ℛussian winters are said to be the most bitter. Lonely & cold.

Я люблю тебя

o1-Lynne


"What do you want for Christmas, Ivan?" A young female- around nineteen years of age- questioned the much taller Russian male. She sat cross-legged on the floor, near a crackling fire. She had thick, beautiful oak hair and the most vibrant green eyes you would ever see. The man looked down at her with a small smile as he read a book. The male, Ivan, was seated on a recliner a few feet away. "Well, a new faucet would be good."

The female looked up at him, laughter bubbling at the back of her throat. "Is that all?"

He nodded with a, "da."

Somewhere outside the house was a raging blizzard, and within that blizzard was a raging Belarus. Of course, she wouldn't have to worry about her until she went outside. Belarus hated every bone in her body, yes indeed.

"Lynne."

The girl jumped at the sound of her name coated in a thick, Russian accent. "What do you want for Christmas?"

A tiny blush stained her round cheeks. 'You'.

No, she didn't have the courage to say that, instead she replied with: "I want something you can't get back in my home country." She was from Colombia, well actually, she 'was' Colombia, but it was always hot there and it never snowed. Ever. Coming to Russia was like seeing a whole new world.

These two individuals, Colombia and Russia, had been long-time friends. Colombia rarely ever visited Russia's homeland, but he instead often came to see her sunflowers. Most of the time, he used it as an excuse to see her. The duo were thick-headed, and had yet to realize their feelings for each other.

Russia looked up and patted the seat next to him on the leather chair. "You look cold," he continued to stare holes into her, waiting for a reply.

Well of course he had noticed, she was pretty much trembling from the cold. Lynne had yet to be used to the weather. She could handle the people, but the ice was too much for her. Without hesitation she climbed into the spot next to him. Ivan pulled an afghan from the back of the recliner and wrapped it around her.

Meanwhile, Latvia and the others watched in awe from the kitchen's darkness. How could such a fragile looking woman tame such a monster?

In all actuality, there was more to Colombia that meets the eye. She was similar to Russia in more ways than one, and that was why they had gotten along with each other so well. But that was a different story, this story in particular is that of a hellish Christmas in the freezing Russian airs. A scheming cousin, an insane stalker, and let's not forget two-faced relatives; it's all part of a plan.

There was no denying the fact that it would be an interesting Christmas.

December o1, 11:46p.m.