No idea where the inspiration for this came from. It's not meant to make sense, it's more like what goes on in the subconscious of the characters - the thoughts that they didn't even know they were thinking.

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Skepsis

n. philosophic doubt as to the objective reality of phenomena; (broadly) a skeptical outlook or attitude.

Prussia was surrounded by violet. A pure, airy, violet that made him catch his breath and stare in wonder at the perfect shade of indigo that was Canada's eyes – an innocent, cloying shade of purple that numbed Prussia's senses and paralyzed him – holding him under a spell. It was beautiful – a shade of lavender-indigo that flowed like silk on a canvas of cobweb – nothing about it made sense, and that was what Prussia loved about it. It was so impossible. It was so easy to snap back to reality, to break the dream and come back to his lover – but did he want to? Here it was perfect – an endless world of color swirling with reds and blues and violets and greens, so different, so vibrant, so…illogical. In this world, Prussia could float through the maple-flavored clouds, and tumble down a road made of obsidian through the sky into space. Nothing here made sense – and yet, there was no doubt that this was reality, this was Prussia's reality – it was his reality when Canada was there and he couldn't breathe, because the beautiful violet was there again, paralyzing his lungs again. Prussia and Canada were together – their link was as fragile as gossamer, as strong as diamond – it was so improbable, which was what scared Prussia. It was doubt – it was doubt that spread like oil in water – drifting around but never quite mixing with his thoughts – how did Canada find something, anything that was even remotely lovable? Narcissism aside, Prussia was insecure – did anyone really like him for him? The violet was there again, but Prussia reluctantly pushed it aside, and looked beyond it, into the void. There were yellows, and greens, and reds, and browns, and warm, inviting colors that Prussia somehow knew belonged to Spain or France or West or Italy – but none of it was there, none of it was important. None of it could even compare to the violet, carving a path through his thoughts, looping in on itself and enclosing Prussia in its perfection that felt faintly like Canada and smelled like maple syrup – and suddenly, Prussia was flying through – somewhere – and he was just falling and floating and yet none of it made sense – it didn't have to – because Canada was there, and as long as that was true, nothing about Prussia or Canada made sense – and that was how they liked it. Nonsensical, maple-sweet, violet-red, improbable, impossible, real love.