Amelia would never, ever admit it, but she cried the first night she spent alone in that large house.

She hadn't cried once, though. Not when she sent him those papers declaring her freedom from his increasing oppression. Not when she rallied her forces against him. Not during any impassioned speeches in front of breathless crowds of supporters. Not when she assisted in the Boston Tea Party or when she heard Revere's warning of the incoming Redcoats. She didn't even cry when she finally met him in battle, aiming her gun directly between his bushy eyebrows, fully prepared to shoot.

Not once. Not a single tear was shed. She wanted her freedom. She wanted it so much she could hardly breathe. And when she finally had it, she celebrated with the locals, gorged herself with food and delighted in the attention of men. She drank until she couldn't see straight and sang the national anthem, waving her new flag high above her head. Against all the impossible odds, she had won. She was free.

But…

The next morning, when she woke up, bleary-eyed and a little hungover, she realized that for the first time in a long time she was experiencing silence. She was totally alone, no one to fawn over her bravery or sing another song. No strategizing or shooting or spying. She even had a few free days to situate herself before meeting with her new boss, a great man named George Washington who she had taken an instant liking to after meeting him.

And now all she had was silence.

Amelia knew she wouldn't have cried had she not spied it. She had placed the rifle near the door without thinking and hadn't bothered to put it away. She walked over, frowning in her hazy state, and picked it up, deciding to put it somewhere safer than just inside the front door. But her fingers brushed over a dent in the wood. Curious, she glanced at it and felt her stomach bottom out.

She recalled it with perfect clarity. She hadn't actually thought he would ever strike at her, not directly. She had aimed her gun at him, and then was forced to use it as a pseudo-shield to keep him from attacking her with his bayonet. The force of his blow had sent her to the ground, but all the blade had done was leave that mark.

Amelia had known for a long time that Arthur was not the man she had known when they had first met on the open plains of her home so long ago. He wasn't the man she had felt the need to comfort or cheer up. He never told her he was happy to see her anymore, had hardly even smiled or told her he loved her or missed her. When he did visit, it was always with another silly rule or more taxes that made her people unhappy. She could feel her heart breaking whenever he spoke to her and could feel herself shatter whenever he left on worse terms than when he had arrived.

She knew when it was time to end it. It wasn't easy making that decision. It had taken a lot of bravery. And she had known there would be a fight. She had known that she would face him on the battlefield.

Their fight had been bitter, a clash of titans that collided with merciless intent. One wanted freedom, the other control. And in the end, they were both bloodied and broken, and Amelia had limped away victorious.

And now, she was finally well and truly free. But that mark kept her mind wandering to that fight, to him. She was quick to shove it away in the attic where she would never see it again.

As she walked downstairs through the hall, she spotted one of his vests in her room, hanging languidly on one of her bedposts. Rushing in, she put that in the attic, too. And yet she kept finding things that were his or presents he had given to her in happier days. She still didn't cry, though. Not until she stumbled across it.

A wedding ring. An old but still shining diamond, simple and elegant on the band. She held it like it was dripping in poison. A sign of her one-time total devotion to that man. And now… now…

She dropped it and the ring clattered on the floor. Amelia slumped, hand gripping the kitchen table and her body wracked with sobs that she had been keeping bottled up since everything had gone wrong. Once one tear made it's way down her cheek, an endless stream seemed to follow until she was a red-faced mess, her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking, gasping for air and crying his name, her own name, and why, why had everything gone so wrong? They had been so happy together.

Amelia wasn't sure how long it was until she finally calmed herself down enough to stand again. She found the ring, but she didn't look at it as she put it in a small wood box and made her way to the attic, silent tears still streaming down her face as she placed it next to her wedding dress and a small dollhouse he had made for her for her birthday many years ago.

All those things in there were from a lifetime ago. Just as Arthur was no longer the nation she had fallen in love with, she was no longer the country he had found himself smitten with so long ago. She was someone new. No more the obedient wife, the wide-eyed sweetheart who was eager to please. She was independant. Outspoken. Strong. A force to be reckoned with.

Shutting the attic door behind her with finality, she made her way into the living room, which was now bare of many decorations. She decided to decorate it with new memories to commemorate the new person she was.

Absent-mindedly, she ran her fingers through her hair and paused. It was long, long enough to fall below her waist. After hardly a moment of thought, she went to the bathroom, yanked out a scissors and chopped off the strands so that her hand fell in messy waves just past her chin. She grinned at herself, enjoying the wild look it gave her. Maybe the new Amelia was a wild girl who did crazy things and took risks. She liked that idea.

It was a new day, and she was a new Amelia. And when the countries saw her next, she vowed that she would be someone else entirely.

And finally, Amelia had stopped crying.

This story is sort of based around the idea that instead of being a little sister to England, the two were married. It worked better with the idea I had screaming in my head, so I hope that's okay. If not... deal with it, I guess?