Hey everyone! It's me, Rain! So, this idea came to me in the midst of studying... *drumroll* GREEK MYTHOLOGY! :D Humanities has given me a crap ton of inspiration, I swear _ Anyway, some of you may think, "This is anti-HREXChibitalia! That's so sad!" ANd to that I say, THIS IS NOT ANTI- HREXCHIBITALIA. I love and support that adorableness withe all my heart and soul. But hey, a little character sacrifice can go a long way in the name of a good plot. OKAY, Hope you ENJOYZ! :D And I don't own the awesomeness that is Hetalia!

"Holy Rome?"

"Yes, it's me, Italy. I know I have been gone for too long a time, but I am here now."

"...B-But Holy Rome, how... how can you hear my voice?"

The blonde figure smiled gently. "Oh Italy, it's a matter of life and death for me. I couldn't live if I were to never hear the beautiful melody of your voice again."

"Ve...b-but Holy Rome, aren't you already...?" The auburn haired boy grew sad and teary-eyed at the unspoken implication, a few salty drops leaking out unbidden as the other nodded slowly.

"Yes, that's right..."

"Then how- wh-why are you here?"

The blonde boy looked up and appeared to be in shock, the tender yet sad smile on his face disappearing to be replaced by a hurt expression. "I-Italy...Why? Don't you want me here?"

The Italian gasped and grew concerned. "N-No Holy Rome, that's not what I meant at all, I..." He trailed off as the Germanic empire slowly began to glare harshly at him, until the unfortunate European boy felt the gaze piercing his heart like a shard of pure ice. "H-...Holy Rome?"

The Holy Roman Empire remained silent, his cold stare gradually growing in intensity as a hateful expression etched itself into his face. Italy slowly stepped back, feeling scared and confused. "Holy Rome... Wh-what did I d-do? What's wrong? Wh-"

"Quiet, Italy! Just be quiet!" Holy Rome suddenly barked, making the Italian gasp and quail fearfully. "You SPOKE! That's what you did! You should never, ever speak!" Then, the former empire was suddenly right in front of Italy. "No one will ever hear you, anyway," he whispered, but that whisper sounded more like a hiss.

With a small sob, Italy began to cry. "Wh-Why, Holy Rome? Why do you do this to me?..." He trailed off as he looked up to find Holy Rome nowhere to be seen. As he fell to his knees, he weakly whimpered, "I thought you cared... I-I thought...you loved me..." Then the poor Mediterranean nation buried his face in his hands and sobbed until his voice was hoarse and breathless.

Italy woke with a start, feeling small tears trailing smoothly down his face. He opened his amber eyes and sat up, trailing a shaking hand across his tanned cheeks as he stared at himself in the mirror across from his bed.

'Because your voice belongs to me...'

Italy stiffened. That voice sounded like the Holy Roman Empire, but...the coldness and utter... possessiveness of the tone made him sure that it wasn't his childhood love.

'Your voice belongs to me, your heart belongs to me. You are mine.'

Again, that strangely familiar tone sent shivers down Italy's spine. The eerie whispers continued.

"You are mine. You are mine, mine, mine, mine-"

Over and over the single word was repeated like a mantra, until the poor Italian felt almost on the brink of insanity. He clamped his hands over his ears in a vain effort to stop the maddening chant. "Please...Please, just stop! P-Please, STOP!" he finally shouted, fresh tears running down his face. Surprisingly, the taunt subsided, slowly fading until Italy was left with only looming echoes of the chilling word. He allowed himself to cry in silence for a while, releasing all the unshed tears brought by his dream. Finally, the tears could flow no longer and he laid back down, feeling strangely better after his emotional release. He looked over to his right side, allowing a small, bittersweet smile to grace his lips as he saw his older brother sleeping soundly. He was so glad that Romano was sleeping well; he'd barely slept for the past week, being nearly sick with worry because Seychelles, his girlfriend, was in the hospital for a reason unbeknownst to either of them. However, Italy really wished that his cries would awaken his brother, even once.

Italy sighed, suddenly wishing he had more tears to shed. He knew his fratello would never hear his voice. Romano would never, and could never again hear his little brother. Italy's words, his cries, shouts, surrenders and whispers would forever fall silent to the ears of the other nations, his brother included. And Italy knew that no one of them would ever be able to hear him.

He would be able to live with this handicap easier, albeit still unhappily, had he not also been given yet another hardship to endure. Italy had been given the wondrous ability to forsee all events that would happen involving his friends. In other words, he could see the future of all the nations. However, on the other half of this gift was his curse: He would never be able to tell the other nations what would happen to them in the future. Even if he were to write out everything that were to happen in a letter or document and give it to his friends. Oh, he had tried that. He had tried many times, but all another nation would see of his writing was an indecipherable scrawl.

In short, Italy had no way to communicate with the other nations, and as such, had somewhat faded from history's forefront. Romano, being the older and, in this case, more able of the two, had taken over most all duties of their country, leaving poor Veneziano to merely linger in the background like a ghost, feeling not only invisible, but utterly useless as well. Still, he would not- and rather, could not- communicate these concerns and feelings of his to his Southern brother; Romano had enough to deal with already, handling two people's jobs at once, and was now more weary than ever with Seychelles added to his worries and cares.

So, silently and resolutely, Italy did his best to deal with his strange curse. He saw his friends being taken over, being enslaved or beaten, losing or gaining territory. For better or for worse, Italy saw everything that was to befall him, his brother, and all of his friends. And Italy would forever be unable to warn or truly support his friends, for they would never hear him. Only Italy himself could hear the words he spoke, making it all the more difficult and frustrating for him.

Italy rolled over onto his side, waiting for the tears that wouldn't come. He wished he'd never spoken that day.

*Flashback*

Knock, knock, knock.

Spain stood and watched as Hungary knocked at little Italy's bedroom door somewhat frantically.

"Ita-chan? Italy, please open the door!"

The auburn-haired boy pulled open the heavy oaken door, reaching up to grasp and yank the protruding brass knob. "Oh? Buon giorno, Miss Hungary, Big Brother. What can I do for you?" Italy grew slightly meek as he noticed the solemnity about the two, the sorrow etched into their faces. "Ve?...Wh-What's wrong?...Miss Hungary?...B-Big Brother Spain?"

Spain looked at his female companion, then back at Italy. "Ita...just listen to miss Hungary." Turning back to Hungary, he smiled at her fleetingly before adding, "I believe you'd be better at breaking the news." Hungary nodded silently at him, tears brimming in her green eyes as she looked back at the young Italian.

"Wh-What news What happened?" Italy said, growing worried.

"Oh, Italy," Hungary began to cry softly as she knelt and wrapped her arms around the boy. "Please be strong for me. Just for me."

Italy returned the motherly embrace, tiny hands reaching out to grasp the material of the girl's dress as he looked up at her with tears of his own. "M-Miss Hungary... Wh-What is it?"

"Oh...Oh Ita-chan, Holy Rome is..."

The Italian felt himself being clutched closer to the Hungarian. "Ve? H-Holy Rome-?"

"He's dead, Ita-chan..."

"No...No, he can't- It can't be..."

"I'm sorry, Italy, I really am," Hungary said quietly, crying quite openly now. And the little Italian began to cry eith her, large tears flowing down his face and wetting the older girl's dress as Spain knelt beside them, murmuring soft words of condolence.

*Change Flashback*

Since the news of Holy Rome's death had been delivered, Mr. Austria's house had been much more quiet, the mood bordering on sullen. Even Austria himself, though he outwardly showed nothing aside from his usual prissiness, felt the immense difference. It showed in the strangely subdue tones of the normally vibrant piano compositions he would always play.

Italy found himself in his room more often, still crying every morning when he woke up and crying himself to sleep every night. Finally Austria, worn down by the boy's lethargy and still shaken from the news, went to Italy's room one morning. "Italy!" he shouted, pushing the door open, The startled little boy looked up at his master with tears in his eyes. "Italy, until you can pull yourself together, you are excused from all of your duties. I would rather you take a break and do a good job with your chorse than for you to push yourself and only do a halfhearted job in the process.

Italy looked up at Austria, a few tears falling from his amber eyes. "M-Mr. Austria?" he said quietly, hoping that he could at least be allowed to sweep the front hall; chores were his best distraction from issues at the forefront of his mind, and this one was no exception. Was he really still so stricken that it even affected how he performed with housework?

Austria interpreted the boy's pleading gaze and shook his head, his violet eyes stearn and full of concern for the younger nation. Italy hung his head and rose from the bed in the corner of the room, letting out a sad sigh as he walked slowly over. Austria sighed himself as he stepped aside, allowing the Italian to pass and go to clear his head. It troubled him to see his adorable young charge like this, and though he was usually strict, and didn't often show his tender side, Austria really cared for Italy. Rubbing his temples, he retreated to his piano, seeking to release his mixed emotions and calm himself.

Passing by the supplies that resided near the hallway closet, Italy began to run as soon as the front door was shut behind him. He ran, crying, until he reached the spot where he had last said goodbye to Holy Rome. Standing there, he looked up at the sky as the rain began to fall and a melancholy breeze blew. "Why..." he whispered, his chapped lips barely moving with the word. "Why...all of this is happening to me... Why to me?" The tears now freely flowing down his red cheeks, he screamed to the sky, "Why me? Why do I deserve this? Was it you, Holy Rome? Was I a fool to fall in love with you?" Italy's voice was hoarse, but he kept growing louder as the storm grew violent and the rain fell harder. "I should have known it! Things like this are always happening to me! Why couldn't I know? I wish I could have known, or I'd never have allowed myself to get so close to you, Holy Rome!"

Another powerful gust blew and a sudden bolt of purple lightning struck the ground near the small Italian, the electricity blacking him out.

*End Flashback*

Italy sighed as he remebered the anguish both that day and the next had held for him. Hungary had found him passed out in the grass and rain and carried him inside, where he still didn't wake up. The next morning, he woke from a dream that he later found out was a vision of Austria and Hungary's future. He had managed to run to Hungary on shaky legs, and had frantically begun to tell he what he'd seen. Only to have her stop him when she couldn't hear any sound coming from the boy's mouth. It was then that he realized: the probably ethereal bolt had given him something both wonderful and horrible, and rendered him mute in the process.

No longer could Italy utter his telltale "Ve~" or praise his wonderful pasta. Never again could he yell, "I surrender!" or sing bubbly songs about Germany. Never again could he hum the nostalgic melodies from his childhood and lose himself in memories, good and bad.

Italy got up slowly, the creak of the bed the only sound he made. He dressed himself quickly and left, skipping breakfast. He wasn't hungry anyway.

The Mediterranean nation decided to visit Germany. He may as well try to make himself useful for the day, at least. He didn't feel like driving, so he decided to walk. He had almost reached his best friend's house, when he tripped over a root in a grove of trees. "!" The only sound produced was a small thud, muted by browning grass and leaves, and tears sprung to Italy's eyes as he righted himself. As he stood, pain lanced through his right leg and he was forced to kneel again. 'Of course this would happen...' he thought dismally, hobbling over to a large rock on which he could rest.

Italy sat with a sigh, cradling his injured ankle. How was he supposed to help Germany now? Of course, what help would he be anyway when he couldn't even communicate? Comic relief? He laughed with only bitterness and resisted the uncharacteristic urge to snort. There was no chance. Who would ever hear a mute?

But you're not exactly a mute, either, a tiny voice in his head whispered. After all, he could hear his own voice, couldn't he?

Italy sighed, shaking his head. "Some help I'll be. I can't do anything to help Germany like this. He's cleaning today, too..."

"Oi!" A sudden loud voice snapped the European from his inner turmoil. "Why would you want to help West, anyway? He'd probably prefer to do it himself and he's really kind of a hard-ass. Why get yourself yelled at?"

Italy's head shot up, his eyes opening wide, and he looked in the direction of the voice. "You...You can h-hear me?" he stuttered. He felt asphyxiated. "Wh-Who are you...?"

"Um, yeah...of course I can hear you...Why wouldn't I be able to?"

Italy almost choked. It wasn't possible... was it?
"Oh, and as for who I am?" The man, who was leaning against a tree, looked up and grinned, the shadow falling from his face. "I am the awesome Prussia!"