and warm on one side. On the other... Hungary? Austria? He can't tell anymore. The faces blur together.
Why can't I remember?
At some point he failed to register, the choir began to sing, and people started walking up one by one to the center of the hall, where a large wooden box surrounded by flowers stood upon a platform.
What was that?
Is the choir singing strangely? Or is that a murmur — low and restless — rising from the congregation?
He blinks.
And there's Erzsébet. Bending over the structure. Reaching out. Running her hand through someone's fair hair.
Oh, right.
That's a coffin.
And someone is in it.
Why am I remembering this?
Why did I remember this day so badly?
He watched as she leaned down even lower and pressed her lips to the forehead. Then she straightened up like a spring and never looked at the coffin again.
Someone nudged him, and he rose from the pew.
A step.
step.
step.
step.
One more step.
He stood before the coffin.
White silk lining. A lace pillow. Gloves on slender fingers. A dark blue suit. He leans forward, and his gaze lands on the face. Forces himself to look at the face.
Sunlight was streaming through the windows. He remembers that much. And then – a cloud must have passed over the sun – because the light shifted, and for one horrible second, he swore he saw a grimace of displeasure twist across the dead man's features. Like he hated everything happening here. Like he was disgusted by it all.
What a cruel trick of light and shadow.
A sound tears out of him. A strange, animal howl that he doesn't recognize as his own. It echoes through the church, bouncing off the walls, too loud, too raw, too everything.
He opens his eyes wider – when did he close them? —
And for a split second, he could have sworn – the eyelids opposite him flickered.
Something dark. Something ancient. Staring at him from the depths of those dead eyes.
No, that didn't happen.
He would have remembered that.
….
Wouldn't he?
He doesn't even remember what came next.
How did he end up here? At home? Is this even home?
The lights are off. The dogs are lying on the rug in the middle of the living room — too still, too quiet. Old books are scattered everywhere, piled up like forgotten thoughts.
Why is there such a mess?
It feels so strange — not remembering a day that hasn't even ended yet. Or has it?
He glances toward the window and notices that the sun is only just beginning to sink below the horizon. The room is gradually bathed in a soft red glow, and it reminds him of someone’s proud stares.
He reaches for one of the books and opens it to a random page.
The Awesome Me!
My younger brother – Ludwig
The Great Me,
Germany
Ludwig
Prussia
Prussia
Prussia
Prussia
Prussia
Prussia
Prussia
Prussia
Prussia
Prussia
Prussia
Prussia
Prussia
Prussia
Prussia
Prussia
Prussia
Prussia
Prussia
Prussia
Prussia
Prussia
Prussia?
Prussia?
Gilbert.
That's right.
Today, he buried his brother.
The sun has already set, and the room no longer glows with that soft red light. Everything has darkened. And it's grown colder.
He can't see.
He can't hear anyone.
The house is silent.
No one is here.
Germany drags his hand through his hair — and digs his fingers into the disheveled blond strands, pulling, gripping, trying to ground himself in the pain.
Outside, the rain begins to fall.
Droplets hammer against the glass, frantic and merciless – so loud, that they drown out Ludwig's sobs completely.
