Disclaimer: I do not in any way own Hetalia
Alfred picked up his old violin, nostalgia for days long gone by suddenly overwhelming him. He hadn't played in years - centuries, even - and yet…
His fingers plucked at that strings, tightening them until they sounded about right. They were still a bit off, as Alfred never had been able to perfectly identify notes by ear, but strangely enough it didn't sound terrible.
He picked up the bow and ran it across the strings, only to be greeted with a horrible screeching noise. Wincing, Alfred applied rosin to the bow before repeating his previous action, this time for his ears to be blessed with actual music.
Alfred inhaled, then exhaled calmly before beginning to play. Note after note, melody after melody, song after song - each one slightly off, each one more haunting than the last.
Sometime during the night, Alfred F. Jones ceased to be, but the music never stopped. They say that even now, if you visit the old mansion, you can hear a desolate violin playing even still. They say it will only stop playing when the world was as it once was, when it's owner was young - bight, carefree, and happy.
The violin plays on.