"I love you. But you're not mine" - The corpse bride. Hungary wonders why he can't love his wife. We know the answer.
Disclaimer : I don't own Hetalia
You're not mine
Annelise wasn't pretty. She was beautiful. A brown haired porcelain doll with long gowns and sweet smiles. Everything about the piano player was sweet and soft; soft curls, soft smooth skin, sweet gazes of her soft violet eyes as her long slim fingers run on the ivory keys of her black grand piano-à-queue, playing gracefully, filling the halls with Mozart and Bach, Chopin and Beethoven.
Austria was innocent, caring and wonderful as he loved her through the night, skin against skin, his teeth nipping at the tender flesh of her neck. Hungary couldn't help but feel guilty each and every night, when he holds her in their bed. He felt like a liar. He just couldn't love his own damn wife. (He couldn't. Really.) He didn't even know why. (Well actually he just didn't want to admit it to himself.) The answer to his predicament, this unknown factor in the equation who stopped him from loving Annelise, was a certain albino.
She told him everything on his wedding day. (Every-fucking-thing). He rejected her.
"I love you but you're not mine. I understand. Farewell, Daniel." He can't forget this words. Not matter how hard he tries. (He tries so hard.) But he just couldn't and he know –oh he knows far too well. She confessed and didn't even care about it. Loving her? It was impossible for him to do it. Or he just didn't want to. Probably the latter. Annelise Edelstein was everything he could hope for. She was a true lady, but her cousin, she was….special.
Julchen was Austria's polar opposite. She wasn't beautiful. She wasn't pretty. She was just Julchen. She was loud and annoying and obnoxious. She wasn't soft she was hard. (Had she ever been soft at one point in her life?) Hard mucles, hard scars on her pale rough skin. Her white hair was messy and tangled. (She didn't have the time to brush it like everyone. She never have the time for herself) her eyes were crimson. Like blood. Like fire.
She wasn't a lady. She was a warrior. She wasn't graceful. She was cold blooded, covered in scars, experienced and military disciplined when she needed to be. She wasn't sweet. She was evil itself, raining hell upon earth. (Every battle was the Armageddon when she participated). She wasn't a girl. She was the White Beast. She paints the world red and purple with her sword. A she-devil crushing the skulls of the fallen with her blood stained heels. A red-eyed demon turning golden cities into smoke and ashes, and cinders into even more beautiful cities.
She was Julia Maria Bielschmidt, living life like war. Savage. Disciplined. She was Prussia The Great. Europe's conqueror, Europe's fear. The oncoming storm. A monster. A fighter. Everything and nothing at the same time. Unlike the other countries, she kept changing. She had been Prussian Enclave, Teutonic Order, Duchy of Prussia, Prussian Kingdom, Prussian Empire, and East Germany… She have been a barbarian, a Viking, a knight, a nun (a goddamned nun, for fuck's sake!), a woman, an older sister, a soldier, a hunter, a pirate, a daughter, a teacher but most importantly, she had been his friend?
She lights up the world with her rare, really genuine smiles, the sound of her flute and her silly jokes. (He loves her flute. More than the piano.) She's the one painting the forest green and gold, running through them like a white rabbit. She's cocky. (He can see behind the smirk) She still cries every night, when her brother was asleep. (Julchen cried. It's not crying if no one sees you). Her memories haunted her. She cried for the fallen knight, the victims, the martyr, Old Fritz. (Especially Fritz) The ghosts of her past never left her, hiding in the shadows of her lonely, emptiness of her room.
He wanted to comfort her but it was too late.
(He was always too late.)
He was late and now he was stuck with a wife he'll never be able to love.
(He was stuck away from Julchen.)
He was stuck in love.
He was stuck in sadness.
(Wasn't it the same thing?)
"I love you but you're not mine" She had been wrong. Daniel was hers. Totally. Fully. But she didn't belong to him. He couldn't lock the German eagle in a cage even out of love. She wasn't his and she won't ever be. Prussia belongs to the people, the good and the evil, the soldier, the civilian, the martyr, the victim, to the prophet, the liar, the honest, the leaders, the pariah, the victor the messiah. She belongs to the world, the battlefields, her Kaiser and her brother.
There was no place for an ex-cross-dressing servant, a peasant like him, because that's who he was after his barbarian days and before his wedding while she had been fighting and burning up like the sun, shining like the moon in the dark, clad in her golden glory.
Maybe they'll be able to find happiness together in another, simpler life where they won't be Prussia and Hungary. Just Julia and Daniel.
Julchen and Danny.
(He know deep down she'll always be Prussia. She's too strong to disappear.)
But he hoped.
He loved her.
He loved her just a bit too much to be happy.
