(Prologue)
Russia sat quietly on the bench, winter air nipped and pulled at him. Never satisfied with the Russian, was winter. Scaring away others with it's cold embrace, similar to Russia, but his embrace was filled with warmth. Something that no one has ever dared to find out about. Russia was lonely, and the only one who understood that was the cold season. A childish smile remained frozen on his face, but darker emotions lied underneath his facade. But here sat Russia, waiting for something. He felt it that morning when he ran away from Belarus, the sense that a life changing event or thing was about to happen. So there he sat, waiting for it. He couldn't feel the cold anymore, so he didn't really worry about sitting in the freezing weather for long hours, only icy terrain to keep him company. Little did he know, the thing he was waiting patiently for would appear a lot sooner then he expected.