Whenever she was alone she liked to write.

It was a way to release her demons, and to express herself in the only way she knew how.

Or in the only way she was allowed to that is.

Amelia Kirkland, (though she preferred the surname "Jones.") the personification of the thirteen British colonies of America. It was a long name, so she decided just "America" would suffice.

She was the land that the empires of Europe spilled blood over, the wild new world that made the kings of far off lands salivate with greed, all too eager to pillage her uncharted lands in search for wealth.

America.

America the beautiful is what they called her.

Beautiful? She had never considered herself as such, despite the many compliments thrown at her left and right.

"Stunning," they would call, "Absolutely gorgeous!"

Her hair; long and wild, cascaded down her back in honey blonde ringlets, stopping just above her waist. Her eyes were the purest of blue, rivaling even the spacious skies overhead.

"God bless America!" her people would say when they saw her, and she would smile, pearly white teeth gleaming as her countrymen would stop and stare to admire her.

You weren't supposed to get attached to your people- at least, that's what England had taught her.

"They may be your people, but you must never forget that they are human," the empire had told her, carelessly crossing one leg over the other. "Humans are vile creatures," he murmured, his accented voice like smooth velvet to her ears. "Humans can put atrocious ideas into your head, love." His sharp green orbs suddenly flickered upwards in suspicion, startling her for a moment. "What would make you want to discuss such a thing anyway?"

It was as if their meeting in that field all those years ago had been destined. So many others had tried to fully conquer the Americas, and then all of a sudden, there was him.

He had frightened her at first, the way he had so plainly stated that she would be a colony of the British Empire and that she would be his little sister. But that fear had turned to pity as she watched him be bested by his cunning French rival. America wouldn't forget the look on his face when she had reached out to him and accepted him as her guardian; the way his thick eyebrows shot up in surprise, the way he snatched her tiny form into his arms and kissed the top of her head and said, "Let's go home."

The memory seemed bittersweet now, for now America sat, locked away in her room by the very man that promised to protect and care for her.

Revolution

Independence

The words were splashed countless times across the pages. Blots of ink dotted the margins, and there were dark marks from where she had scribbled out the words "tyrant" and "redcoat." The colony's normally elegant handwriting had been reduced to unintelligible chicken scratch as she had obsessively written the words over and over and over again.

"Stay inside, Amelia."

The order had stopped her in her tracks, her arm stilling as it had reached for the door.

"Why?"

There was no snow on the ground, no foreign invaders on her doorstep, and certainly no threats to her from any of her people. So why? Why couldn't she be free to go where she pleased on her own lands?

"Because I said so."

There he sat, legs crossed in one of those large lavish chairs of importance, the very ones that repulsed her so. He was not looking at her, but instead had his nose buried in a book.

"But why?" she tried again, her hands now fiddling with the seams of the expensive dress she wore. She absolutely hated dresses, and often preferred to go about in a loose-fitting pair of trousers instead. That, however, was immediately stopped by England as well after he had explained that young ladies such as herself needed to look presentable.

Pompous Ass.

Arthur raised an eyebrow and slowly turned his head a fraction towards her, as if bored.

"Stay inside, America."

The girl flinched when her formal name was used, her head dipping submissively in a bow before she headed back upstairs, straight to her room, and shut the door behind her.

And that night, she had escaped by out the window.

Her countrymen, (the very ones that Arthur despised) were more than delighted to see her.

"Greetings, America! We don't often get to see you."

The blonde smiled, a genuine one, not the artificial smiles she wore around England and his delegates.

"I'm glad to be out. It's a beautiful night."

The man, one of her older citizens adjusted the fancy hat he wore atop his head and nodded.

"The other colonies,' he began, his eyes flickering from his left to his right, "There have been signs of unrest. Many are losing their patience with the monarchy, milady."

America sighed. She had felt them- the loyalist and the rebels fighting over the rising tea taxes bestowed upon her by England himself.

"Please know that I am with you." She could not say much, with the risk of one of Arthur's soldiers overhearing.

The man smiled, his eyes shown with a fierce determination and he grasped her hand in his own.

"And please know that we, your people, are always with you, America."

And with that, they parted ways, but the brief meeting was enough to make America fall to her knees. She could feel the rebels, she could feel her peoples' loyalty and love, and It overwhelmed the young colony and made her eyes well up with tears.

And it was at that moment when America realized that she was not just fighting for her own freedom, but for the freedom of her people as well.

A/N: So, love it, hate it? Let me know with a quick review! This story is set during the Revolutionary War period and is going to be kind of a dark fic (Yay!) and the rating might go up later but I'm not too sure yet.

I find the topic of the British Empire and Fem!America pretty intriguing. It's interesting to see how differently Arthur would react to a female America fighting for independence as opposed to Alfred. I think he'd be a lot more protective and controlling, and who doesn't like a crazy Iggy?