And time for something completely out of left field from me. Special thanks to Quinn Fiberoptic for taking a look at this story. I still don't own Hetalia.

I am Winter, an avatar of death. I have existed for ages and will exist long after anyone is around to record it. I have seen extinctions, the rise and fall of civilizations and will continue to do so as long as there is life.

I have what mortals might call a mission. There are no ways for me to describe the full depth of it to a living being. Such knowledge is beyond all life, regardless of their intelligence. The most that can be understood is that I am to kill the living when they are at their weakest and unprepared.

I am not merciful, nor am I cruel. I merely am, enforcing the decree that has been my existence since eternity. It is the living that attempts to attribute parts of themselves to me in order to gain some understanding of my nature.

War, the elderly, and combined with that of my chilling element is death. To humans, I have the highest rank as the master and commander of all they attribute to me. It is a way for them to make tangible a concept that in reality is intangible and not easily understood.

I have no qualms about that as my focus is a much larger picture. This is not arrogance in regards to my state of existence; this is what could be considered indifference. I do not care about the day to day lives of the living, whether it is a leaf on a tree, a fox in its den or a human working.

This is not to say that I do not observe the living, I have on occasion and will continue to do so. The living would be best to keep in mind that I do not intervene on their behalf, on their terms. It is when I can kill them that they have my full interest.

What I consider to be my house would be strange to mortals. My house varies- it can be compared to what is called a palace when I am at my strongest or a shack in the woods when I am at my weakest.

I have but one rule in my house-do not invite me, it is I that invites you. An invitation from the living asks for death by way of unpreparedness. It is best to not draw my complete interest while in my element, for I do not leave.

My invitation is for those that are prepared; they are allowed to move about my home and do as they please while in the land of cold death.

Being prepared does not mean that I still won't challenge the living beings that pass my borders. My nature compels me to always pick and poke at weakness until my will overpowers the living. The stronger I am, the more forceful I will be about it.

Within my house, I am everywhere. No such way exists to hide from me as I see all that lives within my borders.

However, I can still appear before the living as they choose to see me. It is a rare event, a privilege to those that I deem too interesting to leave alone, but unable to kill. It is an even greater privilege for one to be able to call me…

There is but one entity that can call me and I will answer. That entity is Russia, a personification of the Russian people that live there. Speaking of which, I can hear him calling to me now.

I appear before him using the wind and snow to make my form. I see that he has the usual expression on his face that he greets me with. His eyes have lost some spark to them and there is a frown on his face. For a long time, I did not know what that expression meant until I asked one day.

"The good General is happy today, da?" Russia asks in that familiar sad tone.

My "eyes" are drawn to what he's holding in his hands-a dead sunflower in a pot. No, not dead yet, but dying. There is some life left in it and it is for the taking. I easily reach out and touch it, putting an end to what's left by way of ice.

"Why do you always hurt my sunflowers? They are my friends," he says and I see that he's starting to cry a bit. I finally answer him.

"I have told you many times before that I cannot spare the living, particularly if it is an easy kill," I simply reply.

"But it is mean! I can never have sunflowers for long because you take them away from me! Just once, I want to be surrounded by sunflowers and not worry about them dying! Can I not have that, da?!" Russia spits out, this time in anger.

"Russia, I do not do this out of what you like to call meanness. Nor do I deliberately torment you. There is no such thing as free will for me, or having emotions like you have. You forget that I am a part of a much larger picture, one that is not concerned with things like sunflowers," I state.

He just stands there, looking at me expectantly. From what I have seen from humans, it would be comparable to a child asking permission from their father. Asking me for something I am unable to give.

"I have told you before; you end up in my house every year. If you didn't care for it so much, your people and you would have left a long time ago. Yet you and your people stay as life along the border with death," I continue.

"But, I thought that I could eventually have sunflowers, da?" Russia softly asks me.

"Even if I had the ability to leave and be gone forever, the sunflowers would still die. I am not the only force of nature tied together with death," I remind him.

He is no longer interested in me and is staring at his feet. Every year when my house starts to expand, the same conversation with Russia takes place.

"Russia, to be able to call me and have me respond is a rare privilege, one that is easily taken away," I tell him.

His eyes widen and he stares back at me. For a minute I thought he was going to say something more, but every time he would open his mouth no words would come out. Thinking this was it; I take my leave and dematerialize back into the wind and snow.

Of course I will still come back when he calls or just randomly appear in that form as my season progresses. I simply find him too interesting to leave alone.

The picture used for this one shot is from somewhere in the Niagara Frontier and I took it when snow was falling. The snow may be too hard to see though.