It was a dark, cold evening in the dead of winter, the trees barred from their leaves and the ruins of the charred city a deep purple in the night. The sky was without stars or a moon, and very few crickets chirped into the night as soft, small footsteps were heard in the abandoned ruins. The buildings were spotted with cracks and spots of ash and some monuments were shattered into million pieces of marble onto the ground. The items inside the buildings were mostly gone, apart from overturned chairs, broken tables and empty bottles.

A boy in black walked in the dreaded night, a broom in his hand and a half slice of bread in the other. He seemed pale and his clothes were dirtied with blood and mud. Purple bags were under his eyes as he blinked sleepily, his footsteps became more slower and slower as he gave a yawn.
He walked into a building that had pillows, blankets and a group of 5 men that were fixing some meat over a fire.
He gave a small smile at his comrades, but sighed as he walked to the far corner where the pillow and blanket were set up at.
He was tired of the wars he fought in, and he wanted to go home.
To his bed. To real food.
To his friends, people and family.
To his daily readings...
His daily training.
His lovely Chibitalia.
He frowned as he crawled under the thin blanket, ate his food and set the broom beside him and soon fell asleep, hoping to dream of seeing them again.

Cold sweat dotted his head as he suddenly jolted up from his sleep, a small clinking noise heard somewhere not far away.
He wiped his eyes as he looked all around the dark. The fire was smolded out and the rest of the men were sleeping soundly under their own blankets.
He blinked once. Twice. Thrice.
Another small noise, and he jumped at the sound.
'Maybe I should investigate...'

As he walked outside, the night grew cooler and he shivered as he brought his cape close to him the crumbled buildings held an ominous atmosphere; something terrible was going to happen. He can feel the pressure of fear weighing down on him
Heavy footsteps were suddenly heard behind him.
He gasped and froze; his icy blue eyes wide with fear, he reached to his waist to pull out his sword to defend himself.
Only to feel nothing.
He dropped his mouth open as he realized he was defenseless, and heard a 'shing' in the night.
The crickets then became quiet.
He gulped as he shivered more, not out of coldness, but also in fear too. When the crickets were quiet, something horrible was wrong.
Something very horrible.
Suddenly, a sharp pain in his left chest.
He cried out in pain as he felt a warm liquid down his stomach and leg, and looked down to see a sword plunged into his chest.
Another sword went through him, this time in his lower right abdomen.
He gasped as his face was paler than paper, and his knees gave out on him.
He went to scream, but blood pooled through his mouth as he fell to his knees and a puddle of warm blood circled him. He shook more as his blood trickled down his body and his chin, and he fell to his side, shaking in compulsions of shock.
He hurled and coughed up blood as his vision became clouded, and he looked up to see a figure in black and white clothing.
"I'm sorry," they whispered as they knelt down to him and clamped his mouth with a gloved hand, "but it's for the best." And the sharpest pain went through his heart.
He gasped as he felt his body go haywire, his eyes wide in shock and his throat itching for a scream.
He trembled as more blood poured from his mouth and wounds, his vision now hazy that only the person above him was seen in colors.
His head lolled to the side before red came into his view, and he laid there, swallowing for air, scratching, clawing at the ground.
He felt the need to shout. Shout for help. He needed to warn the others!
The person lifted their hand from his mouth, and he opened his mouth to have blood trickle down his cheek, and horrified icy blue eyes fading into black.
No. No. No!
He can't; not now!
His thoughts grew hazy as he flicked his eyes open and he took his final breaths, his wild heart slowly beating to a stop as his life flashed before him.

The delicate music Roderich played on his piano.
The laughs and pretty Elizabeth that always helped them out whenever they were in a bind.
But only one person stood out above the two.
The flowing maid dress s/he always wore.
The broom s/he always carried.
That perfect laugh. That sweet, delicate voice.
Her/his rosy pink cheeks.
The cries he heard.
The joy she gave him.
The happiness he felt.
The one he truly loved deeply.
He wouldn't see them again. Never.
If you love someone, you would die for them to show your true love.
Right?

"You'll come back, right?" Chibitalia cried as s/he ran up to him.
"Of course! I'll come back as everything settles down."
S/he sniffled. "P-Promise?"
"I promise."
S/he then hugged him before giving him a kiss.
A kiss that his mind would forever remember. A kiss that burned with weeping love, joyous passion, flowing sadness, beaming happiness and a ray of hope.
That first and last kiss he ever got from the one he loved most.

'I...I p-p-promised...I'd b-b-be b-back...' he choked on more blood, and reached inside his cape to pull out a ring that had the words encased 'I promise' on it.
His last breath was then given up by three words.
'Never forget me.' He gurgled as his heart gave out its last beat, and his arm thudded to the ground, the ring clinking on the ground. His blood grew cold around him as it stained his clothes and wounds, and his face grew very pale and his breathing stopped.
The figure behind him picked up the ring soon walked away, hiding around the corner and pulling out a sword that held a black cross on it. A symbol for the Teutonic Knights, and the Teutonic Knights only.
"I'm sorry," he hid the ring in his pocket, jumped on his gray horse and galloped away into the night.

He was then buried by his comrades and soon forgotten. He was buried by a large blossom tree and given a proper burial before they weeped for the poor soul. They promised to never tell his true love of the tragic news for fear of major problems and lots of weeping grief.
Holy Roman Empire faded away like the setting sun, and only one person remembered him.
Chibitalia.

Chibitalia still waited for him to come back.
And waited.
And waited.
and waited.
And waited for his one and only true love to come back.
If he ever does.
And he still waited.

I honestly wrote this a long time ago. This was the only thing that was actually finished in my files and I sorta regret posting this as my very first hetalia story. Oops.

More to come soon!