He sat there tears streaming from his eyes. He wasn't ready to go; he could do so much more. But he was also so old, and so very tired. It hit even stronger. The strong grip on life weakening. Venice was finally sinking, and he was going with it.

He knew Romano would be fine, maybe he even happy. He knew his brother was jealous. He was called Italy, he was loved by everyone, but he was dying and the world would have to move on.

It was sad to say that he would die alone, but he had excepted it. He wasn't scared, just mad. Mad that he was going so soon. It wasn't fair; why did he have to go? Why?

But that wasn't the point, this was the Acqua Alta that would take him. He stepped out onto the deck, watching as the waters rose quickly. He grabbed onto the railing to steady himself. Weakness flooded his body. Was this what dying truly felt like? Once gone, where would he go? Would heaven still except him? Or was he so evil inside not even Lucifer wanted him?

The rain was cold and bitter like his soul. He lied. He lied all the time. He wasn't weak; he wasn't a coward. He was strong, kind, brave, loving but he was also cold and bitter. A laugh escaped his lips. How could he laugh at a time like this?

Glancing carelessly back at his mobile device he saw messages, missed calls, and a voicemail. Probably his boss, friends, and family wanting to know if he was okay. But he had already made his deal with death, and parted finally with his fellow nations. Each one was sent a letter talking about the good qualities he saw in them. It would be delivered tomorrow, but he wouldn't get to see their reactions. His tears slowed as dread replaced anger. Yesterday's meeting was last time he would see the Allies, that he would see Austria, Hungary, Japan, Spain. It was the last time he would see Lovino, no Italy. And defiantly the last time he would see Ludwig. Pity soared through him, reaching his eyes the quickest. He didn't want to go, but time said he must. Death was already five steps ahead no matter what he did.

He was soaked and sad, but he wanted a smile when he was found (if he was). He knew he wasn't a full nation. Rome was the capital, not Venice. He was bound to die, basically a human just with a long life. No one knew this fact, not even his brother.

He held his eyes up into the sky relishing in the feeling. He was truly one with his people. He could feel his life slipping away just like Venice. An old tune came to his mind that he hummed, Lu Me Sceccu. It was about a man morning the loss of his prized donkey. It was a strange tune, but he loved it nonetheless. It felt as if the earth was morning for the prized Venice. It was an odd parallel to what was happening, but stranger had been felt before.

Closing his eyes he relished the feeling of gravity winning its battle as he fell into the water. A smile came to his face, he remembered why he could be happy. If heaven or hell abandoned him, he could still see Holy Rome.

"At 2:00 am this morning the once prosperous city, Venice, has officially sunk. We pray for those lost to find their way to peace, and we morn for those who have lost."

The radio was forcibly shut off by a loud strangled cry. Ludwig couldn't believe it. He was dead. His bright eyes would never shine again, and his stupid laugh would never bring a headache to his mind.His doorbell rang, jolting Ludwig out of his little moment. The man at the door handing him a letter and left with out a word. Ludwig saw the strikingly beautiful signature of Italy, yet it said "Feliciano Vargas". He carefully opened the letter and braced himself for the words.

Dear My Sweet Ludwig,

We quickly grew close, and it pains me to write such a grim letter. I can feel my life slipping away; I know come tomorrow, I will not be telling you this in person. I am writing this not as Italy to Germany, but as Feliciano to Ludwig. I pray you understand my wishes. I wish to be left in the sea with my heart, Venice, for it is the only thing that did not leave me in despair. I also pray you help my brother for there will be a much larger work load; I wish for you to be his mentor. I also must confess something selfish. I have felt a deep gripping feeling - I can only call love - for quite some time around you. I am unsure whether you return it, but if you do, I am here to say move on. I am dead, a ghost of yesterday's past. I pray you do not mourn me, for I have excepted my fate with grace and welcomed Death like a friend. I pray you learn to live once more and love once as I have loved you.

With Love,

Feliciano Vargas

All that filled the room was a low light and the pained cries of a young stoic nation.