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01/15/2024 10:35 PM
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ÁLLVÁNY
“We cannot carry on like this. You are killing people! Our people!”
A figure knelt bowed before the king. Broken, clutching her arms to her body. But the bright green of her hues struck like tempered steel to the gilded throne
Armor that once shone with pride, etched with the emblem of her country, was now mottled with dirt. Chain mail tangled and pierced through. Dried blood rimmed wounds. She shook, a house of cards in the verge of collapse. Her sword lay thrown at her side. Arms she could not take up again.
“Hm. Amusing, coming from the woman who can never die. You should be prepared to throw yourself into battle for this country. To slay the heathens that disobey me.”
“We are at war! We cannot slay innocents, not now!”
“Be silent!”
A slam of a palm against his throne, fury burned brightly across pale features. Old. He was aging. Stubborn and refusing to change until he passed the throne to the next man in line. One who would continue to burn and bruise this country to gain as he pleased.
“The people believe in their gods, I believe in their gods! What will you do with me then?!”
Eliza grit her teeth. Her pulse hammered in her ears, it was all she could hear above the echo of their voices in that desolate throne room. His grip on the kingdom was slipping. The Ottoman bishop hadn’t even bothered to return the offer of collaboration. It was over. She couldn’t fight any longer.
“You are MINE! Now ,SILENCE!”
That was it. She was young, she was foolish. Her purpose in this world may never be understood, but now more than ever, the fires from her youth were still stoked brightly. The stained glass window shone colored lights of false saints, of a God, so merciful and blessed be, demanding blood and sacrifice for dedication. And she wanted blood in return. A white knuckle grip fell to the iron hilt, and she stood. Metal clinked against itself as her legs pushed her forward.
Kill him. Kill this man. Take the throne. It’s rightfully yours!
ITS YOURS, TAKE BACK THE CROWN OF LIES THAT SITS UPON HIS BROW AND THROW IT TO THE WOLVES.
Fire ignited in her lungs with a scream that brought guards to their knees. Her hands guided by forces beyond her control. Her own body felt far away. A puppet. That’s all she was. For a king, for the gods. Someone was always pulling strings to make her behave. The lines blurred, what were her own desires? Vision fogged with the burn of tears, she couldn’t even see that her blade stopped just short of the kings neck. Chest heaved on shaky breaths as she simply couldn’t move forward. Locked in place. The voices banged and screamed in her skull to move forward and see this through, but her loyalty kept her from committing to spilling royal blood.
“Gods forgive me…”
Elizabeta whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks as the sword clattered to the ground. The only sound was the echo of metal against stone. Guards grabbed her by the wrists, roughly dragging her away from the throne as that damned man stared down at her with nothing more than an expression of mild disgust. “Put her away. She’ll resign eventually.” There was no more energy. Nothing left to fight as they pulled her limp form out of the throne room. Tangled locks hung about her face in a matted curtain as her shoulders shook. Was this all she was destined for? So close to breaking, but the merciful snap of blissful unawareness never came. Perhaps it would never. Perhaps her life was best spent in the stone tomb in the depths of the castle.
ÁLLVÁNY. ÁLLJ FEL ÉS HARCOLJ. TE GYÁVA!*
No….
ÁLLVÁNY!**
Something lurched through her body, a fist balled deep in her chest as she was thrown forward, grips broken as she tossed herself to the floor. A sickening crack as blood spattered across the floor where she face landed. It was too much. She wanted to give up! Let her give up! Lifting her head to squint at the light streaming in from the windows above, the coppery taste of blood swam through her senses. Muffled shouting, she was being grabbed again.
A vessel.
A nation.
Would she ever grown up to be simply.
A woman?
*Stand. stand up and fight, you coward
**Stand
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01/03/2024 11:05 PM
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They Were Kids That I Once Knew
“‘Liza, ‘Liza!”
A girl, no older than ten, trotted from the wooden house with a wide grin. Her smile missing two teeth, but beaming with an unwavering brightness that came with childhood. Her small hands clutched the skirt of her dress as she jumped down the front steps to the older woman, swinging herself about to hug the acclaimed “‘Liza”’s legs.
"You're back! I thought you'd never come back!"
“Szia, Csilla!” Strong arms lifted the girl up, making her squeal in delight. Eliza pressed a kiss to her cheek. Warm summer sun brought the scent of grass and flowers from the meadows. Idle chatter on the streets. A pocket of heaven where no harm could reach. She wished she could stay here forever, the girl clung to her tightly as her mother watched from the door with a small smile. Eliza considered them friends. As close to friends as she could be with her people. She's watched their sacrifices, knew their struggles.
"Papa is coming home! Mama said so, he sent us a letter saying the war was over! Is it true, 'Liza? Is Papa coming home? You're home so it MUST be over!" Those wide blue eyes stared up at her. So full of hope, of promise. The world hadn't shattered her spirit yet. Her heart bled at the pure innocence behind those words. One black glove reached to her uniform, unpinning a golden emblem and placing it onto Csilla's dress.
"It's true, dragam. It's finally over!" Her boots dug into the soft soil as she spun. Joy filled the sky. Maybe they could have hope after all and pretend human life wasn't a cruel cycle, destined to repeat itself over and over again. These small moments were everything. The small moments of watching a girl brim with delight, reuniting with her father, long gone at a mysterious fight she couldn't even comprehend yet.
A dandelion, yellow and strong. Blossoming in the sunlight with all its might. It knows nothing of mans cruel nature.
****
"Eliza?"
The voice shook her from her thoughts. Green eyes flickered up form her papers to meet piercing blue. Serious, demanding. A teenagers glare.
"Hm...?"
"Why can't girls fight? Girls can't fight, yet you...you've been leading armies since..."
"Before you were born." A tired smile cracked on her face, dark shadows under her eys as they went back down to the page. Things were looking more and more bleak as time passed. At this point, they'd have no choice....
Silence hung in the air. They sat across the table in Eliza's cottage. The ticking of a clock the only sign time even passed as the tension grew thick between them.
"Papa says you're an angel..."
It caught her by surprise. Most soldiers were made aware of her nature as they were enlisted, many not grasping what was being told until the woman stood before them, age beyond measure behind her eyes. Scars of war laced all across her body. Something about the spirit of a nation was laced tightly with her soldiers. They simply...knew, knew this was who led them to battle, to protect them with her life. And the knowledge was to remain closed off.
And she never grew too close with anyone. Until her.
"An angel?" A chuckle escaped her lips, one hand brushing through brown locks. The other brunette stared at her, a hardened edge to her gaze. "Is that what you think?"
"No. Angels can't survive on Earth. That's why they stay in Heaven." Csilla slumped back in her seat, shaking her head with a quiet sigh. How could she already be so tired? Was the world truly so harsh to her? "I don't know what you are..."
"Why do you want to fight?" That question seemed to trigger something within her. The girl jumped from her seat, hands slamming onto the worn oak table. Something clinked against the wood, rolling to the floor. A golden pin.
"Its not FAIR, 'Liza! I'm a woman, is that it?! That's all?! So what makes you so special?! I....I just want to make my papa p-proud and..." Tears began to bubble over. Childish hiccups as she crumpled back into her seat. Her hands gripped her hair, flinching slightly as Eliza stood to wrap her arms around the shivering form.
"You don't want to go in there, kedves...I don't want that for you. Your papa is plenty proud of you..."
Yellow flower withered. Delicate puffs taking the place of bright petals. A purpose quietly realized, the only ending coming into sight. The world attacks anything holding beauty.
****
"ELIZA!"
Explosions, screaming. The smell of gunpowder and smoke festered in the air. Formalities forgotten in the panicked scramble for life. Her head jerked up from her scope. That voice. Where....
"CSILLA?!" She shouted, the green uniform blending in with all the rest. But shining blue eyes met hers from across the trench. Despair exploded in her chest as she ran over, grabbing her by the torso and pulling her down, away from the gunfire. She knew it was her. A golden pin was on her uniform pocket. Out of dress code, but that hardly mattered now.
"What are you doing!? What....I..."
"I...." Her voice shook, breath coming in short gasps. "Eliza, Eliza-"
"GET DOWN!" A soldier from beside them shouted, ducking below cover. The ground shook, hell rained from above. The clouds opened up to cry upon the blood stained ground as if woken by the fighting. There was no time to comfort. Not when the world was ending before their eyes.
Her hair was cut short, chest flattened by some sort of binding. Pretend. She was playing a game of pretend. Grabbing a fallen gun, Eliza perched it back up on the side of the trench. The glass of the scope was cloudy, making her squint to see anything. It rattled in her hands as bullets fired in an explosion of sound.
A wet splatter.
More screaming.
Blood.
Csilla was covered in blood. But it wasn't her own.
Brain. Bone. None of it.
A corpse laid on top of her.
She couldn't stop screaming.
Puffs flown away on the breeze. Leaving a bare flower behind. Taken. Cold. Left bare, no beauty remained.
*****
"Csilla..."
A gentle hand clutched another, one that didn't react to her touch. The sunlight shone in through the window, warming the wooden floor. Summer was dawning with its slow tendrils pulling away the balmy feeling of spring.
"I've brought you some flowers."
A bird called out somewhere, searching for its partner. Or warning others away from its territory. It was hard to say. Its chirps all sounded the same. How she longed for another voice to join its chorus
"A bird, a bird, 'Liza! Mama told me all about that one! Can I tell you?"
"Eliza, can you teach me to sew? Papa keeps ripping his pants and Mama's hands shake too badly to repair them..."
"Eliza...am I supposed to call you General now? You can make an exception for me, right?"
Blue eyes glossed over, staring out the window but seeing nothing. A shuddering breath escaped the shell of a human. Her face was a skeleton of the bright, rosy cheeks once grinning so brightly at her. This was her fault.
She only wanted to make her father proud. To serve her country and protect it. Protect...her.
Now visions of bombshells rang inside her ears. The scent of blood coppery and fresh like it still bled fresh from her own wounds.
Guilt brought her to her knees. Her hands gripped the thin, pale arm before her as she heaved out a sob. It was worse than death. At least in death, the girl would know peace. She's be with her parents. The horrors of this world wouldn't live on in her mind forever. And she wept.
Her form shuddered as her breathes choked on heavy sobs, uncaring for who heard her wailing.
A child
She was just a child.
God, please. Who deserves this suffering?
Withered. Served its purpose. Nothing left to spread, bare. The dandelion is a cruel flower. The spring brings bright colors, butterflies and bees to caress its precious petals. By the winter, its done all its can. It has no choice. But to shrivel.
And die.
*****
"Szia....Csilla."
Winter comes. Snow on a grey stone. A golden pin. Nobody speaks back.
*****
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12/21/2023 12:11 PM
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Is This How We Get World Peace?
A thin folder held loosely by her side, hair tied neatly back under a green handkerchief, cleaned up, proper and ladylike. Confident strides carried her into the hall. Tall ceilings sloped overhead, crowned by lights circling the walls. Amphitheater-like seats surrounded a central oval, an easy place for everyone to see and hear what was going on. Every month, the same day, the same time, like clockwork, the world powers all gathered in one place to debate some of the most pressing issues to date. Everyone from all walks put aside their differences in this room, this neutral ground, for the benefit of everyone.
So why do they act like such children?
That's not to say she wasn't above all the rest. No, in fact she'd gotten into her fair share of squabbles on the meeting room floor. But the chatter that erupted beyond those double doors was already giving her a headache. How badly she wanted to retreat back to her quiet homestead up in the mountainside.
"Hungary! You're here!"
"Italy! You've showed up on time today."
The excitable country, once living closely with her under the Roman Empires roof, grabbed her arm and dragged her from her wallflower perch by the wall. He was adorable, but he really couldn't take any form of social cues...
"Austria is already here! You want to say hi, right?"
Normally, she would. Very eagerly so. But she pulled back slightly, a sort of cold washing over her. Did she want to say hello? The more time she spent up in the mountains, the more time she had to think. And thinking was a dangerous habit, especially all the ways up there. Did she even love Austria back then, or just the idea of him....?
"Maybe later, dear...I need to find my seat."
A polite smile, trying to ignore the way her stomach tossed and turned as she turned on her heel and strode the opposite direction. Some hellos, some idle small talk. Everyone seemed to have some issue they wanted adressed. But with the track record these things usually had, the likliehood of getting to everyone was very unlikely.
But wouldn't it be nice if all the worlds problems could be solved in an afternoon?
Emerald hues flitted down to the hardwood floor. Footsteps tapped quietly against the steps, trying to find a seat before this darn thing started. An empty spot, finally. With a quiet sigh of relief, she set her folder down in her lap, smoothing the skirt of her dress down. Next to Belgium. Not quite a friend, but someone she considered to be on relatively good terms with. But she was too busy chatting the Czech to notice her arrival anyway.
Nervous hands took a section of hair that was free from the careful fabric covering and braided it down her face. But just her luck, settling to her other side-
Austria.
And he didn't even look her way.
Didn't even acknowledge her.
Fine. She didn't want to speak to him anyway. Her face turned away from him, catching Italy's eye a few rows ahead of her. He gave a delighted wave and shouted,
"I get to talk today Miss Hungary! Germany said I'd have a few minutes to speak!"
"Da, and if you make a fool out of me, I'll throw you out of here and you'll never say another word!"
"Oooh...scary..."
A small giggle was stifled behind one hand. He still acted like the child he was when she dressed him up in cute dresses and brushed his hair.
And so it began. America, as was his whim. slammed his hand on the table a few times and threw his hands up into the air.
Wasn't Germany the one to usually lead these meetings?
"AAAAALRIGHT, DUDES! Who's ready to kick this sick sh*t off? Any questions? Who's up first? Nothin? I'll go then!"
(Blatantly ignoring the several hands that shot up...)
Hours passed. They argued, England nearly launched himself out of his seat to strangle the American after he said utter nonsense for half an hour.
("NOBODY WANTS TO INVEST IN TAHT BLOODY STUPID IDEA!"
"You wouldn't know good investment if it hit you in the face!"
"ILL HIT YOU IN THE FACE-!")
Italy offered a surprisingly deep insight to his festivals that year. Maybe she should attend one of these days...
("And we sing and we dance and we drink so much wine we can't even feel our faces! And there's pretty girls...!"
The deep insight only lasted for a couple of minutes...)
Her hues flickered over to Austria, who looked as bored as always. But stood with his posture straight, hands folded in his lap.
"Will you speak today?"
She chanced in a small whisper.
"No. I have nothing to say."
Nothing to say indeed...Finding herself more annoyed than anything, she tapped her folder a few times before raising her hand. Greece was beside Germany, something about their economical struggles.
"What if they extended their working hours to produce more in a shorter time?"
"He already has the longest hours out of all of us...but he takes lots of breaks, so you cant say hes efficent..."
Greece could only give a shrug in response. He didn't seem too bothered by his own shortcomings.
She almost envied that in a way.
Her head was really starting to pound now. The arguing was becoming too much, and she could feel the bile of anxiety rise in the back of her throat. Fingers clenched the folder, a quiet crinkling of paper. But she'd stay strong. This was only a round of endurance once a month. Then she could have her quiet, safe space back.
Finally came her turn to speak.
A deep breath. Smoothing out the papers imprinted with her own stressed grip.
Brushing bangs from her face, her gaze flickered over all the countries looking down at her.
Why did she feel so out of place amongst them now?
Did their stares hold judgement, or boredom?
Her talk was brief, presenting the issues she's struggled with the changing climate, how farmers struggled to famr their crops in the summer, and some rising tensions from imaginary conflicts with other countries. She hadn;t even been aware there was any kind of misgivings until her boss called her up to the city one day to discuss it.
"So, if you have any issues, I'd rather not allow it to escalate. There are larger problems at hand, so speak to me directly."
There. She felt pretty good about that. Clearing her throat, she gave a smile and a polite curtsy before climbing back to her seat.
"You wouldn't be having these issues if you-"
"Oh be quiet. I thought you had nothing to say?"
A surprisingly harsh spit of venom toward the bespectacled country. Her cheeks flush with annoyance. Really, is that his angle? Belittle her like this again?
So silence fell like a wall between them.
Maybe she'd skip the next meeting.
Could the entire country of Hungary call in sick?
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12/13/2023 09:03 PM
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The Blood of Centuries
//This drabble contains a semi-realistic depiction of a war related PTSD episode. If this makes you uncomfortable in anyway, please seek something else to read!!
A soft record playing, a lone piano. Fingers stretched and touching dusty keys. Calloused fingers meant to bow the strings of a violin. The instrument was a ghost in the sunny sitting room. Shadows engulfed where it stood. And the figure sitting at it was just the same. A far off gaze, lost in her own mind. Gunshots, screaming. The burn of tears. A key compressed with one, lonely sound.
One sound followed another. But not to any particular song or rhythm. A white, a black, another few whites. One hand sat on her lap, clutching the red fabric of her skirt while the other sought to keep itself occupied all on its own. Disconnected. She couldn’t stop the mindless tic.
One.
Two.
Three
Blood.
Ash.
Fear.
“Dont leave me here! I don’t want to DIE!” “
Eliza. Finish this.”
Somewhere in the distance, the pop of a rifle taking down the owners next meal
. An explosion of noise rang out from the piano. The abuse slammed down from previously gentle touches. Screaming. Screaming. Until it no longer echoed and banged around her skull but burned her throat as it escaped. Hair hung around her face like a cage as she hunched over, breath quick and painful. Never seeming to get enough air. The dust, the dirt. They were filling the trench with water, drowning-
Sheet music scattered to the floor, tossed carelessly aside as she stood up. Her posture change was so abrupt, she sent the piano stool to a similar fate, tossed on its side and prone. Where was she? With face flush, tears began to prick in her eyes. But they wouldn’t fall. They couldn’t. Her arm fell to grab for a gun that wasn’t strapped to her side, only gathering thick fabric.
“Where…sh*t!”
Lost. It must have gotten lost somewhere. Stolen. How would she defend herself? The sunshine from the window shone with unprejudiced glee. An unseasonably warm winters day. And it taunted her.
Shades were whipped shut, with little regard for how one of them was pulled from its rod and hung askew. Any opening was a weakness. But she knew this would happen. This always happened. That’s why the weapons were hidden away, locked up. If she hurt anyone in her frenzy…
Her back hit the piano. Hazy green eyes on a swivel as she heard noises in every corner. Everything felt like it was covered in fog. Her head spun as she tried to search for something, anything else.
Where were they.
She didn’t want this
She doesn’t want anymore blood on her hands
A thousand years worth of blood
Drawers were pulled open, contents scattered to the floor. Somewhere deep in the marsh of panic, a hand reached out and grabbed for her consciousness. Blindly reaching and waving, to get her attention, to come back down.
It’s your fault
You were their commander, what have you done?
You’re just a child, what do you know of war?
Another shot, very real and likely from the same hunter, echoed across through the crevices and cracks. Another scream ripped from her lungs before her upper half folded to collapse against the top of the drawers, shaking and heaving for air. She stayed like that for a long moment before she reached out to the one object remaining on the counter. An old phone. Rotary intact and well kempt. With a white knuckle grip, the receiver fit into her hand as she tried several times, and failed, then eventually succeeded, to dial. A number she’d dialed a million times, numbers imprinted firmly into her brain so she’d never forget.
“….Roderich, please…I need to hear your voice….”
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11/26/2023 09:31 PM
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Headcanons!
{This is a working list, so things will probably be added as I develop more ideas.}
♡Sometime after the countries divorced and Hungary gained her independence, she moved to a home deep in the rural areas of the country. Her true nature was hidden, as she just wanted to live as the normal, mortal people do for as long as she could. While everything was still at peace and she wouldn’t be whisked away on political business
♡She remains close friends with Poland, and encourages him in his hobbies. She often lends him dresses when she sees him at the world conferences. There’s a photo album she keeps of photo shoots they’ve taken part in along with Ukraine.
♡Elizabeta has PTSD from the several wars her country has fought in. Because of her strength, and loyalty to her country, she always insists on putting herself in the front lines. All the way from her youth fighting off larger countries like Turkey, her own revolution, to the guns and bombs of the world wars. Often this manifests in episodes of anxiety and dissociation. Especially when hunting. The smell of gun smoke and blood can set off an episode lasting for days. Nobody will see her come in or out.
♡Germany owes her money after losing in over a dozen arm wrestling competitions. And poor Ludwig always thinks he’ll win this time.
♡While she’s good at most housekeeping, womanly tasks, she spends most of the spring months knee deep in mud and dirt and stained with grass. The wild horses that run free in the mountains seem to know her, and will allow her to run after them and ride along the open fields. The especially loyal ones will even show up in the dead of winter, knickering for treats at her window.
♡Her wedding ring from Austria is kept in a jewelry box in her bedroom. She couldn’t bring herself to get rid of it.
♡Her favorite flowers are lilies of the valley. They’re highly poisonous, but beautiful. The sort of thing that couldn’t be touched or tainted without dire consequence.
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11/18/2023 10:13 PM
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Hiányozni Fogtok {I Will Miss You}
(Best accompanied with this )
(A/N while I do base this loosely on events from history, I understand it's not all entirely factually accurate. I'd get no interesting writing done if I stayed glued to the facts the whole time!!)
"Roderich."
Her voice, heavy with pain, pulled down by the agony of what must be done. It quivered as every word slipped passed cracked lips.
"Kérem*, I cannot do this anymore. I do not want to fight you. Let me go."
Elizabeta stood on shaking legs, her sharp emerald hues glistening with tears like grass of a fresh morning. A morning meant to usher in new beginnings, a new day to experience as yesterday was left behind. She needed her morning to come.
Independence.
"We lived so peacefully together, I thought you were happy."
"I was, Roderich. But I can't be a servant any longer. My people want freedom."
Where once stood a pretty young woman, adorned in flowers and loving smiles, there now stood a shell. Something empty, shaking with a musket clenched between it's gloved hands. The military uniform was a dull shade of green, sticking out harshly against the crumbling walls of the house around them. She no longer belonged here. A quivering breath escaped her as she sunk to her knees. Strength was her only asset, but asking to raise a weapon to someone once so dear to her, someone she once called a husband, even if under the most political terms. It was impossible.
All she could see was that little boy she used to bully in the fields when they were children. The little boy she picked on because everyone else was too big to fight. It seemed she hadn't grown out of being that bully after all. The smell of blood still stung at her nostrils. It was a moment before she could realize it was her own.
Now on the ground before him, she'd rubbed her glove to her face, swiping a crimson streak across her cheeks. Her gaze dared to travel up to look at him, and he only stared at her. There was no anger there, but she almosted wished there was. It was only
Betrayal.
"Szeretlek. Mindig szeretni foglak.**"
A whisper, a faint attempt to soften the blow those eyes stabbed into her chest. Her freedom was so close, yet the shackle she'd put on herself remained firmly around her neck. How badly she wished they were just common folk. Just the couples on the bank of the river, exchanging gentle touches and whispers as the sun cast its long shadows around them.
How badly she wanted to hear him play that piano again. To sit beside him.
But things change. People change. Worlds change.
This was once their home. But now it was merely a house occupied with ghosts of a past that could never return.
The sounds of battle raged outside, just beyond them.
"What would your soldiers think to see you like this, Eliza? You want your independence? Fight for it."
His words weren't laced with malice, nor were they of encouragement. He almost sounded....tired. A proud man sat beside the toppled piano, glasses askewed and brow furrowed in a mirky broth of emotions.
"Du hast mich nie enttäuscht. Fangen Sie jetzt nicht damit an.***"
Roderich sat up a bit straighter as he spoke, but made no move to comfort the shaking country before him. After a moment of hesitation, a hand came to cover the one that still clutched the musket.
"Elizabeta...go."
Two words, whispered hardly above the din of gunshots. Eliza dropped the gun and fell into his arms, where she was met with little resistance. They sat there, intertwined, clutched together as if to keep one another safe.
After a long moment, she spoke, voice hoarse.
"Hiányozni fogtok..."
~~Translations!~~
* Please
** I love you. I will always love you
***You've never disappointed me. Do not start now
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