Restless
rest·less
1. Marked by a lack of quiet, repose, or rest
2. Not able to rest, relax or be still
Shooting up in bed, Arthur took a minute to catch his breath before looking at the alarm clock on his bedside table; 2:37.
Arthur had always struggled to get a good nights sleep. His rest was always plagued with nightmares of war and abandonment. He often found him waking in the early hours of the morning, drenched in sweat. This was one of the reasons he hated how alone he was. All he wanted was for there to be someone there when he woke up to talk to him and tell him that everything was okay.
But he didn't have that. He was alone.
This restlessness had led to insomnia, which was showing on the surface. His face had a dull pallor to it, and there were inky bags under his green eyes. He hated it. He felt unattractive and just tired.
And old. He felt like the weight of the years was crashing down on him, the lack of sleep through out his life showing through, seeping onto the outside, something he hadn't wanted to happen. He wanted to look strong, not as beaten down and helpless as he felt. He used to have to much control, so much power, but he could feel it being slowly, excruciatingly, pulled away from him, like a cold blade sticking to hot flesh as it is ripped away, causing him more pain than he had thought it would which was more than he could handle.
How long would it be before he ended up like Gilbert? Powerless and pale, everlasting, but slowly fading, being forgotten, no longer recognised as a nation. He didn't want that to happen. He wanted to be young and powerful again, but he knew that was impossible. The younger nations would take over and the older ones would simply drift along with their choices.
Still, a good night's sleep might help Arthur feel better. He sighed and rolled over, closing his eyes tightly, willing his brain to drift into unconciousness and hoping the nightmares wouldn't come.