Tick. Tick. Tick...
Crack.
She is awake in an instant, eyes popping open in a panic. Her cocoon of ice gleams innocently at her, flecks of turquoise and violet in a seamless wall of fractals stitched together like a quilt.
She reluctantly raises her arm, glancing at her pale hand in awe as she presses her fingers to the ice. How long since she had used them last? She smiled weakly at the coolness, watching tiny fractures in the ice fan out from her trembling fingertips.
It has been a very, very long time.
Tick. Tick. Tick...
The World Clock is turning, pulsing with a steady beat that had lulled her to sleep for centuries. She draws in a deep breath and slowly rises, bracing herself on shaking hands, and waits.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick...
CRACK.
She jumps, curling her knees to her chest as she looks up in fear at the ceiling of ice. Something was wrong, for her to be awakened like this. Could it be that it was time already?
She inhales, reaching up and pressing on the cool array of ice, smooth on the inside of her nest but jagged and fierce on the other. They move at her touch, vibrating ever so slightly.
She swallows, pressing her fingers into the ice and frowning as it gives way, allowing the pads of her quivering fingers to dig into it. She slowly retracts her hand, steels herself, and opens her mouth.
Her voice is hoarse, ragged with disuse. She frowns in disgust as only a pathetic whimpering sound comes forth from her blue-tinged lips. She presses, compressing her stomach and filling her cocoon with a single, trembling note. She draws breath, forcing the note louder and louder as it steadily rises in pitch.
She raises her hands, bringing them upward to meet the gradual crescendo of her own voice and grazing the cool, slick walls of her chamber. The walls are moving now, shaking as they pulse to the tone of her voice. She breaks them gradually, shards of ice cracking and tumbling down piece by piece.
She raises her voice to its full volume, arms outstretched and back arched toward the glistening shield of ice. It splits open with a mighty crack, her voice dissolving into a cacophony of blurred tones and the peal of shattering ice.
She raises her eyes to the sky, seeing it for the first time in she isn't certain how long. Just as blue and beautiful as she remembered, dotted with wisps of pale white that reflect off of her glittering irises. A sharp wind tussles her hair, strands of pearly white that reach up as if to join the clouds above her.
She raises herself to her feet, testing her legs. They are unsure, bringing her to her knees in what was once her resting place.
She raises her eyes to look out at the sea, an expanse of deep blue that had waited so patiently for her.
Her lips quirk into a somber grin, more of a grimace than anything.
Finally.
It was finally time.
The teacup falls to the floor with a mighty crash as it tumbles out of England's quivering hand. He staggers, backing up into his kitchen counter and leaning on it as he reels.
Something had happened. Something magical, he is sure, but is at a loss for where it had come from.
A pulse, a sudden overwhelming outburst of a magic so ancient and so terrifyingly wild that it had struck him like a physical blow. The room is spinning from behind his closed eyelids, a dull ache throbs in the back of his skull.
He waits for it to pass, breathing slowly through his nose and pressing fingers into his temples. His legs are shaking, knees knocking together as the shock washes over him. His forehead is covered in beads of cold sweat, which he wipes away with a shaky sigh.
After a few moments, the dizziness subsides. He cautiously opens one eye and gazes into his kitchen, neat and tidy save for the shattered remains of his favorite teacup lying on the floor.
He isn't surprised in the slightest when his telephone rings from across the room.
England unsteadily totters over to it, pressing the receiver to his ear as he leans on the wall for support.
He knows who it is before the caller even utters a word.
"England," Norway says gravely.
"I know," England answers quietly, shaking his head.
"Romania felt it too," Norway adds.
"Mm," England responds as he frowns.
The other end of the line is silent for a moment, unbroken save for Norway's labored breathing. He wheezes, as if winded from a long jog, but England knows better.
"England," he repeats, pausing. He takes the other nation's silence as permission to continue, "Do you think...it couldn't have been..."
"I don't know," England sighs wearily as he draws his free hand to his forehead.
"Are you all right?" Norway asks suddenly, concerned.
"Fine," England mutters, suddenly feeling very drained. His entire body aches, pulsing and throbbing with a sharp cold that makes him shiver.
"You sure?" Norway pries, obviously not buying England's paper-thin front.
"I'm just...very tired, that's all," England admits as he finds himself leaning heavily against the wall, supporting his entire weight on his kitchen, "I think I'll lie down for a bit. Call again if you find out anything," he adds pointedly.
Norway is silent for a moment before promising that he will before hanging up with a soft click.
England wearily places the phone back onto the wall and staggers into his living room. His quivering legs barely bring him to his sofa, which he collapses onto in a heap. His legs dangle onto the floor, but he lacks the strength to move them onto the couch.
He flings a heavy arm over his eyes as he feels himself dozing. His thoughts briefly turn to the teacup on the floor, but it will have to wait. His body is not about to tolerate another jaunt into the kitchen, not now.
His last thought before darkness takes him is a disconcerting one:
something is wrong.
Notes: I'm going to try for a series here. This is part 1, the ending being "Nadir." More to come.