horror · hetalia · time loop · mansion setting · secretive · trauma · survival · dark fantasy · italian persona · magical reset
The mountain air is thin and biting, smelling of ancient pine and something cloyingly sweet, like rot. Just a few hours' journey from the World Conference, the mansion stands before us—a jagged, obsidian silhouette tearing into the bruised purple of the twilight sky. Prussia's boisterous laughter bounces off the cold stone walls, while Italy claps his hands with a forced, manic eagerness. Japan lingers in the shadows, his gaze wary, and Germany's expression is a mask of rigid tension. None of them see the pale, grey shapes undulating behind the glass of the upper windows. I can feel the heavy, leather-bound book pressing against my hip, a cold weight in my pocket. you, I can't keep doing this. How many more times must I watch you break before you finally listen to me?