Note: This was written and can be found on hetalia_contest, over at LJ. The second ficlet deals a bit with some touchy themes, be careful...

She wakes up to the soft sounds of snip, snip, snip. Accompanied by her sister's voice- saying something to Ivan, she can't hear her from her bedroom. A little laugh, her brother's, is heard. Natalia climbs out of the bed, gives the mirror one look, runs fingers through her hair, gives a quick fix- (notices, for the first time, that her hair is colder than ice), straightens the ribbon in her hair.

When she enters the room, to greet her siblings- Katya is standing in front of the mirror, Ivan holding a knife in his hands (so what she heard wasn't snip, snip, snip, but-), carefully cutting Katya's long, beautiful hair in short and small locks. The ends of her hair come out messy and uneven, bits and pieces sticking out unfittingly, but she is still smiling and laughing gently when Ivan stops, and at the sight of what's becoming of her hair, now reaching shoulder length. Natalia, who was going to just greet her sibling in the morning, is just staring at the hair at Katya's feet, eyes wide.

"Let me do it," Natalia says, takes the knife out of Ivan's hand. Together, look in the mirror- two almost identical faces stare back at the two, similar jaw lines and the shape of their noses and eyes (one pair like the pale wintertime skies, other like water and sea and grass;) a smile and a small frown (maybe surprised, maybe thoughtful), and Natalia, quick and gentle with her sister's hair, is cutting off her sister's tresses of hair until they're even.

"Shorter", Katya tells her, and her fingers press to the space under her ear, on her neck.

Natalia's face looks at Katya through the mirror in shock, and Katya says, "Don't worry." I was not worried, sister, it's just that- your hair, it's so beautiful, why (do you want me to cut it so short)?

So Natalia keeps cutting. Hers are quick, she has experience with this, after all, she cuts until the hair is almost above the neck, and stops. One more look in the mirror- they are no longer identical, but they match, the shapes that make their faces, chins, and they, together, neck to neck. And somehow, Katya looks like Ivan now, how?

"Good." Says Katya.

Natalia takes a step back, allows Katya to admire her new self in the mirror. She's still beautiful now, and that's right, this haircut matches her sister far more. Their faces may match but the shapes that makes their bodies, no. Katya was always the more masculine one, the strong body and the hips and waist that are of equal width, the unfeminine one. Now that I think about it, her hair is beautiful even now, and the long tail she used to wear in her hair as a child did not suit her much.

"I think…-" Natalia says, inspired, and takes out the headband she used to wear along with the ribbon, because it's okay as long as she has Brother's ribbon in her hair, which is enough. She puts it into Sister's hair, feeling closer to her that ever, gives it a quick fix- the green headband matches Katya so perfectly. Admires her sister, smiles that one special smile, of her sister and brother. This headband, it would be her gift to her sister, who gave Ivan his scarf, who gave Natalia her ribbon, who gave Katya this, the one who didn't have an older sibling to receive a gift from.

"I'll never take it off," Katya says because she understands what Natalia meant by giving her that. She fingers it while looking at the mirror, and one more time, when Ivan takes a thread of her hair and smoothes it aside with a hairclip- his own gift to their sister. (Indirectly, saying, so both of us can always feel close to you through these little things, the way you will always be close to me through this scarf) And Katya laughs, at moments like these, she somehow resembles Brother, both of whom are beautiful through their natural charm and their smiles, and not artificially like doll-like Natalia with her dresses and make-up and knives.

When she looks at the mirror, when the three of them stand, together, she realizes, how different she is from them- she may have Ivan's pale hair but the cold threads feel so different, she may have Katya's features on the face, but she is her opposite of her in every other way. She is the Pretty Girl in here, the doll with knives that nobody sees because everybody think, she's pretty, (if they're not thinking, she's Russia's sister, must be a crazy bitch, and ew she wants to marry him? Weirdo.) and that's all that matters, but they don't understand, that her pretty is the ideal, and it's not real.

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[1948/israeli independence war]

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It takes four snips and a little more, not that he counts, to completely cut off the two strands of curly hair that have been dangling in front of his ears for centuries (and sometimes they were cut by someone, sometimes just were not there, but they would always grow back- not to mention, they were hard to see under his tangle or charcoal threads that looked the same for one thousand years), his payot. He puts down the scissors, finishes now. His hair looks so much better now, after a wash and a big haircut- Israel may not have been a professional, but his skills were good enough to fix his hair.

Now he looks, big black eyes finding their counterpart in the mirror, shining slightly with a huge smile that shows more on his lips than eyes, not that he knows, because he doesn't really know if anything shows through his eyes (he knows better than anything, that he can see through other people by looking at their eyes, because they are a bright color and stand out so much-), but he hadn't smiled so big for thousands of years. Yes, father, I know, you must be ashamed, I could have handled these things better than I did, much better. But look at me now; I hope you're at least a little proud of your son, your Yehudah?

This boy, this young man, this is Israel from now on, he decides. Of all his names, Israel he likes best, and Daniel Vendelovich is the one he loathes- because Daniel Vendelovich will always be known as the victim. Because Daniel Vendelovich was the boy, little nineteen-century-old (and more) boy who knew nothing but torture and suffering, the one who received nothing but pity. No, it ashamed him, this name, because above all, Daniel Vendelovich was weak and more than that, that boy was too human and he couldn't survive.

Israel was he who survived the worst and he lived. Israel was the victim but now always; Israel was human, but not completely, and Israel was a warrior and fighter since the beginning of his life, since the childhood that he cannot remember. Israel could still smile, the way he smiles now; Israel was a winner and a loser in the battle, and Israel would soon be more than two thousand years old, soon he'll even have a birthday, probably, because Israel was the one who still could believe that things will turn out alright, even after seeing the world at its worst.

Israel would forever be the man in the mirror; looked more like a boy, but still closer to a man. This image fits, Israel thinks.

He takes his gun. Time to go to battle, to fight for his home. Time to protect the holy ground, the city of Jerusalem, and his land.

(Because even when he'll stop believing in Him, even when the human in him does, this ground, this city, this land; it is his home, and it will always be holy to him.)