This is the shortest thing I've written in a while, so I suppose it's a drabble. I haven't written Hetalia in a while, so please forgive me if I horribly mangled the characters.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
How the melody carries so beautifully through the air; she knows she can't play as well as him, but she still tries. She's happy when he applauds her on a splendid performance; that's what he always tells her. She had heard him play once and how she wishes he would play for her again, but he only plays after she leaves the house. For weeks she would wait for him to play, but for now, he only wished for her to play—she wouldn't question him.
Today, he tells her, will be different. She will be performing in front of a group. He feels that she is ready, though she promptly denies it. He chuckles softly, innocently caressing her cheek with his index finger. She blushes and agrees in a soft tone.
He bought her a beautiful gown; a vibrant green that would match her eyes. Her eyes, he tells her, are beautiful. She prepares herself, allowing one of the chambermaids to twist her mousy brown hair into a neatly braided bun. He is suddenly in her room and dismisses the maid. Slowly he walks over to her and she takes in his appearance. How wonderful he looked in his noble attire. His dark blue coat adorned with medals from the war; his hair slicked back in a professional manner. She suppresses a sigh, batting her eyelashes.
He stands behind her, gazing at her through the mirror. She stares at herself. She wished she could always wear this—she never felt more beautiful.
He traces his slender fingers across her ivory skin; along her collarbone, up her neck, and along her jaw line. She never felt more beautiful. He cranes his neck slightly and aligns his mouth with her ear, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine. She will not speak, he tells her, to anyone downstairs. She is meant only to play. He pecks her cheek with his soft lips. Suddenly, she is thrown back into her place and remembers why she cannot feel for the man next to her. She is not like him.
He is gone and she is left feeling less than the dirt on the floor.
