Information

Ruined
Legacy Name: Ruined

The Glacier Sheeta
Owner: Kylo

Age: 13 years, 5 months, 2 weeks

Born: November 16th, 2010

Adopted: 11 years, 4 months, 5 days ago

Adopted: December 27th, 2012

Statistics

• Level: 9
   
• Strength: 23
   
• Defense: 55
   
• Speed: 56
   
• Health: 23
   
• HP: 23/23
   
• Intelligence: 12
   
• Books Read: 12
• Food Eaten: 0
• Job: Unemployed

The Knight-Turned-Plaything

n the beginning, when the castles of Europe were young, there lived a courageous and vibrant knight. Like all knights of his day, he swore fealty to his master and served him with pride, bearing his lord's coat of arms on his breastplate and shield for all to see. Like his comrades, he carried a long, heavy sword in hands coated with protective chain-mail, and like them, he was not afraid to withdraw the blade and square off against an enemy. And like other knights, he was chivalrous and offered plenty to the eyes of fair maidens. But this knight was unlike any other before him; he stood out among his fellow warriors for three simple reasons -- he was just, he was merciful, and he was not corrupted by gold or jewels.

Everywhere this brave chevalier went, the people flocked to him -- and why wouldn't they? The knight bore semblance to a beautiful willow: tall and slender, with long appendages, thin fingers, and tousled, shoulder-length hair the color of damp bark. Beneath his gleaming silver-and-gold armor, his clothes were as green as the tree's leaves, and his eyes were just a shade darker than this. His skin resembled the color of a dove's breast, and his flowing red cape was the wing of a brilliant cardinal taking flight. He was their image of hope, a comfort to uneasy widows and wide-eyed children. He protected them. And so, the people flocked to the willow, casting gifts at the hooves of his steed and showering him with praise as if Christ had come among them. And the paladin graciously accepted their lauds and tokens, a small smile set in his lightly-blushing cheeks. He was no Messiah.

Time passed. Europe evolved. The willow had come to know great power, but the power was gained through trading and farming, not the stroke of a sword; and the cavalier warrior languished in the halls of his master. His skill with a sword unneeded, the knight found himself learning the ways of the serf: he taught himself to cook, to sew, and to tend to livestock. He enjoyed partaking of all the intriguing new hobbies he had picked up by observing the castle's hands, but what he enjoyed most was reading. Very few knights and even fewer serfs obtained this skill, but the paladin was curious and steadfast; he had spent hours each evening poring over manuscripts and scrolls by candlelight, teaching himself the sounds of each letter and word. There would be dreadful consequences if anyone in the castle learned of his obscene new talent, so he was careful to restrict his reading to the watches of the night. Words fascinated him, more so than any sword or damsel ever had. He reveled in their beauty, and found himself writing his own; and so, the willow became a poet. In his time beside the servants and common-folk, he became even more celebrated; the people knew the willow by his trademark appearance, and were delighted to find him among them.

But it wasn't meant to last. The power that his master had gained through trade put the land on a dangerously-cracked pedestal, and after too many corruptions and setbacks, the pillar collapsed, bringing the Commonwealth with it. Outside nations flooded in like water through a broken dam, snatching up land and dividing it amongst themselves greedily. The people cried out for salvation, and turned hopefully to the willow for help. The knight sighed and stepped between them and the oncoming nations, and the peasants cheered behind him. All would be well and green again, they knew it. Their willow would protect them. The knight's eyes went from steely and bold to unnerved as the largest of the invaders stepped forward to challenge him. This warrior was a strange one -- he was clad almost entirely in thick furs, and his bulky body was easily double the size of his own. His hair was as fair as moonshine, and when the paladin locked eyes with him, he found beautiful violet staring back. The knight quailed; this was a royal czar that stood before him. Fear rattled his bones; he would lose, painfully so. His sword glinted in the sunlight, but neither his heart nor his hand backed the blade; to the dismay of the people, his knees met the dry earth, and the willow wept as he surrendered.

one are the days of sword-fights and heralds. Never again will the willow harvest the rye fields, or enjoy the company of so many serfs. To protect his people from further molestation, the mighty knight becomes the maid, and he dwells in the house of the czar. (Because the master insisted that his housekeeper wear proper maid's clothes, the willow was forced to comply with dress code and the names that come with it.) The tasks he had learned in his languor so long ago prove quite useful in his tasks as housekeeper; his daily chores include cooking meals, sewing odds and ends, sweeping, dusting, and overall upkeep of the czar's grand house. His days are full, as is his mind -- he works and thinks tirelessly, pondering methods of escape as his limbs fly autonomously through his chores. Whenever the czar pays him a visit during his work, he doubles his efforts while trying to maintain some air of effortlessness and grace; these encounters never cease to leave him trembling and upended inside. His monstrous master is soft-spoken and gentle on the outside, with an air of innocence and bumbling childishness, but the willow learned long ago that looks are very, very deceiving in the house of Siberia.

Each mistake brings the pain of punishment, which is doled out without mercy or compassion. The czar is a master of subtlety and torture; he is capable of sneaking up on the keenest ears despite his bulk, and his knowledge of physical and mental abuse is unmatched. His tools: his whip, his faucet pipe, and his silver tongue. The willow is lashed with whip and words - the words he once so coveted and loved - without mercy, brought to his knees by pain and the czar's firm command. Having been a knight, disobedience is not familiar to him; despite his eternal loyalty to any master who rules him, the czar offers no mercy for human mistakes, and the maid is fervently beaten for every simple error. The master is always eager to remind the maid of his misgivings and flaws. His soft-spoken words and smooth Russian brogue remain the same throughout such beatings; in fact, such grizzly activities seem to bring him pleasure. The monster hums old folk tunes to himself while blood spatters the cuffs of his luxurious overcoats, droplets of red kissing his pale cheeks and flecking into his down-swept hair as he splits the willow open again and again.

This is not the only abuse the housekeeper endures. If the master is feeling particularly twisted, he absconds with the willow, hiding him away in his bedroom and coercing pleas for mercy from his aching vocal cords. The maid's cheeks burn with embarrassment and fury as the czar strips him of his clothes -- the clothing forced upon him was humiliating enough, but being naked is even more so. However, being bound by fealty and terror to comply with the master's demands, the trembling housekeeper swallows his pride and averts his gaze, hiding his swollen eyes from his contorting body and his master's greedy gaze. While the czar destroys his innocence over and over again, humming old folk tunes as he does, the willow weeps and prays to God for salvation and forgiveness. He is no Messiah.

cars are tattoos, it is said: they tell the story of the person who bears them. The scars that ravage the dove's breast tell a tale of a mighty chevalier who roamed medieval Europe, defending his people without bringing harm to other kingdoms. Raised lines are scattered over his chest, shoulders, and arms from where he danced with death on horseback, dueling other knights for the sake of his kingdom. These he wears with pride. But there is another story hidden beneath folds of lace and a long maid's dress -- a darker tome of abuse, fear, chaos, and submission. It explains the trials and tribulations of a housekeeper living in terror, dreading every tiny mistake and knowing what pain the whip will bring him. These scars are ragged and broad, white and livid against the pale tan of healed skin. Broken over so many times, this flesh will never again show color aside from brilliant red. It is these scars that he attempts to hide, though they tell a tale as important as the battle scars. Every lash is a testament to his resilience, his inner strength, his determination and loyalty. Every break in his skin reveals a bit more of his personality, his beliefs, his humanity. Every scar has a tale to tell. These tell the story of the weeping willow.

Allies and Enemies:

Mr. Russia -- I'll d-do anything you say...! Just don't hurt my brothers...!

Virtus -- Mister America! It's so good to see you doing well. Don't worry about me -- I'm doing just fine with Mister Russia. (Don't tell him...but I wish I could go back to your place, too.) By the way...don't you think that mechanical suit is a bit-...outlandish? Did Mister Tony build it for you?

Great Britain -- America's father? Friend? Ally? Whatever you are to him, I can see you're quite the gentleman...maybe I can break that nasty spell that's on you.

Blueblood -- I hear you're a very sophisticated man...I hope I can visit your house one day.

Do you have a Hetalia fanpet that would like to be Ruined's friend? Let his owner know!

Art/Credits:

[x] by Choco
Fanpet for Lithuania from the epic anime/manga/online comic Axis Powers Hetalia; I don't own the character, just the changes to suit Subeta.
Overlay, layout, scrolls, coding, and story by Charles.

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