The Truth that Lies in Us

A Glimpse of where we came from, Backstory

Alternate song for your listening pleasure (Or sadness) ;]

Chapter 7

-Russian Empire, 1912-

"Privet Misha, I'm leaving for a meeting today."

"Papa, wait! Can I show you something?"

"Okay, Go get it!"

Mikhail ran quickly upstairs, his little feet stomping against the floor. He grabbed a little drawing and sped down the stairs.

"I made this papa, it's us!"

Mikhail faced the drawing to his father, and Casimir smiled.

"It's beautiful, I love it."

Mikhail had always found some sort of way to make his father smile before his meetings. His father always came home tired and doozy.

Casimir slowly became inattentive to the meetings, and his days became slowly and uneventful. He had come every evening, sometimes even coming back the next day. There were also meetings, and the meetings, he soon realized, were caused by his carelessness. It annoyed him. It annoyed him a lot. He took charge, and with this, became detached from his son, affecting Mikhail a lot.

Casimir stopped joining those ally meetings. He decided that he would be in charge of every single decision. Every move they made for World War I would be conducted by him, and no one would scold him for it. He was the king, after all!

He would be cooped up in his room for days straight, working on his plans. Mikhail listened to Casimir arguing with himself and others who came into his room, and it scared him.

Mikhail, in general, didn't have a normal education. He was given special treatment as a royal, meaning he didn't have any classmates. He soon got used to having no acquaintances and would study by himself.

"Papa, Can I get into your-"

"No, Mikhail. I'm busy. Go ask someone else"

"Father's always so busy. I hate this. It's so stupid."

From that time on, Mikhail never asked his father before doing anything. There wasn't a point. He always snuck into his father's library, he took guns from the artillery base to practice, and he stayed up late for as much as he wanted.

There was this one time when Mikhail was older. He was 10 years old or so. His father said he would be out for a meeting, but Mikhail knew he was lying. He eavesdropped on his father removing meetings.

Casimir didn't come home that evening, and it startled him.

"The king's not home."

"Yeah! I heard he was at a party!"

"Let's storm the castle! That'll show him."

Mikhail was crushed with realization. His father was at a party! He left him with chaos erupting, and for what? A stupid party...

The sounds of disarray outside filled the hallways. Mikhail hid under the table.

"WE DON'T WANT A KING, LEAVE OUR COUNTRY BE!"

This wasn't the first time a riot like this happened, and it wouldn't be the last. The servants and guards calmed everyone down, but it was still terrifying. Casimir came home the next day, unfazed by what happened. This started Mikhail's hatred, and it would get worse and worse over the years.

.

.

.

After spending lots of years practicing with weapons every day and perfecting his aim, Mikhail wanted to join the military, for it was a big dream of his.

"Father, please, I want to change this country. I have so many things I can do, and I can show that our family is trying."

"Mikhail, no one is going to join the military, there's no use. The people are already doing it for us. We'll just relax at home while they do the work"

Power had corrupted Casimir's brain.

"FATHER, PLEASE."

"MIKHAIL, no! You have no prior knowledge and training to do so!"

This broke Mikhail.

"I've been training ever since the day you cooped yourself up in your office! I have the skills, you just don't know."

"Final decision, no, Mikhail."

"FATHE-"

"That's enough."

Days later, Casimir left the house again, but Mikhail didn't care. It was going to be the same situation all over again. People would waltz up the castle and yell at the doors for a couple of hours.

But it wasn't the same. The military had joined in the riot. They had access to weapons now! Bullets broke through the window, and the yells were louder and louder. Mikhail tried to dodge them, but despite his best efforts, he still managed to get hit on his arm. It had only been around 5 years since the first time it had happened.

Mikhail lay in pain on the floor. His father wouldn't come home for another 2 hours!

Rage filled his mind. He had nothing but hatred for his father, nothing.

"These people are right! We don't need a stupid king, and I don't need my father. I'll build this country myself. I have my skills. I have my power!"

Under the influence of hate, Mikhail killed his father days later.

"Goodbye, old man."