Summary: Phoe·nix /ˈfēniks/ (N.): (in classical mythology) a unique bird that lived for five or six centuries in the Arabian desert, after this time burning itself on a funeral pyre and rising from the ashes with renewed youth to live through another cycle.
Disclaimer: Eh, some heavier topics and some swearing. Trigger Warning for war, death, some torture, general inhumanity, and threats.
Firebird
"There is a wise girl who is wary of flame and yet still knows that she will survive the burning fires because although life scorches sometimes, she has been a phoenix before and each time she burns to ashes she knows how to rise again."
The first time that Lithuania saw Poland, he fell in love. He wasn't supposed to fall in love. Far from it. He was only supposed to meet his ally and to befriend her, nothing more, nothing less.
But the first time he'd laid eyes on her, he couldn't help but notice how his heartbeat speed up, how his blood rushed to his face, flushing his cheeks, the dizzying adrenaline high that arose as he gazed upon the woman, and the blushing.
Oh God, the blushing.
The undisguisable blushing.
He had been previously annoyed when the Polish leader had told him that although they weren't able to convince her to leave her spot on the mountain to greet him and had rather reluctantly made the trek up the muddy mountain in the ailing weather to meet her, but it was worth it, he considered, to watch her dance.
She spun and clapped her hands and danced on the lush green mountaintop, her lengthy dress spilling out from under her, and as she danced, thunder and lightning caused by the storm flashed almost in tune, her wispy hair flying about and escaping the flower crown that pinned it down. She navigated the muddy ground with skill and ease, her feet taking advantage of the muddy ground to spin herself around as she danced. She was gorgeous; there was no denying that.
But beyond all of that, she was carefree; she danced like she was in the clouds and her ageless aura that indicated her nationality would've seduced anyone, albeit unintentionally.
As she spun on her heel again, whirling herself around, she caught sight of Lithuania and dropped a wink mid-dance.
Yes, Lithuania certainly was fascinated.
"The girl carries with her destruction and grief that carved a river into her bones. She specializes in wrecking havoc, and she knows how to bring everything down. After causing pandemonium, she surveys the broken, claims its integrity, and declares it good because she knows all too well the importance of beginning again."
The Teutonic Knights pointed their sword at Poland's collarbone, grinning wickedly at the wounded nation. Smoldering fire burned freely in the girl's alight eyes, her teeth chattering in a mix of anger, frustration, and self-beration. She tried to jerk backward and throw her legs out in an attempt to render the man's steady hand unbalanced, but the attempt was futile and provoked the male nation to step even closer and to pin her limbs down under the weight of her own body.
He laughed, throwing his head back, his arm unmovable.
"Useless!"
"Useless!"
"Useless!"
He wiped tears from his eyes with his unoccupied hand, chest still heaving from the bout of uncontrolled laughter. Poland ground her teeth in vexation, infuriated at the incorrigible man.
"Ahahaha. Did you really think that you could beat me, the awe-inspiring Teutonic Knights? Your army lays wasted, damaged, and purged, your men dying or dead. You yourself are in no state to fight back. Your little 'friend' ran off on you." He knelt down, madness in his eyes, adjusting the aim of his blade to point directly at her heart, his voice dropping to a whisper as he murmured in her ear for only her to hear.
"You do realize the incriminating position you lay in now, don't you? What I could do to you? That I could harm you, and you'd be completely at my mercy, unable to fight back? You do realize that..." He grinned into her ear, his tongue barely licking his upper lip. "...don't you?"
Poland's heart thumped as blood rushed to her ears and adrenaline set in. She jerked suddenly, slamming her head into his own and yanking backward from his loosening grip. Teutonic Knight's hand released her temporarily as he reached up to touch the place where she had hit him, complete and total rage setting in his eyes. He slammed his fist into her cheek and she spat blood in his face, the deep cuts that crisscrossed her body subsequently gained in the battle now freely bleeding with quicker vigor.
Upset, Teutonic Knights pinned the thrashing girl down, forcing her to stay still. He spat blood of his own into her face, causing her to blink, and picked up the blade knocked out of his hand again, raising it high in the air piquely.
"You bitch," he hissed, hand trembling. "Did you really think that you could stand against me? Me, the Teutonic Knights? Well, I've got news for you, sweetheart, you're doomed. Your friend has betrayed you, left you at my hands in the hopes that he could live. Too bad for him, my men are close on their trail, and he's going to Hell the same as you are. I hope that you're happy burning in the depths of Hell, you two congregating with Satan, having a little threesome you bitch."
Poland smiled zealously, mischief outlined in her expression. "You jealous, zealot?"
Fury burning in his eyes, Teutonic Knights raised his sword higher.
"Die, you bitc-" He brought his sword down but stopped as someone had stopped him.
Poland grinned merrily at the sight of her ally.
"Lithuania."
Her ally nodded at her before directing all of his attention to the opponent at hand. With one fluid movement, he quickly disarmed Teutonic Knights with his own blade, who looked up to him in shock and surprise. If fire in a liquid state existed, it would have been in Lithuania's eyes at that moment, which smoldered with pure, unadulterated wrath.
"Don't you know that you should always be alert of your surroundings on the battlefield, upper hand or not?" Lithuania slammed the dull side of his blade onto Teutonic Knight's head, rendering the offending man unconscious.
Turning to his ally, he scanned her injuries. "I heard that... discussion. Did he touch you?" Words disappeared from Poland's lips, and she shook her head no silently. Sighing, Lithuania dropped his weapons, reached into a pouch at his waist, pulled out medical supplies and bandages, and set to work. He worked silently and quickly, cleaning the already healing wounds with what little water he had and stitching and bandaging the ones that weren't healing. Equally silent, Poland fiddled with her hair as she dodged his gaze.
Lithuania leaned back on his heels and sighed as he surveyed his work. Noticing when Poland moved to sit on her knees and face him, he opened his mouth to say something but was cut off before the fact as Poland pressed her lips to his own, catching him by surprise. He stiffened before giving in to the searing kiss, and after some time they both pulled away, breathless.
Poland grinned widely at her ally.
"The girl is mad for beauty, has found rapture even in the shadows, calls poetry her religion. She seduces uncertainty like a dominatrix, bows to no god, declares herself a goddess, and builds altars to the divinity of heat and sweat and sex, and above all, she claims righteous ownership of the body of which she has been given."
Poland, Lithuania mused, was an odd one. Out of her time, people referred to her as. Mad. And they were right. She was different. She was assertive, emotionally stable, quick-witted, took care of herself, and was far from meek or submissive as a woman was expected to be.
However, despite such qualities, she was far from insane.
Poland was strong and smart. There was no doubting that. She understood the fact that because she was a woman, she was expected to act certain ways and to take on certain roles. Not liking that fact, she took it and made it her own. She used the perception of women being weak as a disguise to hide her strength so that she could take people by surprise when she chose to attack.
She was a like a viper. She could blend in and choose to abide and play by society's expectations, but when attacked, she could use those perceived expectations and flip them around so that they worked in her favor.
Many a political leader in the past had learned this the hard way.
She wielded gender obstructions gracefully like a sword, and she'd use them to strike down anyone who had the misfortune of hindering her path. In secret, she would work hard for her government and indulge in her pleasures of music, language, philosophy, art, architecture, poetry, and literature, and in public she would be the epiphany, the very model of a perfect woman.
Lithuania found it hard to understand just how she could do this every day and stay sane, how she could laugh almost anything off. How in the eye of the public, she could take on and bear their crushing expectations and how in private she could command armies of thousands of men. How she could stay strong and refuse to bow to anyone.
Poland built herself up and set the bar higher and higher for herself every day, and without fail she'd always be able to climb back up to it. She was beautiful but almost held an air of unapproachability to those who didn't know her, and she was gorgeous and held an air of approachability to those that did.
And above all, when she kissed him, she set the world on fire. She held tight to it in her palm and refused to let go, and if she was going to burn, she'd bring him down with her too. She was passionate, hot-blooded, and burned at high temperatures. Like her namesake the Phoenix, she lived long and combusted, and rose from her ashes anew. Her love was hot and scorching but bearable to those who knew her well.
He loved everything about her; the way she danced, the way she laughed, the way she clung tightly to what she believed in, her strength, her song, her truth- everything. And when they united, everything burned hot before dying down into gentle flames that provided comfortable warmth- a warmth that was sorely desired above all.
As nations, they suffered- they lived long lifespans, watched their favorite humans die, were honor-bound to defend their nation's integrity even at their own expense, friendships were frequently purged at the hands of and in the name of politics- but if there was one good thing, it was that they all could understand what it felt like and when the need presented, they could take comfort in the fact that they were not alone.
Lithuania took his comfort in Poland, and Poland in him.
When they burned together, they could take comfort in the fact that they were not alone.
That was enough for them.
"The girl once held her truth in bone marrow, where it was locked deep. However, she was always prone to fracture so she learned that it was words that flowed the best at the broken sites, wrote heart-wrenching novellas, told life-shattering stories, knit words into new, undiscovered worlds, and those worlds into a heat, and that heat into breath, and that breath into medicine, and above all, most importantly, she learned that her voice had the power to heal."
Poland discovered early on that humans were temporary. They birthed, they lived, they died- temporary. Their lifespans fluctuated; some short, some average, some lengthy. Although she looked like them, she was not one of them. She lived too long, understood too much, remembered things not meant to be remembered, spoke long-forgotten languages, healed too quickly- the list of differences went on and on.
These differences led to multiple cases of confusion with the supernatural, and a few too many cases of burnings and drownings than anyone should go through. Although she represented her government and worked for it, they did not protect her from the horror that is life. They weren't capable of protecting her because the human promise of protection is flimsy and unforeseeable at best- for example, if a new leader were to come to power, they could revoke that feeling of safety and replace it with a feeling of peril. When it came to humans, a promise was fleeting- they were regularly broken, often carrying little or no meaning to one or all of the parties involved. Human friendship was temporary, loyalty too dicey, and the very idea of true allyship was so rare in reality that the term was meaninglessly thrown about to the point where it ceased to have constant meaning.
Human nature was a tricky thing- everyone had their motives that provoked them to tread on. If you could discover those motives, you could manipulate them. However, they could give up on those motives and set you back multiple steps. There were the motives that were eternal, which carried on throughout the centuries, and then there were the minor, insignificant motives that disappeared as the carrier passed on. Motive fluctuated in importance. Things weren't ever the same. They changed as the world went on, as more was discovered, sometimes to set the bar higher and sometimes to set it even lower. If the respective motives were strong enough, they could lead to mutual feelings of destruction. People tore each other and themselves apart because of their motives, their wants- it was a far cry from sane behavior.
The social hierarchy was in a constant state of flux. There were the governments and the people leading them- the ones who controlled the reins when it came to their people. However, when a stronger, more refined, manipulating government with the intent of controlling the first enters the equation, just who holds the power? The people who lead the first government might hold it when it comes to their people, but they certainly don't hold a candle when it comes to the more imposing government. Leaders change hands of power all too often, leading to these states of flux that can lead to the rise or fall of newer and older powers.
Indeed, humans were weaker, but at the same time they could spell out her very destruction.
Lessons were repeated, and as they went on and on, it was discovered that she could not permanently rely on them for anything. What she could rely on them for was always short-term, and did not last long. While she could rely on nations more, they still were unpredictable in that sense. As politics fluctuated, new rules came about, and as life went on, they were frequently torn apart from each other for the sake of their respective people. While they were more permanent figures, they could not always be there to help when help was desired. Even though nations were not human, they had enough human nature in them and they themselves had constructed enough of a social hierarchy to render them themselves unpredictable and dangerous.
Indeed, humans were predictable in their unpredictability- a paradox in itself.
When Poland was young, she was innocent, naïve, hoped too abundantly, believed too much, and trusted too easily. She was taken advantage of, manipulated, and hurt by the very people that she so represented. The innocence in her fractured and flaked apart as time went on and wore upon it harshly. Being hurt forced her to learn. It forced her to learn that things weren't always as they seem, not to get too attached to mortality because mortality was fleeting.
However, where humans themselves were only temporary, she learned that words ironically could last a lifetime. It was funny that intangible things that could only be perceived by sound or sight could last so long in one's memory, while at the same time could be so fleeting- but that flightiness was only a small price to pay. What one could say could impact and resonate within someone for the rest of their life even more so than some actions could, and when words accompanied matching actions they together could unite and turn into something even more powerful, even more impactful. At the same time, when your words didn't match your actions, Poland learned that they could deal equal amounts of damage to each other that could render both useless.
It was something that she found curious, and as she engrossed herself further in language and what words could do, she learned more than she could ever have imagined. In a place where loyalty could be too hard to find and trust too easy to lose; actions could speak louder than words. You could apologize for something all that you want, but if your actions never changed, those apologies would become meaningless. Words meant nothing when your actions were the opposite and told a completely different story, however at the same time, the intention could speak the loudest.
Despite all of this, she also realized that words could have just as much influenceability as actions. Poland realized that all of the arguments that argued that actions were more powerful than words could be reversed. Yes, actions could mean far more than words ever could, but the setting and the story surrounding the choices made could determine which is more powerful. It occurred to her that words are how people communicate and could manipulate someone into believing something. Words could haunt someone for years to come and could take over their mind to convince them of something. World leaders throughout history have been able to brainwash their citizens with propaganda and carefully crafted sentences that convinced them to do things that they otherwise wouldn't do, things that they were ashamed of later.
She realized that words not only allow people to think; they have the potential to change the way that people live their lives and completely take over someone's mind because words influence the brain in ways that actions cannot. After analyzing her history, Poland realized that it is ideas and words that spark the flame that turn into the scalding blaze of war. And while actions physically hurt more, words hurt the mind in ways that actions cannot reach because while the skin cannot influence someone to do something unless it is out of fear or pain, the brain can tell someone to do anything because the brain is what controls people.
Poland realized that words are a powerful tool and charisma can be a damn scary thing if you choose your words right. And when you're an immortal being that longs for something just as long living as you are and you find that something, you'll cling to it with all of your ability and might.
That was what Poland did with words.
She started writing, pouring her heart, soul, and mind into heart-wrenching, life-shattering stories and poetry that detailed and combined her life-experiences with new, unexplored elements. She knitted words into new worlds, territory yet undiscovered to mankind, and set her mind to discovering it and exploring it as deeply as she could. She detailed and stirred those worlds into an indescribable heat, that heat into life-sustaining oxygen, that oxygen into the very air that she breathed that sustained life itself.
Poland discovered through writing that her words had the power to heal and to destroy, to wreak havoc and pandemonium and to restore peace. She was the creator of these worlds and universes, the almighty goddess of these characters that she had the power to let live or to decimate through the words that she chose. She played god at these worlds. They contained some of her deepest wishes, worries, and desires and combined them all into a story that could destroy and rewrite a mind.
That's why it was such a big deal when she let Lithuania read some of her writings. It didn't just show that she trusted him beyond anything, it showed that she put boundless leaps of faith in him and wanted him to know some of her darkest secrets that remained completely unexplored, unmapped territory that only she knew like the back of her hand.
As he read one of her poems in shock, he looked back up to his romantic partner, who shrugged and then continued dancing in the library.
"I've never shown anyone my writings."
Lithuania felt his throat dry completely as he scrambled for something to say.
"They're incredible. You've never published any of these?"
Poland shook her head know as she continued dancing.
"That's definitely a no. In the past, I've occasionally toyed with the idea before deciding against it. The problem is that most of my writings contain elements mixed with original details that relate to nationhood that would only be understood by either a nation or a human with knowledge of nations reading it and that's a lot of work that goes to nothing because the majority of the people who would get to read it wouldn't even understand it. So most of the time I turn the final draft of the story into a hardbound book myself- my government lets me use their printing press- and put it in this library of mine, and that's it. Occasionally I re-read my stuff. It brings a bit of a thrill to see how far I've come. And in a case of war or something where my books might be put in danger, I store them in places where they'd never be found unless I'd told someone about the place."
Lithuania's hands shook as he turned another page.
"So have any other nations read it? Or anyone else?"
Poland paused, brow fixed in concentration, her hands in the air where she left off on the dance position, before shaking her head no again.
"Why?"
Poland hummed, resuming her dance. The light gleamed on the plain silver engagement ring on the ring finger of her right hand, reflecting light onto her long dress and shining hair.
"No one's ever asked me to."
Lithuania paused, curious.
"I never asked you."
"No, you didn't."
Poland paused speaking for a minute, considering her next words.
"I wanted you to."
She continued dancing in the library space.
"Hey, have I ever told you about the story of the Wawel Dragon?"
"Now, she lives transparently. She welcomes the feel of the air on her bare skin, throws her arms wide open, holds out her heart and says, 'Here. Take this. All of it.' She learned early on that far too much energy is invested in veiling the truth, in hiding missing bodies, in cloaking love. The girl refuses to cultivate and to grow shame, and instead saves her effort for vital things."
When Poland made a promise, she always kept it.
At least, that's what Lithuania noticed. She rarely made promises personally, but when she made them, she always, always, always kept it even if it was at the risk of her own safety or sanity. Poland didn't see the value in making promises if you weren't going to or if you couldn't keep them. That defeated the purpose of a promise, caused it to lose all meaning and sincerity that it once retained. Throughout the ages, she has observed humans and their behaviors, and breaking promises is a bit of a running trend among mankind.
She didn't see the point in lying, either.
Granted, she did partially understand when it was supposed to protect or shield someone. People wanted to protect the ones that they cared about. She could sympathize with that, a want to protect something was one of the strongest motivators out there. But when it came at the expense of someone else, that's where Poland draws the line. If hiding something from someone would only hurt them later, why would you hide it now? All secrets inevitably come out sooner or later, and knowledge of a lie can hurt more than a lie itself.
She is the type to always tell someone the reality of things going on around them, even if it will hurt. The painful truth, they call it. She believes that lying only harms your reputation even more so than admitting what you did wrong, and she wants to seem trustworthy to those around her. There's a beauty in it, being able to tell the truth and to share what you're feeling without masking it.
Lithuania can recall many a time where he and Poland have laid in their shared bed, Poland resting her head on his chest, him with his arm around her shoulders and chest, and she's ranted to him about how if humans didn't lie as often as they did the world would be a lot more convenient for everyone.
She'd rant about how people spend too much time and energy trying to bury secrets that will never stay buried for long, how it's all a waste of time and will break more friendships and unions than they would if people just told the truth.
Poland's the kind of person to dedicate her whole heart and soul to the things that she believes in. She's the kind of person who wishes things could be straightforward, to the point instead of all confused and muddled as things get to be. She believes that by lying to others and to yourself, the only thing that you are doing is making it worse for wishes people had the courage to own up to their mistakes, to right things. Because, "How can you right a wrong if you lie about it?"
More than anything, Poland believes that there is no shame in making mistakes. "It's what makes all of us a little human," she says, "so why would you want to hide it? The guilt of lying is ten times worse than the guilt of making a mistake." She believes that there are better things to invest your time, effort, and resources in than hiding the truth. It's a waste to lie to cover something up. It not only wastes your own time, it wastes the time of everyone else around you.
"It's selfish," she says.
Lithuania can't help but agree.
"The girl knows that love is expensive, and yet always worth the price. She knows that home is not where she lives, but instead something held deep inside, and sometimes, only discovered by leaving. She understands that walls are imaginary, open doors are everywhere, and that eventually, we will all make our way back to the sea, to the crashing waves, back to the salt water truth."
Poland stared out of the window, her eyes stormy and upset.
A storm is brewing.
It's obvious, out there for anyone to spot and pick up on.
Lithuania stands beside her silently.
Poland's lips move silently as she murmurs a traditional folk song under her breath, but everything else about her is surprisingly calm and still. She understands the tricky situation that they're in perfectly, fire smoldering within about to ignite.
But the question is that after the fire ignites, will it simmer down and smolder into oblivion, or will it continue to burn and engulf Europe? Her fingers dig into the windowsill, burrowing themselves into the impenetrable wood and she glares out the window. She understands that there is a price to everything, and as such things must be worth the price to pay and be paid for in full or aren't worth the price and can be easily disregarded, thrown away.
This was her home, and she was willing to pay for it. She was willing to fight for it. She was willing to do anything for it, for her citizens, for her culture. To defend their country, her embodiment, to protect what was theirs, she was willing to do anything. It was within her. She, in a way, was home. Her country would always be her home, her heart beating in her chest, thumping day and night. Wherever she went, it was with her, they were tied together, and she loved it.
But that love was especially painful and paid a price in full that recompensed almost nothing when it came down to it. There was supposedly nothing greater than a nation's love, but it could be easily severed, left to burn in oblivion. Even so, it was painfully worth the price no matter how agonizing it was- because a nation's value and worth were determined by their love for their nation.
Wherever she looked, there were opportunities, plain and simple. Even in the wake of destruction, of war, of casualty, there were opportunities. Whether they be good or bad, that was up for mankind to decide, and whether to disregard or accept was also up to them. Opportunities were tools; equally destructive in possibilities but equally helpful in imagination. To build or to destroy was the user's choice, and certainly a choice that could possibly- possibly echo and reverberate throughout time.
Borders broke down and were reconstructed around people's imaginary castles and kingdoms. To build up walls, to map an area, to declare it yours and your own was a part of human nature for whatever the reason. People were social creatures, and yet they drew such lines on maps that were invisible in reality to wall themselves off from the rest of mankind, with only their selective citizens to be with. The lines drawn were imaginary and were prone to change, reorganization, relocation, and complete annihilation, and they always, always, always eventually wore down whether it be in decades, centuries, or millennia.
And when they did break, when they did destroy, when they did cease to exist, it brought way for new opportunities leading to the sea, where you'd be doused in the cold water of reckoning, of awareness, of realization that you no longer were whole, that you no longer embodied everything that used to define you, that used to resonate with you. You were no longer the same person who you once were, and that process of realization was painful, awakening, disturbing, and dark. It was a path leading to the ocean littered with suffering, tears, frustration, and countless amounts of tears. The weakest would be speared by that path while the strongest would be spared, but never completely so. There would always be scars left over, lining the crevices and orifices of your body, scars that burned when reminded, and scars that would never fade from your body, soul, and imagination. The path leading to the ocean of realization was shocking, but above all, it was painfully truthful.
Empires did not last forever. Nations were not permanent. Kingdoms rose and fell. Eventually, everything must come to an end, and even if it is expected, it's always a painful one.
And the most painful part of it all was the realization that you were but a blemish on history that would eventually be forgotten.
The anticipation, the intuition of what was to come.
And being able to do nothing about it.
"The girl does not believe in one day, nor happily ever after, nor black and white. She believes in hard truths. Her forever is now, and she finds her rapture in the fullness of this present moment. Humanity is her only dogma, kindness her communion, and her church a mountaintop in the center of the desert while the city pulses below. She says amen in every sacred fragment of existence."
The First Partition of Poland was deeply upsetting.
The Second Partition of Poland was beyond frustrating.
The Third Partition of Poland was just... depressing.
There was something about lying defeated on the ground, bleeding out, with your defeater literally dancing with happiness a few feet away chanting things like, "I win! I win! Hooray! I'm the strongest!" that does something to a person's mental state.
Lithuania let out an agonized groan and buried his head in the snow, shaking in pain.
Poland laid unconscious in the snow.
Unfortunately, Lithuania had drawn Russia's attention back to them. The big man walked over to them, his boots crunching in the snow, and lifted Lithuania's face up to examine it. He looked back and forth between the defeated and broken nations, seemingly making a decision.
"You."
He pointed to Lithuania intently.
"I like you. You look smart, and I won, so I'll let you stay at my house.
"Let... me... stay?" Lithuania coughed up blood and wiped it away on the sleeve of his uniform.
"Yes. I'll let you stay. And you don't have a choice because I won~" The Russian man practically sang the last few taunting words, a look of childish enthusiasm spread over his face. Still smiling, he easily flipped Lithuania onto his back and started dragging him away by the collar of his uniform.
"Hey- wait! What about Poland!" Lithuania cried out in a fit of frustration. "You aren't just going to leave her in the snow to die, are you?"
Russia smiled jovially again. Why was this man so goddamn happy? "Oh, in fact, yes I am! She certainly isn't a nation anymore, is she? While you are going to live with me and carry on, she isn't going anywhere," He spoke as he continued walking on.
Lithuania let out a cry of protest that was cut short by blood bubbling up in his throat. Coughing it out and wiping his mouth on his sleeve again, he looked up at Russia, biting back tears.
"Please..."
"No." Russia's voice was firm, final. It lacked all playfulness that it had carried earlier, the man clearly done with this conversation.
Lithuania looked back to his fiancée, tears in his eyes.
"Poland..."
After he was long gone, Poland looked up from the ground. Bloody tears rolled down her cheeks as she strained to fold her palms together and prayed, spitting out blood as she did so.
This was the present, the forever. With time like this, there would never be a 'happily ever after,' nor black and white. This was a hard truth to accept, one that she desperately didn't want to but needed to in order to survive.
She had prided herself on humanity being her principle, kindness being the bread that she took at her Church. She'd prided herself in saying amen, thank you, in her every fragment, every moment, every bit of her existence.
But now, murmuring her Hail Mary's and Our Fathers as her chest pounded, ears rang, and blood poured, she couldn't help but wonder if this was some sick kind of symbolism.
"The girl is not afraid to name her gifts, She knows the magic in her words, understands the spiral in her hips, and has a vital spark in the center of her longing. There are secrets behind her eyes, and she will share them with anyone who asks, however, she only wants those who commit to asking."
Poland lived.
Albeit interestingly.
After the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth ceased to exist, she took over as a small representative of a portion of the land that she used to embody, perceivable by humans but not really being noticeable to the nations unless she revealed the fact that she had survived to them, something that she hadn't really been too interested in as most, if not all of them had long since assumed that she'd died.
She continued living her life as a human. She'd travel around the region, taking a new job, and would continue living and working there until people started noticing her lack of aging. She'd then move and take on a new job, changing her appearance personality, and name. She'd gone from job to job, place to place, appearance to appearance personality to personality, name to name, eventually recycling her personas as people died, and the cycle continued like that.
Currently, she was living under the name Felicija Łukasiewicz in territory that now belonged to Russia, working jobs like washing and ironing people's clothes. She attempted to draw as little attention as humanly possible and relatively went unnoticed by most humans, who didn't bother to cast the woman in the street a second glance. For this persona, she dyed her hair brown, used cosmetics to accentuate her features, and was fairly meek and quiet. Her clothes were purposefully shabbier than she would have otherwise worn, but she always wore her engagement ring, although she kept it covered up by layers of clothing.
Going through time and recycling her personalities and living among humans taught her some things that she would never have learned as a nation. It shaped her real personality, not the personas that she put on like masks but her real personality, as she made contact with new pet peeves and further grew to loathe old ones. Hiding from the nations had taught her more.
Well.
She wasn't really hiding.
If anything, she was hiding in plain sight.
And if there was a reason for her recycling names, faces, personalities, jobs, and places, it was to hide the fact from the humans that she didn't age.
Poland had seen other nations tried for witchery far too many times for her own liking, their past experiences teaching her to be careful with hers.
She'd caught glimpses of the nations in public multiple times before, and they'd barely paid heed. Just once, she decided to test just how oblivious they were to her, and purposely tripped and spilled a bucket of cold water on Prussia, who'd been out with France and Spain. He'd chewed her out and cussed, but he had failed to recognize her so she quickly scurried away from his biting words, careful to heed her current persona. She never went out of her way to encounter them again, and if she did, she always went unnoticed by them.
It was starting to get rather amusing.
If they had noticed and simply asked her about her current status, she would have been more than happy to explain and talk about how she had lived for the years she'd spent as a representation. She would have shared her knowledge with any nation who would be willing to stay for an explanation and explain everything. There were years of plentiful wisdom gathered that burned brightly behind her false personas that she was willing to share with any nation who had recognized and asked, and despite all of the encounters throughout the years, no one had noticed and no one had asked.
Through living as a human, Poland was given the opportunity to learn more about the impact of words and actions, she got to experience better and firsthand just how mystical and intriguing words truly were. She'd picked up on the sparks motivating humans and understood them better than she ever had before. This was the closest to living as a human that a nation could probably ever get, and Poland was right there in the center of it.
No one paid her the odd glance; most were too absorbed in their own affairs and worries about the world being at war with each other. The Great War, people were calling it. The war to end all wars. Poland internally snorted whenever she heard the humans refer to it by those titles. No war was ever great, no matter how big it was and how much people raved about bringing good tidings in the aftermath that they hadn't even experienced yet. War never brought good tidings. People died. It was as simple of a lesson as that, but for whatever the reason it took a human a huge loss of their own to come to terms with that. And war would never end. Human conflict had existed for millennia, what made them think that it was going to stop in the future?
If the war was anything, it was horrifying.
Bloody.
Terrifying.
Poland many had observed battles being fought. She never enlisted as she didn't want to set off red flags to the humans, but when there wasn't a spot to hide and observe from she'd then put on a stolen military uniform and temporarily experienced the fighting firsthand before she'd slip away, observations gained.
The trenches were terrible, the war fronts unimaginable.
New inventions, war machines, brand-new tactics... It was horrifying and yet fascinating at the same time, the lengths that mankind would go to in order to destroy one another.
As she was fascinated by the fighting, many a time after she had gotten news of a new battle she'd go and observe it, whether firsthand or from a distance. There were always pangs in her of nostalgia, fighting with her soldiers, leading them into the throes of battle. It was like a drug, and whether it be observing it from a distance or experiencing it herself, that want, that need for it was fulfilled through that observation. While she did appreciate her current status, she violently missed being a nation herself despite the pain that status dragged her through. On the battlefield, she saw nations leading the struggle- past friends and foes, allies and enemies.
And then there was Lithuania.
The first time that she had seen Lithuania in a battle, a bolt of shock went through her accompanying an unachievable wish to join him. She missed him, but couldn't bear to intervene because of the memories. Despite the fact that he was in a war, the fact that he was alive was distinctly comforting to her. Instead of only occasionally going out of her way to observe battles, she went frequently in the hopes of seeing him.
Now, she hid behind a dark patch of trees a fair distance away from the fighting, her gaze following Lithuania meaningfully. He was fighting an egregious, failing battle. Soldier after soldier fell, one after the other, some dead and others in the process of dying. Lithuania himself was injured but continued to fight despite the bullets in his shoulder and side. She desperately wanted to help him but couldn't do anything right then.
Sensing something, his gaze flitted around the surrounding area until it fell upon her, and a look of recognition set in. Paling rapidly, she fell to the ground behind a bush, out of his range of view. Peeking through the shrubbery, Poland noticed Lithuania shake his head, washing off the start, and resumed fighting more valiantly and violently than before. Making a decision, Poland quickly left, her mind fuzzy.
She'd risked too much already.
"The girl knows that compromise is for vocations, that spirit is non-negotiable, accepts no labels or limits. If you were to build her a box, she would dismantle it carefully and use the pieces to create a stage and sing her own wild song. She knows that there is a power in the melody that we each carry in our bones."
Poland spat out blood as she fired out of the concrete bunker, screaming obscenities at the invading soldiers. She and the bunker had held out for this long; she prayed that they could hold out for just a little bit longer. Cursing Germany, Prussia, Austria, everyone involved in this invasion, she continued firing at them out of the small window. Her heart beat rapidly, thumping inside of her chest at a speed that shouldn't be humanly possible. She threw curses left and right as another explosion rocked the bunker, and her mind went back to when she just observed battles, only partaking in them briefly.
After the incident with Lithuania, Poland hadn't bothered trying to observe or briefly partake in any other battles. She had stayed at her home and dedicated herself to her job before she reluctantly moved to France as people had gotten suspicious by her sudden disappearances and reappearances. When the war had ended, she had celebrated gladly among the French people. She had noticed when all of the nations who had partaken in the war congregated in the country to work on the treaty, some more particularly beat up than the others.
Even though they had never recognized Poland before when she'd passed them by, they recognized her this time around and her existence was met with shock from all around. She was almost immediately introduced to her new government and declared a nation again. She explained her story, and as she technically participated in the war, albeit briefly and insignificantly, she was brought into the conferences discussing peace treaties. It had been a whirlwind of processing new information, meeting nations she hadn't met before, and reconvening with nations she hadn't seen in centuries.
Altogether, an unavoidable headache.
However, she had been reinstated as a nation. She was more tightly bound to her own people again, and she was able to take part in her governing and culture without doubt of her credibility. The fact that she had been able to take part in these things was like a dream to her; something that she had hoped for but doubted would ever happen. The years after were also a whirlwind, but one of readjusting to being a nation again and being updated on the politics. Picking up on the German people's unhappiness, dealing with the effects of the Great Depression, observing the international affairs. She easily picked up that there were mass amounts of uneasiness, anger, and frustration coming from Germany, who already hadn't been pleased with the Versailles Treaty and was even more so angered when the Great Depression hit.
She knew that the compromises enacted by the treaty weren't going to last long with upset like this. The German people's spirit was rebellious, angered, provoked. It was backed into a corner, and would soon lash out and deny the labels that they had placed upon it, the limits placed on its aspects. Unable to do much about it, she focused less on Germany and tried to focus on the opportunities presented to her through her reinstated nationality. She had been given a chance, and she was determined to take that change and construct it into something good for her and her own nation. She further immersed herself in her own affairs, and applied her understanding of people to her work to try and help them through this.
Poland was readjusting relatively happily, able to speak not only with her people but also with Lithuania.
And then Germany invaded again.
Another large explosion rang out, but this time from a distance. Still, soldiers grabbed on to something as a form of instinct and held tight while still firing. Poland's ears rang. A bullet hit a Polish soldier and they fell back, dead. Another quickly scrambled to take their place but lost his balance as the ground shook.
Poland's eye twitched as she rained a hail of bullets and insults upon the invading soldiers outside the bunker. They fired back, embedding plenty of bullets in her limbs but missing her head. She screamed a variety of rude things, some in Polish, some in German, some in Lithuanian, some in Russian, and some in International, the language that all the nations shared and spoke to each other in. No matter the language, they were all extremely unprintable and would've made even a demon's ears bleed.
If there was one thing that Poland specialized in, it was creatively cussing.
A few soldiers chuckled and bombarded the outside forces with insults of their own.
Suddenly, there was a loud crash as the door to the bunker broke and enemy soldiers filed in. One tossed a smoke bomb into the room and they surrounded the Polish soldiers, massacring them until the came to Poland herself. She made a move to head-butt the soldier closest to her, who retaliated by taking his knife previously at his belt and slashing her forehead with it. It drew blood instantly, which she wiped away with her hand uselessly. Two of them stepped up to press their guns to her head. Chuckling, another one of them knelt down to her and lifted her chin with one finger after pulling off his helmet. His eyes flashed as a wicked grin spread across his face.
"Privet, little Pol'sha. We've met again on the battlefield, haven't we? And if I recall, the last time you were in such an incriminating position was..." He pretended to tap his finger on his head, pretending to think. A malicious smirk crossed his face and he finished his sentence. "...when I took Lithuania."
Exhausted, dizzy from losing blood too rapidly, and too wounded to move, Poland simply glared up at him.
She mustered all the spit and blood inside her mouth and responded to his statement by spitting it all in his face spitefully.
Russia merely sighed melodramatically, wiped the blood and spit of his cheek with the back of his glove, and pressed his own gun to her head, his finger lingering meaningfully and threateningly over the trigger. He grinned wildly and pulled her ring off her finger.
"I'll be taking this." Poland stared at him in shock, bitter tears forming behind her eyes that she refused to let go of.
A group of German soldiers entered the room as Germany joined the duo of nations. He sent Russia a pointed look and gestured at Poland. "The deal?"
Russia nodded, pulling his gun away as he yanked Poland forwards and shoved her roughly towards Germany, who let her fall on the floor. She spat blood at his boots before trying to shove herself up and failing, then repeating the exhausting process. A German soldier made a move to roughly pick her up, but Germany held him back.
"Let it wear itself out."
It.
Poland glared up at Germany furiously, enraged. A stream of insults in German unwittingly poured out of her mouth, and Germany stepped forward to slap her harshly.
"Don't you dare disgrace my language with your filthy Polish mouth." She grinned at him, happy to have found a weak spot to annoy him with, letting out another few strings of creatively strung-together insults, the cut on her forehead bleeding freely and dribbling down her face, some getting in her eyes. He kicked her, the spikes on his combat boots designed to stomp through snow digging into her leg as she cried out in agony.
He and Russia both glared at her distastefully, the glare which she met with her own poisonous, yet exhausted smirk.
A Polish soldier groaned from across the room, and Russia whirled around and shot him through the head. Poland stared at him, her child, her citizen, a look of utter pain spreading over her face. Russia didn't turn back around to face Poland and glared at the soldier's dead body, just daring it to recover and escape from the icy, silvered hand of death. He called his men to attention. Without moving, he called out to Germany, "It's all yours. Don't see why your boss wants it, but it's all yours."
Poland glared at Russia, the intonation in his voice when he called her it not going unnoticed. Germany glared at her fixedly, only nodding and not moving to face Russia himself.
"I don't know myself either but I'm assuming that it's for reaping's."
Russia nodded, barely acknowledging what Germany had said, and waved a back-handed wave at him before he and his soldiers filed out of the room, likely to go capture another bunker or to regroup with the main Russian forces. Germany nodded, still not moving his gaze from Poland. After Russia had long left the room, Germany gestured for his soldiers to go pick Poland up roughly, paying no heed to her wounds pouring blood. As the soldiers handcuffed her and dragged her out of the room, she glared at Germany's back, burning holes through him with her eyes.
She did not intend to go down easily.
"The girl knows the lotus blooms in the mud. She knows that the Phoenix goes down in flames. She knows the rapture of lust, the escape of captivity, the center of the paradox where the truth can be found."
Poland lay curled up on the floor of her cell, clutching at her ringing ears, curled up into a ball. Her breathing was abnormal and short, hyperventilative and shaky. Her skin was flushed and marred, burning with a scorching fever like no other. Someone stomped past her door, and her heart rate picked up, pounding loudly as she squeezed herself into a tighter ball, her head, clutched by her hands, turned inwards so that her nose touched her stomach and her legs bent and pressed up tightly against her. She maintained this position, trembling, until the footsteps had long disappeared.
Bloody tears brimmed at her eyes, burning them as she tried to blink them away. An old wound that was on the path of healing had torn open as she was in the position, and now bled freely, further staining her already pitch-colored clothes that easily got muddy from the existing dirt on the floor.
Memories flickered past her, forming a cloud of storms that had surrounded her with the intent to suffocate.
Poland discovering that she is, in fact, a country.
Poland seeing and taking part in complete and total war for the first time, watching soldiers massacre each other and her mimicking their actions and partaking in the bloodbath.
Poland learning about the horror that is humanity in their unpredictability, surrounded by their paradoxes and nonsensicalities.
Poland discovering more about herself.
Poland dancing on the hilltop, meeting Lithuania.
Poland and Lithuania, laughing.
Lithuania slamming Prussia's- then Teutonic Knight's blade out of his hand and knocking him unconscious.
Lithuania bandaging some of Poland's wounds, and her bandaging his in turn.
Poland kissing Lithuania.
Lithuania giving Poland her ring.
Poland showing Lithuania her stories and poetry, dancing, telling him about the Wawel Dragon and him afterward telling her about the Iron Wolf.
Poland staring out a window, Lithuania by her side, and instinctively knowing that their happiness isn't going to last long.
The pain of the First Partition of Poland.
The pain of the Second Partition of Poland.
The Third Partition of Poland... Russia taking Lithuania away, leaving Poland in the snow to die. Poland hours later waking up and discovering this and praying, bleeding and crying.
Poland living simply as a representative, dodging human suspicion and occasionally running into nations that don't recognize her.
Poland watching battles play out, sometimes from the sidelines and sometimes up close.
Poland watching Lithuania, him noticing her, her disappearing and leaving almost immediately as she has risked too much already.
Poland running into the nations in the aftermath of the Great War, and them recognizing her for the first time in a long time.
Poland being reinstated as a nation.
The conferences in Versailles.
Poland explaining everything that happened to her.
After the conferences, Poland getting the chance to privately talk to Lithuania, both doing more happy crying and hugging than talking.
Poland readjusting to her new government.
The Great Depression hitting Poland, causing mass amounts of work for Poland herself to try and rectify it the best she can.
Poland becoming very much aware of Germany's frustration and anger at his current situation and choosing to pity him from afar but focus on her country.
Poland working with her citizens.
Germany invading.
Fighting on multiple different fronts in Poland before getting captured by Russia, who took her ring and handed off to Germany.
Poland being forced to help with the construction of Auschwitz, later becoming a full-on prisoner there.
Poland being stamped with a number, being told that she would no longer answer to her name and instead would answer to her number, and the sinking feeling of depressing realization that she had been reduced from a sentient nation, someone not necessarily human but human in nature and appearance, to an insentient, inanimate, labeled object.
Poland working at Auschwitz, enduring beatings from the guards and her Kapos.
Josef Mengele transferring to Auschwitz, and Poland being transferred under his care.
Mengele injecting Poland with various diseases to see how long it takes for her to die from them without any medication.
Mengele torturing Poland, attempting to see just how much a country can take before they die.
Mengele experimenting on Poland, trying to figure out the secret to a country's immortality and how to make a man immortal.
Poland trying to comfort the children being experimented on by Mengele.
Poland being restrained by nurses as she attempted to fight Mengele after she saw him kill a child through his cruel experimentation.
Mengele resorting to the conclusion that it's a very bad idea to keep Poland with the children and isolating her, putting her in a jail cell specially constructed for her.
Mengele deciding to start testing and toying with Poland's mental health, trying to see if he could provoke a mental disorder.
Poland waking up screaming from nightmares, then being screamed at by guards to shut up.
Poland being punished by being forced to listen to a recording for hours on end of the screams of some of the children who died by torture and coming to the conclusion that mankind in itself is the greatest atrocity that has ever happened in human history.
Poland sobbed (quietly, as to not be yelled at and punished), bloody tears burning her eyes as the memories flooded her, embedding themselves in her heart, forming a sinking weight in her chest that would drag her to the bottom of a bed of muddy quicksand that looked pretty and innocent enough at the top of the pit, flowers growing around it.
There was a human sense of truth that she had long accepted that humanity and its confusing paradoxes would be the death of her. The Angel of Death was a paradox in himself, his very nickname playing tricks with her mind.
Her throat burned as she murmured a prayer, reaching to spin her ring around her finger and remembering suddenly that she no longer had it; it was in Russia's possession.
"Ojcze nasz, któryś jest w niebie, święć się Imię Twoje."
Her eyes flickered shut.
"Przyjdź królestwo Twoje. Bądź wola Twoja, jako w niebie tak i na ziemi."
The burning fevers, the fires themselves burned, consuming the world around her.
"Chleba naszego powszedniego daj nam dzisiaj. I odpuść nam nasze winy, jako i my odpuszczamy naszym winowajcom. I nie wódź nas na pokuszenie, ale nas zbaw ode złego."
Poland took one last breath and exhaled outwards for the last time in that life.
"Amen."
She left the world again for the two-hundred-forty-third time that day.
"The girl is full of sky, full of starshine, full of goddess flame. She bleeds words; she speaks the truth, and welcomes it all and howls at the moon. She is a girl on fire, stroking the flames, lighting the world, and burning to ashes. And above all, she is always rising, and rising, and rising again."
Poland laid curled up in agony on the floor of her cell, abandoned.
The majority of the rest of the camp had been forced on death marches west, the rest of the experimented children long gone along with Mengele, who had left her behind after crushing her windpipe and declaring her no longer useful as he had gathered as much information from her as he could. She had died soon after and then came to again, her body slowly trying to heal itself yet its healing abilities left mangled and hindered by all of the experimentation.
How much time had passed? Hours? Days? Weeks? Months? It was impossible for her to know, because even though she could tell if it was day or night, she spent plenty of time unconscious or dead. Not knowing was enough to drive her to the brink of insanity. She stared at the ceiling, eyes burning holes through it.
She faintly remembered that one time Lithuania described her as a part of the sky come down to Earth from Heaven, a living bit of starshine that burned with an eternal fire that would forever burn on and never go out. She had laughed then and continued dancing, bleeding words on the spot from otherworldly places existing in her head, responding by telling a story of her own creation that she had long since forgotten the exact moral of, but she remembered as being about truth. Her eyes burned as she struggled not to cry, to sob into oblivion.
He'd complimented her so many times, and she'd laughed the compliments off and responded with bits of stories and singing to distract herself from the fact that every single time that he did so, she wanted to kiss him again and again.
She'd always responded in her own way to distract him and herself from the facts, from the all-too-real truth.
And then there was one time, only one time, where he'd managed to render her speechless. He had complimented her like he always did: he told her that she was the strongest, most gorgeous woman that he'd ever met; that she was surrounded by rings of raging, unquenchable fire that she herself stroked and encouraged without fear for she was their rightful master, fires that echoed and burned and were visible throughout Europe, throughout the world, fires that burned everything and controlled the ashes. He'd then given her the ring, and she was dead silent in shock, before she had fallen on him sobbing in a mixture of happiness and pure, unadulterated emotion. It was his turn to laugh then, a turn that he took as he embraced her tightly.
Poland pulled her arm over her eyes, shielding them from the one little bit of fading light that her cell got.
The ring which was now gone.
Echoes of shouts arose from the outside that she ignored as she curled up in the corner of the room.
Everything that Lithuania said couldn't have been true if she had fallen this far, if she'd let the fires consume her. The one thing that she'd failed to tell him when he'd complimented her with mentions of fire was that the true reason why she commanded the fires with such reckless abandon was that she was terrified that they'd consume her if she didn't. They were permanent, always there, always burning, and if left unchecked they'd not only consume all of Europe, all of the world, they'd turn on her and consume her after. They were beautiful, attractively destructive, and above all, they were terrifying.
She had been forced to grow taller than them, to control them, for fear of them.
She was truly pathetic.
There was a shout outside her cell door as she curled up tighter. Maybe the Nazis had come back to torture her some more. Maybe they were back to perform more experiments. Maybe...
The door was knocked down as someone entered the room and gasped in horror before turning out, requesting for a name that Poland didn't pick up on. She burrowed tighter into a ball, determined not to look up. The figure hesitantly approached Poland and poked her shoulder.
"Miss? Can you look at me?"
Poland refused to look up.
Heavier, quick steps approached the room with more abandon. The new person took one look at Poland's figure and then barked an order in Russian at the person who first came into the room. The smaller person replied quickly and scurried out of the room, presumably to follow the given order.
The new person knelt by Poland, who unconsciously whimpered. He looked down at her firmly.
"Polska, I'm going to need you to stop get up now."
Poland shook, still curled up in a ball. The man sighed and grabbed her unwilling arm, pulling her up. She still refused to look at him.
"Poland, God damn it all to Hell, I need you to fucking look at me."
Flinching, she stole a single glance at the man and backed up into the wall.
"Russia?"
He nodded, eyes scanning over her injuries with a look on his face that almost suggested concern but at the same time could suggest indifference. She was practically a skeleton, her gaunt ribs showing through her thin, dirty clothing. Dirt smudged her face, and her once-blonde, unkempt hair hung limply, turned brown with dirt. Poland's knees shook and she sunk to the floor, but before she could Russia looped his arm under her own, supporting her weight.
"Can you walk?"
Poland slowly shook her head.
Signing, Russia scooped her up easily, like a child, and carried her outside. He stopped, barked another order in Russian towards a high-ranking soldier in the distance, who quickly turned around to follow Russia. Russia carried her away from the rest of the soldiers and the liberated prisoners and deposited her in an area where there wasn't anyone else before he walked off, leaving her and the soldier.
The soldier pulled his hat and the scarf that covered most of his face off, and Poland sunk to the ground in shock. The soldier quickly knelt in front of her and wrapped her in a hug. Tears burned at the edges of her eyes as she grabbed onto Lithuania like he was a lifeline. She let out a shaky sob as she let herself cry on his shoulder, and she faintly recognized that he was crying too.
"My people." Her voice was raspy, unused.
"So much brutality- I could feel it, what happened in my country, I experienced it myself here. My people-"
Lithuania nodded, pulling her closer to him as he cut her off and finished her sentence
"will survive." His voice was hushing, calming. "Your people lived through this hell, they survived. They're strong, like you."
"I'm not strong."
Ignoring this statement, Lithuania reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Doing a double take, Poland's eyes widened and watered.
"My ring."
Lithuania slipped it onto her finger.
"After Russia traded you to Germany, he gave this to me- said that he figured that it probably would be taken away and gave it to me to hold onto until I could give it back to you. For what it's worth, he says sorry-"
Poland choked back another sob, shaking. "It's worth a lot."
Lithuania slipped the arm that he had previously used to get the ring out back around her.
"And don't you think that I missed your earlier statement. You're the farthest thing from weak."
Poland shook. "I'm afraid of the very fire that surrounds me, and I've let it consume me. I am the definition of weak."
Lithuania's body shook. It took Poland a second to realize that it was shaking with laughter.
"What's so funny?" Her voice was defensive, trembling.
Lithuania smiled. "You command the fire because it scares you, yes? You're afraid of it destroying you if it goes unchecked? My dear, fear forces us to choose between two choices: be strong and face the fear head-on, or cower from it and let it control you. You, my dear, for centuries have stroked that fire and controlled it, facing it head-on, and if you've done anything now, you've faced it all the same by sinking into it. You've accepted that although it's consumed you, and you've thrived in it. It's just something to overcome."
Poland shook, tears coming to her eyes.
"Besides," Lithuania continued, "all of us get scared sometimes. Even Russia gets scared. I get scared. We all get scared. This war has terrified all of us and has forced us to overcome our fear of it, to fight it head on. It's okay to be scared. You will overcome this. You will rise again."
The volume of his voice dropped as he smiled and whispered in her ear. "I've seen you do it before."
A/N: This is a very long one-shot. At least one by my standards. I contemplated splitting it up into separate chapters and then posting them all at once but I decided against it. I was orginally going to write this to be about a few other characters, but than it occured to me that it made more sense to write this about Poland because Warsaw is referred to as the Phoenix City. So yeah. This was born. All of the quotes are basically excerpts from the poem Girl on Fire by Jeanette LeBlanc that I turned into a more story-esque format. Speaking of which, check the actual poem out; there are one or two very pretty verses there that I had to leave out here for story purposes.
I took a few liberties while writing this story history-wise, and a few of the scenes in here are directly inspired by some of the webcomic strips.
When Poland considered what happened to her as symbolic, she was referencing the Catholic faith. For centuries Poland was and still is a pretty Catholic country. Her thinking that her fall is symbolic relates to the Devil. Basically, Satan was an angel that fell from heaven and there is a belief that demons cannot pray and bleed if they try. In summary, Poland was comparing her fall to the fall of the Devil and her bleeding while praying to a demon bleeding as a result of praying... really fun stuff.
Concerning the Poland representative thing, Hima has said, "There are also cases that him/her is not a country but continues to live leisurely as a representative of a region." While writing this I decided to take that concept and expand upon it because why not. Ellawritesficssometimes provides some background information on this in a theory on her Tumblr about Prussia being a regional representative that I'd recommend checking out.
The reason why the nations suddenly noticed Poland in France was because the new Polish government had been established and the Versailles Treaty recognized it.
Josef Mengele was an actual person and a Nazi doctor who was sometimes referred to as the Angel of Death. He worked at Auschwitz and is probably is most well known for cruel experimentation on identical twins, heterochromatic people, dwarfs, and generally people with physical abnormalities. He did infect people with diseases, enact acts of torture, and generally experiment on people, but the rest of what I described him do is pretty much pseudo-science stuff that I came up with for the sake of this story. There are some very good fanfictions that include him as a character such as Awakening by Gemini Star01.
The prayer that Poland was saying in Polish is Our Father. I don't speak Polish so I looked it up, and I found a Polish Catholic website that had it.
Please remember to review! I'd love to hear what you think.