Dust
Erzsébet dusted her bookshelves for the third time that day. She wasn't expecting visitors, it was just an old habit resurfacing due to her frantic state. It was exactly sixty-four years to the day that it happened. And on every anniversary of the event taking place, she spiralled into a state of depression. It was only housework that kept her mind off the memories the day brought. She dusted more furiously, almost knocking some of her most prized possessions from their position on the shelf. Porcelain figures were shifted from their spots and books were knocked about. Then her eyes caught on a disintegrating book tucked away in the furthest corner of the shelves.
She hadn't opened the book in years and studied the spine. It was emerald green with gold writing engraved into the spine of the book. It was then that she smiled. It was one of her old favourites. As she took the book from the shelf she ran her fingers over the cover, revelling in its familiar texture. I should get it re-bound, she thought as she opened the book. A slip of paper fell from the pages and floated to her feet. She absent-mindedly picked it up as she read a note written on the inside cover.
For our 20th Anniversary,
Love, Austria.
A silly thing to write, she thought. Roderich had never loved her. She had deluded herself into believing he did, but the marriage was nothing but convenient for him. It was just another political movement. Perhaps the note was just a formality? She chuckled hoarsely and fiddled with the crumpled paper. What an odd texture. It was smooth and cold. Erzsébet put down the book and straightened the piece of paper. It was a faded photograph, but the picture was still clear enough to see. A young man in military uniform gazed back at her blankly. She traced the photographic man's familiar features as all her efforts to stay 'normal' suddenly backfired. Her legs gave way and she fell to the floor. Of all the days to find it.
Her lip trembled as she continued to gaze at the man in the photo. 'Gilbert,' she whispered.
. . .
It was cold that day. The window had been left open but no one dared get up and close it. The atmosphere of the room echoed the weather outside; bleak, grey and dribbling with anxiety. The four of them sat around the creaking wooden table and waited. They didn't care how long it took, they needed to hear the Allies' final decision. That was the only reason the four nations had crammed themselves into the small frozen room. They wanted to know.
Ludwig sat furthest from them, at the head of the table and closest to the door. His position was such that he would be the first to know. It was clear that he was the most eager of all of them to hear what the Allies had decided. Even more than to the person it actually concerned. Roderich sat in front of the window, his hands folded as he stared at the door, willing it to open. No one quite knew why he was there. Some had guessed he was there as an extra support for Erzsébet, but those in the room knew that was far from true. She and Gilbert sat at the corner of the table adjacent to each other. Gilbert seemed to be the only one who wasn't agitated, a fact that turned her concern into rage. She constantly looked at him, worry betraying the hatred she was supposed to feel towards him. Although she had given up on trying to lie to herself years ago. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to feel his cold, alabaster skin. It would surely be a reassurance that he was still here, that nothing would be done to him. But she did nothing, said nothing, and rapped her fingers on the table in anticipation.
The door swang open. America stood in the doorway, afraid to step over the threshold as if he could sense the tension in the room and gave the dreaded declaration; 'The Allied council has decided that Prussia is to be dissolved and the land returned to it's rightful owners.' His face was blank but his hesitant movements betrayed his calm demeanour.
Ludwig looked up from the table, anxiety creasing his smooth complexion. 'But my brother, he will be ok?' He stumbled over the English words with uncharacteristic nervousness. His hands were visibly shaking.
America's face did not change, it was still bleak and stately. 'Prussia is to be shot by firing squad in exactly five minutes.'
Erzsébet felt her heart stop. Bile rose to her throat and she gagged at the thought of her old friend lying dead on the cobbled surface of the courtyard. No, she thought. This can't be happening. She looked gravely at Gilbert, who only smirked and seemed to almost laugh. He rose from his chair silently and left the room without a single word, pausing only to salute at his breaking younger brother. Ludwig stood and returned the salute, his trembling body making it difficult to form the familiar pose. Gilbert seemed to have known this would happen. Perhaps he had been preparing for it since the end of the war. Erzsébet could feel the room spinning around her.
She struggled to breathe as the realisation of what was about to happen sunk in. It took her a few minutes to gather her stray thoughts and make sense of the situation. Her only instinct was to run. Whimpering, she tore herself from the table and bolted down the staircase. 'Gilbert!' She cried, making her speedy way to the courtyard and stumbling over the final step. 'Gilbert wait!'
The white haired man looked over his shoulder at her staggering form. He stared blankly at her, not entirely sure how to respond to his frantic companion. Once she collected herself she shuffled forward and forced him to turn around and face her. She breathed heavily and leant on him as she attempted to calm herself before speaking. It was almost impossible. Gilbert raised a shaky hand to smooth her hair. 'Geez, calm down, Hungary. Anyone would think the world was coming to an end,' he chuckled, always the joker. Unfortunately, for her it was.
She raised her head. Don't go, her bleary eyes screamed. Don't leave me. Gilbert smiled faintly. 'Now scram. Ladies like you shouldn't watch an execution.' He turned away again and walked up to the wall. England handed him a blindfold which he refused. He would face his fate head on. England didn't press the matter and retreated to the part of the courtyard occupied by Russia and America. France watched from a room on the second floor. Their cold faces overseeing the 'dissolution' with impatience.
'Gilbert!' Erzsébet cried again as a soldier began to drag her back to the cold room. She had to make this quick and she wasn't about the let him die without telling him. 'Gilbert, I love you!'
Gilbert smirked. 'I know.'
Erzsébet froze. That was it? 'I know'? She wasn't sure of what to think and felt herself being dragged away again. She struggled against the soldier's grasp. The firing squad waiting for orders, but England had suddenly gotten cold feet, and no one else seemed to want to take the final step. Then Russia, typical Russia, removed a pistol from his coat and sauntered forward, firing two shots to the Prussian's head as he walked. Gilbert was thrown backwards from the sudden impact and his body slammed against the stone wall behind him, his blood splattering the light stone. Erzsébet screamed. Never breaking his stride, Russia concealed the weapon and strolled inside. The deed was done. He was no longer needed.
The firing squad had lowered their weapons, confused at the sudden turn of events. England yelled incoherently and followed Russia inside to, undoubtedly, scold him. France coughed uncomfortably from his viewpoint, yet was unable to turn away until he was handed a cup of tea by an eerily calm China. America remained still in the courtyard, shocked by the merciless deed. He had never witness a dying nation before. He hadn't expected it to be so… horrifying.
Erzsébet had broken free of her captor and ran towards Gilbert's limp corpse. She kneeled on the cold ground and shook his shoulders, refusing to believe he was gone forever. At the lightest touch the corpse slumped forward and fell on top of her, his head pressed into her shoulder and the blood staining her dishevelled uniform. Erzsébet gathered him in her arms and cradled him, rocking back and forth while howling.
America still refused to move, his body paralysed in horror. He wasn't sure what to do. He wanted to say something, but his mouth could never form the words. He could only stare wide-eyed at the scene in front of him. Flustered, England emerged from the building and tore America away. He had suspected it would be too much for the young nation.
In the icy room upstairs, Ludwig hid his face in his hands, determined not to cry and ruin the last shred of dignity he had. He would wait until he was alone. Roderich had not shifted from his position. He had only flinched when he heard the shots, the crack still ringing in his ears. He stood and exited the room with the grace of a dancer, at which Ludwig finally gave in to his despair. The tears flowed from his eyes like waterfalls and his body shuddered under the weight of his sobs. He regretted ever following that damned man. This was all the Fürher's fault.
Erzsébet couldn't remember anything else from that day. It was all just one big blur. That was how she remember most things these days. A few things still lingered in her memory of that day. The drizzling rain and her sodden clothes. Ludwig's blotchy face as he came to drag her away from Gilbert's corpse. How she kicked and screamed when they attempted to get her inside. The carelessness of the people who carted the corpse away. The stench of burning flesh.
As she sat in front of her bookcase the smell once again filled her nostrils. It made her body cease to function, paralysing her. Her breath caught in her throat and tears cascaded down her cheeks. She'd never forget that putrid smell, never. Images of his face flickered through her mind, each only lasting a second but bringing her further and further into depression. She had spent so long building up a resistance to the memories, locking them away in the depths of her mind, but this one photograph was ruining it all.
The stench continued to linger. Erzsébet screamed, clenching her fist. Her fingernails dug into her palms and the photograph crumpled even more. Her screams greatened and mingled with her tears, each scream turning into a warbled howl. Why had he been taken from her? Why did the so called 'Allied Council' have to ruin her perfect life of cursing, occasionally beating and loving that bastard Prussian? She thrashed out and slammed her fist into the bookshelf, books and priceless objects crashing to the floor.
'Fuck you, Allied Council! Fuck you all!' she howled.
Her anger dissolved. She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking slightly as she sobbed. Her entire body shook. All she wanted to do was die. But even that was far beyond her reach.
It was the first time she regretted being a nation.