Corpses and blood littered the formerly green field as a small child stumbled across the place, her clothing covered in a red substance. Her brown eyes displayed fatigue, and her movements predicted her eventual fall down into the floor. The former country had been defeated, beat up by one of her areas. France had not been merciful, her wounds very obvious to others. She was the Carolingian Empire, one of the greatest to have ever taken place in Western Europe. She shouldn't be here. But somehow, Carolingian was still walking, breathing. That's when she realized that nothing would be the same again.
"But how... Aren't I supposed to be dead? Gone? Goodbye?" As the words were spoken, the girl looked up, brown hues meeting blue ones. The man, France, was hovering over her almost lifeless figure, stretching a hand out to beckon her. He was sorry for it all, and planned to take care of her. But first, Francis had to make her forget all about her old self. Apparently, having spent a lot of time with the Moors, Carolingian remembered only one word, al-durra, and that's why Francis, having figured out a new name for her, called the small child Andorra. Yes, quite the fine name. It meant pearl, and with the way she walked, the sunshine shining off her slightly tanned skin, it made it shine like a pearl in the sunlight. The long walk home was tiring, but when Francis arrived, he went down to Andorra's level and talked to her.
"My name is Francis Bonnefoy. Your name is now Andorra, or Charle Bernat i Bonnefoy. I will take care of you, and we'll heal together. I know we will.
As th newly named Charle looked up, staring at Francis, a small smile crept up her face as she lunged towards Francis, trapping him into an optimistic bear hug. It was looking easy to take care of her, but boy, was Francis wrong. Charle was a storm, a high-maintenance person who often ran around, trampling dirt all over Francis' rugs. But he didn't mind it at all. At least she forgot.