A Story Best not Retold - Hetalia/HetaOni Fanfiction

Chapter One - Gritty Deceleration

// So, it seems as though I have failed to write a good Hetalia Fanfiction yet. So let me try to correct that. I know Hetalia has lost quite a bit of it's popularity. However, I still love it. I want to get started on making  stories for it again too. As an opening note, there will be an OC in here, but he is only there for plot. I would love to say that you can all feel free to comment your opinions. Good or Bad criticism are both welcomed. Have a nice read. Also, happy Easter, this is a present to all of my previous Hetalia- based story readers from the past. I hope I got better at writing since the last time :) // 

--- Feliaciano's (Point of View) ---

After all of this time, I still can hardly bring myself to believe that we are all free from that cursed mansion. Every single time someone died there, those memories were etched into my brain. It hurt, all those memories stung like getting a tattoo. However, this sting. This horrible, horrible, guilty sting. It was going to haunt me for the rest of my life. This is one of those times I wish I was a human. Because the rest of my life is going to be way longer than 100 years... or 200 or even 300. The rest of my years may even be well over a thousand... I will always have to live with the knowledge and the pain of remembering I was the one who got all of the others into that mess in the first place. 

The coolness of my house due to the draft of wind outside never helped me sleep after we all escaped either. Just because it reminds me of how cold and lonely that home was. The creaking of the floorboards, and the lonely pines outside as the wind grasped them, and shook the with the slightest bit of brute force. 

Even my long-abandoned fireplace seems unwelcoming to me now, knowing what I had done. Anything in my house seems so angry, and cold. All because of what I did to them? How can I truly face the anymore? How can I actually say that I helped them to leave in the first place? Several times I find myself wishing I never left that mansion after we all finally got out, no one dead. 

There are no times I wish for myself to tell the others that the mansion even had been something real. I would go back in time, if I could without messing anything up. I would yell, scream, and beg not to tell the others about that cursed place... I was such a moron.. thinking it was all fun and games. Just a silly little joke to be disproved and laughed at later. 

However, it all has hit me hard. Kicked me in the face, and started to wring me by the neck. We were there, all because of me. Maybe I was lonely, and wanted company that first time. Maybe I was scared, and wanted someone to be my bodyguard. Maybe I was confident, and wanted others to know there was nothing to be scared about either. Or to show Germany that I was able to do scary things without being a coward. 

Whatever way I cook the pasta, it all comes out the same, leading to the sad result of soggy, emotionally scarred noodles. There is just no other way to roll the dough. 

Pulling my rather heavy-feeling body from the chair I was sitting on was hard, the cushions under me felt as though they were going to eat me alive, and drown me if they got the chance. I needed to just get up, otherwise I would will myself to sleep. Who knows if I would even wake back up here.  With such troubling thoughts, I just sat right back down, sinking to the floor this time.

Every single part of me wants this all to be real. However, my subconscious keeps trying to tell me that I am just in a loop. All of it is going to reset, and we are going to be where we started the first time. Right back at that creaking, yet impossibly sturdy door. Looking for a way out.