You probably know me, but just in case you don't, my name is France. I am pretty well known, but there's one thing that people don't know about me. I have a daughter, the most perfect thing in the whole world. I feel like the luckiest man to have her as a child. I never thought I would have a kid, but I guess fate has all sorts of things in store for us. But I'm getting carried away. Let me start from the very beginning.
I was a young country, and one chilly fall morning I was running a scouting mission. I darted through an abandoned city, finding cover in the broken and crumbling buildings. Something felt extremely amiss, but I couldn't' put my finger on it. Then, I saw it, the only building left standing in this wreck of a town. For some reason, I was drawn to the building, so I decided to follow my instincts and check it out. Upon closer inspection, I found that the building was an orphanage. However, no signs or sounds of life came from the structure. I went inside and looked around. Having found nothing, I was turned to leave when all of a sudden I heard a small noise. It was unfamiliar to my ears, but I was compelled to find the source of the sound. After searching the main floor, I went into a back room and found a nursery. All of the basinets were empty; it was actually kind of heartbreaking. As I walked around I saw a flash of movement and heard the small noise again.
Following the sound lead me to the smallest crib, where a small mass of pink blankets were thrashing around. I pulled the blankets aside to reveal a little baby girl, probably not even a year old. She looked at me with huge blue eyes and dark lashes. Once she started crying, I could no longer resist the urge to pick her up. She was so small, so fragile, and yet she was the only one here. I undid my winter cloak and wrapped it around the infant. Her cries were reduced to a small whimper, and I kissed the top of her head, silencing her completely. She snuggled close to me, and her breathing slowed as she fell asleep in my arms. I couldn't believe it; this little child had barely seen me, and now she treated me like her real father. There was no way I could leave her here; she had barely survived on her own. But, she had survived. This little girl was strong, and I thought that was special; extremely special. I knew that this brilliant little darling had worked her way into his heart as quickly as she had snuggled into his arms.
"Don't worry my little one. I'll take care of you, and I will love you forever." I kissed the top of her head again, whispering into her ear, "Ma Cherie….. My Paris."
Paris grew up quickly, and she blossomed into a beautiful young woman. She looked so much older than she really was, and she was graceful and elegant. I had to admit, she was exceptional, and I was proud. She had developed all of my good qualities: silver tongue, love for arts, fashion sense (thank goodness), and way of just changing the entire atmosphere. One day I decided to take her to an Allies meeting. It was a small affair, and a way of getting her out into the world. Paris agreed to come wholeheartedly (I've always been grateful for her obedience) and chose her classic outfit. She wore a tight black shirt, copper slacks, and a sapphire blue blazer. To top it all off she wore a vibrant red scarf draped casually over her left shoulder. At the meeting she sat quietly next to me, taking notes and attracting stares, particularly from two certain power countries. It made me defensive, which was odd. Normally I was all for romance, but this was my daughter! Thinking of her being with another man, or being in a relationship, just made me cringe inside. I placed a hand on her, asking her if she was okay. "Oui, "came her small reply. "Je ne suis pas habitué à avoir des gens me regardent tellement père." Her French was so smooth and clean. I wrapped my arm around her and kissed her on the top of her head like I used to. She blushed, turning her pale skin as red as her scarf.
"France, are you going to pay attention, or am I going to have to put some civilized thoughts in your head that don't involve romance?" Britain's stuffy voice brought him back to the meeting.
"What is that supposed to mean?" I stood up, facing the English man. If anyone fought with me the most, it was Britain. He always thought I would flirt with anybody just for the sake of flirting, but that was far from the truth. Britain rose to meet me, his eyes narrowing maliciously. "You heard me. You could never keep a girl even if she was handcuffed to you." I felt the heat rising to my cheeks; was he implying that I was flirting with my own daughter!
"I don't like what you're implying, 'black sheep of Europe', and I certainly don't like the way you are talking about my daughter. "
"Oh, she's your kid? Well, that will make things much more interesting." Suddenly everybody was taking sides, and it was mainly against me. Pretty much everything negative that could have been said about me was being brought up in some way or another. And there was nothing I could say to stop any of them. All I could do was sit in my chair and let everyone humiliate me in front of Paris. But then, something unexpected happened. And by unexpected I mean that my daughter stood and screamed, "Everybody shut up!" And everybody did, all eyes now on the new speaker. She stood with her hands firmly placed on the table, her eyes slightly brimming with tears. "Why are you all making fun of my father this way? He doesn't deserve any of this. None of you are saying anything good about him." Her accent was really strong now, and that only happened when she was severely upset.
"Because there isn't anything good to say," replied Britain.
"No! That's a lie! He's a good man. He loves drawing and singing, he likes to watch the sunset and tell me stories. He is a passionate man, and many people have lived under him and become great people…"
Paris continued, but I didn't hear the rest; I was in shock. I thought she was going to turn out like Canada, silent and unnoticed, but hear she was. She was standing up for me, even after hearing all of the bad things that others saw. I…. I didn't know what to say. So instead I stood up and wrapped her in my arms, ruffling her hair as I whispered to her, "Paris, you are perfect." After she got over the surprise, she returned by embrace, saying, "J'taime, father."
And that's all I ever needed to hear her say.
Author's Note: Hi everyone! I hope you liked this story. A couple of side notes:
When Paris said "Je ne suis pas habitué à avoir des gens me regardent tellement père "she said, "I'm just not used to having people look at me so much father".
A blazer is a type of jacket for those of you who don't know. (They're actually really cute)
The two power countries that were looking at Paris were America (because he thought Paris was hot) and Russia (because he wants her to become one, da)