[Your POV]
You are fed up with him; tired, and most importantly, almost to the point of breaking. You are currently walking with Gilbert Beilschmidt, and he was rambling on about you, but not in a good way, he was talking about how he didn't know why he stayed with you, insulting you roughly throughout his whole preaching. You don't really listen to what he has to say, and you don't care. You hear a snippet of a vile and snide comment, and you exhale sharply, looking up into the wintry January air, you see your warm breath floating away into nothingness, wishing Prussia would do the same. You don't want to be with him, in this relationship, anymore, you hadn't for a while; you're tired of covering up the bruises he gives you when he gets mad, though you've gotten so many in the past two years that you are almost an expert in covering them up. You hate how you can't tell anyone, he had threatened to kill you, your family, and even other countries you were friends with! If you tried to end the relationship, the same threats poured from his mouth that had forced you into a kiss so many times. He realizes you aren't listening to his rant, and he proceeds to stand in front of you, grab your arms, hard, and look straight into your eyes viciously. "Hey, I'm talking to you _! You can be such a bit*h sometimes, and you'd better clean up your act, or I'm leaving you." For a split second, you feel hope, hope that he actually will leave you, but the smarter part of you knows he never will. You stand silent, avoid eye contact, and he continued: "I really should be finished with you; you're nothing but a whore!" Your (color) eyes snapped up to meet his conniving red ones, and it came; you broke, snapped, and things you bottled up for so long they seemed dusty in your mind fly from your mouth in an instant. "Me? Don't you dare put this all on me! Ever since I moved in, you've changed! You aren't the man I used to love! Now you're just a bast*rd who doesn't appreciate me!" It was true, you had loved Prussia, and he had loved you, but something happened, and he wasn't the same… not anymore. Now he was malicious, cold-hearted, and an abuser. But that was it; you'd crossed the line with that comment. He brought his arm back as far as he was able, and before you realized what was happening, he had thrust his fist forward, his hard, practiced-in-fighting knuckles connected with your right cheekbone, and you heard a crack as you reeled back, stunned, and fell into the snow littering the ground around you, moaning at the pain. You know he wasn't finished yet; he would make sure you had to use all your make-up covering up the bruises and pain he inflicted on you. You close your eyes, arms and hands instinctively going to your head and face, trying to protect the vital areas, but nothing happened for a long amount of seconds, yet you still hear a shuffling sound around you. You slowly and apprehensively opened your eyes, one hand cupping your already bruised cheek, looking up and seeing only the large, and bright full moon above you, not Gilbert. You pull yourself into a sitting position, and suddenly saw why Prussia had stooped his assault on you. He was on the ground, unmoving, his body already mangled and bloody, yet still being torn and ripped to shreds by one, lone wolf. Its white teeth glistened with both saliva and blood as it dove again and again into Gilbert's body, pulling more and more vital organs out and spilling them onto the snowy forest floor. You turn your head; you can't bear to see anymore, and scream: "Get out of here!" You pick up a rock and throw it at the predator, hitting it on the side of the head, even drawing a small amount of blood. It looks up from its gruesome meal, locks its bright yellow eyes with yours and runs into a dense line of trees and foliage. You crawl over to Prussia's body, trying not to look at the entrails spilled on the ground and feel around his neck for a pulse, your hand grazing four deep, blood-spattered claw marks from the top of his neck, down to where his heart is. You feel nothing; he is already dead. A small part of you can't help but feel relieved that your abuser of two years was dead, but you are still a good person, and knowing no person should have to go through something like this, you cry over his body, though the silent moment doesn't last; you hear twigs snapping behind you. You turn, standing as you do so. You quietly gasp at the sight before you, eyes widening. The wolf was back, teeth bared and snarling, ready to taste someone else's blood other than Gilbert's.