AN: Hello everyone! Welcome to my new story! I'm not sure how I feel about it yet, so I'm putting out this prologue to see what others think of it. Please leave reviews! Warning: lots of violence and gore in this.

Siberia, late 1950s

Blood. Red, hot blood splattered everywhere. On the floor, on the walls, on my clothes, and even a bit on the ceiling. The sight, the smell of blood clouds my senses. It's what I live for. Screams of pain fill my ears in a beautiful symphony. I smile as I cut deeper, coaxing more and more blood out of my helpless victim strapped to the table in front of me. I chuckle as I think of the scars this will leave. I hear small whimpers coming from my victim, and I burst into giggles. All I see is red, red blood.

Words. I hear words. Chanting? I can barely register them with the bloodlust blocking out everything but the blood. But now I'm feeling something. For the first time in my life, I feel the blood as it splatters across my face. I lick my lips, and I taste its coppery flavor. I feel the blood in my eyes, so I swipe the back of my hand across my face. My vision clears, my mind clears, and I take in the horror before me.

For the first time in my life, I register the dark stone room I frequently occupy. I feel the blade in my hand as it drips blood down my arm. I look down at the man I've been torturing for the past few hours. I've completely torn his back up with my knife after whipping him and breaking many of his bones. Honestly, I'm surprised he is still alive at this point.

"This man's name is Lithuania. You did this to him."

"Who said that?" I ask quietly. I surprise myself, as that is probably the most I have ever spoken.

"I did." I turn around to see a blonde haired man with bright green eyes holding a big, black book. I silently wonder how I know any color other than red.

The man's words slowly start to sink in. I turn back to the man chained to the table. His brown hair and bloody back are all I can see. I think he has finally passed out. Or maybe he's…

"Oh, God," I say very quietly. "What have I done? How do I even…?"

"I've cast a spell on you," says the blonde man. "I've given you a soul, something you didn't have before. Everything you've done up to this point, you've done without any thought of your own. Now, you have a conscience, and you have the ability to make your own choices."

"But why?" I ask. I have no idea who this man is, or why he would help me. Is this helping me?

"Because this can't go on any longer." He gestures to the man on the table. Lithuania. I feel a heavy tug in my chest just for knowing his name. How long have I been torturing him? Years. There were others, too. I can't remember what they were like. I have a feeling I wasn't as horrible to them, but I don't know? I start breathing heavily. I feel my eyes widen as I gape at poor, broken Lithuania.

"Is—" I gasp, "is he…?" The blonde man steps over a puddle of blood to walk over to the table.

"No, he's still alive. Just barely." He looks me straight in the eyes. "I can heal him a little, but you'll have to finish tending to his wounds."

"I—" I stutter. I take a deep breath. "Yes, I will. But I don't think that will make up for this." I look at my feet. They are bare and caked in blood. My long, silvery hair falls in front of my face. I see that also is drenched in bright, red blood. Lithuania's blood.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look up at the blonde man, and he gives me an uneasy smile that is probably meant to be reassuring. "It's not like you had a choice," he says quietly. "Why don't you go wash up a little while I heal him?" He gestures to a small sink in the corner of the dark room. I am surprised that I have not noticed it there before. Have I ever used it? My life up until just a moment ago is a blur of violence and bloodlust.

I shakily walk over to the sink, wincing whenever I step in a puddle on the floor. There is a small, dirty mirror above the sink. I flinch away from my blood-covered reflection. I wonder how the blonde man doesn't scream in terror at my appearance. I feel something drip down my face. Blood? I look in the mirror to see water flowing from my eyes. What is this? My eyes widen, and I gasp when I meet my reflection's eyes. I quickly turn on the water and scrub at my face. When I can see the pale skin on my hands, I finally venture a look in the mirror again. I am shocked as dark blue eyes meet mine. They hold so much depth while seeming flat and hard at the same time. As much of a blur my life may be, there is one thing I know for sure.

I had red eyes.