White.
He was stuck in white.
So, they chucked him inside a small room painted white huh?
He wasn't so pathetic, was he?
Laughter was tickling his throat. They probably never even thought of locking the doors. They must have thought him to be too weak. Too close to fading, perhaps.
Who did they think they were talking about?
He was a kingdom. He wasn't a feeble state or province that can be so easily dispatched.
Oh right.
Prussia played with his platinum blonde, almost white, hair. He almost forgot. He really wasn't a kingdom anymore. He was just a personification with nothing to represent. His people still lived but his purpose is meaningless. He wasn't Prussia anymore; - just a mere shadow of before.
It was fine.
Closing his eyes- he reviewed memory after memory event after the other under a scrutinizing eye. It was going all according to plan.
He did not intend to be dissolved, mind you, but his primary objective was complete.
I went overboard. Kesese. But it's fine. He's -
His brother was safe. That was enough.
Though, he planned his decline, he couldn't help but feel pity for himself. He could practically hear the scoff and he can imagine the disappointment in Old Fritz's eyes. The kingdom he built up to greatness, reduced to this state, - or lack of it. Pathetic. Old man Bismarck was right. He was always right. Though, that did not matter now.
The crash will come 20 years huh? A little off but you were right. I am no more.
Even if he was given the chance to reverse everything that has been made official and done, he would still make the same decisions. If only for them, he'd go and do all of this and more just to keep them safe.
Who would have thought?
England would probably roll his eyes. The great and mighty Prussia who ruthlessly slayed adversary after adversary, softened by the thought of familial ties.
We were allies too...
What a joke!
But it was true. He loved his family more than he cared to admit. Not just Germany. But Austria, France, Spain, Liechtenstein, Switzerland, Lithuania and all members of the family he found himself a part of over centuries past. He's found family in the Baltics as Old Prussia. He's found family in the Germanic side of the spectrum when Germania found and adopted him. He wouldn't be who he is if it weren't for them.
Besides, this would not probably be his end anyway. He has experienced change before, - some forced. He was determined to remember everything anyway. He wondered what form he would adopt this time around. The thought warmed him and made the throbbing in his limbs go away.
He felt his pockets and took out an image. He straightened the folded object. Stroking the only photo he had of all his family. It was not made by any of the popular photo taking devices of this century. It was more personal than that.
He had hand painted all of the faces. Many of the members had never even met the other. Nonetheless, they were family.
Where are they?
A bitter smile was etched on his face. He knew all of them.
Every brother that he had failed- killed before he could do something to stop the travesty.
He could have made them provinces of some sort.
Every sister he hadn't protected from their demise.
He could have conquered their lands to provide them sanctuary.
The father whom dreamt he'd be great and, now, would be slapped by disappointment.
Germania. Oh Vatti.
He thought that when Ludwig was revived, everything would be different. For the most part, it was. This time, no one else but him was going to take the risk of eternal sleep. He was fine, even rejoiced, by that notion. Fading was easier than to be the one left behind. Now that was hell to behold.
This is better.
All he had to now was wait. Now, it was up to divine intervention to save him. That unnerved his being. It bothered him that he could not do anything but wait for some decision by some unknown entity. With a grim face, he submitted to both ideas. To fade only to meet those who has long passed or staying and gradually forgetting who he was seemed both asinine and beguiling at the same time.
What a sick thought.
It seemed nobody would quite miss him like he would if they were on his shoes. Nobody even bothered to check if he was still breathing. He could understand some. Germany must be held in isolation until those sickos were sure he was six feet under or something similar. He saw how they forced his sweet, innocent brother to sign the wretched document at gunpoint. France is keeping himself away on the Prussian's orders. It would have been way too suspicious for him to linger close. The bastards were wary enough and his longtime friend had been through enough in this war. There's no need to put him under deep pressure after having himself split into two. France needed to heal first. But where was Spain? Hungary? Where were the others?
Did they not care?
Actions speak louder than words.
Prussia let out a sigh.
It was painfully boring here. It was so boring that he noticed a small detail etched on the wall. They really stuck him inside here, huh? Stupid of them, really. Did they think that painting the walls white would change the fact that he knew this place more than they did? He had to give them some credit. They probably wanted the albino man to pass in the place most familiar to him.
If they wanted him to pass, then he'll pass. Not in the way that they're thinking but passing nonetheless. He had a plan on how to. He always had a plan.
He stood up from the bed. He couldn't directly go outside. Dumb as they seemed, they weren't as brain-dead as to not put precautions. They thought him to be dangerous. It would be a new invention of a subcategory of stupid. There were probably cameras and routine guards placed. He would not need to pass them, however.
He made sure to booby trap this place, the best way he knows how.
Now, he knew France. The French man probably ignored his orders and put something that can help him. He was stubborn like that. Prussia comforted him when Joan died. He knew the French would not tolerate another loss. He must have left something that can help him escape.
Checking the bedside drawer, he found an official looking letter. It was sealed in wax which had an intricate F stamped on it. It had a small message on the envelope saying 'Last Words from a Friend'.
Classic Francis!
He even thought of disguising the letter. He did not believe for a second that it was a farewell letter of some design. This is good.
Opening the envelope, Prussia read the content. It read:
To my dearest friend,
The years have not been kind to you. I think that the Great War has changed your mental being. On the battlefield, I could not see the friend I have made.
Raising an eyebrow, he assessed the letter. Verdammt, that is strange.
The tone was accusing. It stretched across the page up until the very last paragraph.
Now, we are getting somewhere.
Prossi! If this is really you, Je suis desole. I could not follow your advice. If you still have the strength to go, open the inside back portion of the envelope. I got you a train ticket out of Stuttgart. I'm afraid you have to get your own means of travel from Bisingen where they are keeping you. You must be confused as to why you were placed there. I managed to convince them. I told them I could feel that you were so close to fading; you would not have the necessary strength to escape anyway. The train ticket will lead you to Berlin. With permission from your brother, I managed to place a French plane there. You know where it is. It is near the library where you've put in your journals. Just know, I have the utmost faith in you, my friend. However, you must be cautious. Tension is still high. You might want to travel at night. I will be expecting you in Paris. You will not be harmed by my people. They will know the plane is friendly. Keep safe, Mon ami.
Your friend,
Francis Bonnefoy
"Thank you." Prussia let out a soft murmur and a wide grin. He knew what to do.
He took off his clothes, leaving himself naked. After placing the discarded clothing on the bed in a strategic manner to create an illusion of a human like figure, he made his way to the small divan in the corner of the room and opened it. He took out a surprisingly unimpressive stick. It was a soft brown with nothing eye-catching except for the small bronze clasp attached to the end.
He pressed a tile forward.
There was a slightly audible rumble as the divan moved to the left; revealing an entrance of some kind. It was large enough so he can slowly go throught in while in a lying position but small enough as to be inconspicous.
He entered the secret closet that once belonged to a King and inserted the stick inside a rack of clothing.
Click!
Leaving the stick he took out a bag prepared in the case where the monarch had to leave in haste unnoticed.
Scanning the racks, he chose a red shirt and matched it with brown slacks. He masked his hair with a worn hat.
It was a lucky break that he woke up in the afternoon. He had plenty of time to prepare and make his way out of the castle.
He needed to lay low for a while. He needed to make sure of what to make of his situation first and foremost. All else can come after.
He searched the bag and saw what he was looking for. He put the .45 pistol in his back pocket. He decided to wear a trench coat to conceal the weapon. He might be able to secure a hair dye after he got out. However, for now, this disguise will suffice.
I don't think I can go back.
They will miss me.
But...
Time will heal them.
I did.
Author's Note :
Hey! This is updated sporadically. So, it may take awhile before the next update. Please tell me if there is a lapse in grammar. I'm afraid English is not my first language. Thank you and I'll see you when I can.