Alice couldn't remember the last time anyone had recognized her. For years, she had been but a shadow of her former self, lost in her younger brother's power. But it wasn't just small changes, no. No, slowly, as her brother had settled, she had been pushed further and further aside...even by Arthur himself, for the nations no longer recognized her as one of them, as England. They recognized Arthur.
In recent months, the effects had worsened dramatically. More than once, she'd found herself looking in a mirror, and more than once, she'd watched as her reflection flickered and started to become transparent, only to snap back to normal. Though she never mentioned it to Arthur, she knew why this was happening.
Alice was simply not needed anymore. With Arthur so settled, so grown up, more and more of her former duties had fallen to him. And with it, her claim as the entity of England. She was fading, no doubt, just like Germania, Rome, the Holy Roman Empire...like her mother, Britannia.
Which was why, one cold evening in December, she was out by the snow-covered graves and memorials of the other nations that had passed and those of the most honored leaders. She knelt down in front of her mother's memorial, snowflakes settling in her hair, before she started to speak, as she always did.
She started first with news of her brother, and how he was doing, as always. When she ran out of things to tell, she spoke of what little political news she had, but didn't really have much to say. Eventually, she found herself speaking of her own problem, her voice soft. While she was speaking, she became less and less solid, and it wasn't long until the former entity was naught but snowflakes on the wind, and a lingering scent of tea and mint.
One material object remained fluttering around on the wind as it was carried toward Arthur's house. The object was a note, folded neatly and tucked into a light brown envelope, and the name 'Arthur' was penciled on the outside.
However, it was not Arthur that the letter found; Alfred, visiting Arthur for the sake of political matters, was out wandering Arthur's land when he saw a note gliding lazily on the wind. He easily caught it out of the air, and without looking at who it was addressed to, began to read.

'Dear Arthur,
If you are reading this, then I have, at long last, faded. I know that you will be sad, upset, and that you will drunkenly blame yourself; don't. After all, I raised you for this, and I knew it would happen someday.
Arthur, I have cared for you ever since mom faded from history so long ago, but now it is time for you to fly on your own. You are brave, and you are strong...I have faith in you.
Now, just like our mother, my age of power has passed. I too approach the end that nobody speaks of, the end that out predecessors met, and so I have written this letter to you and keep it near.
Please, tell the others that it was an honor to know them all, even if we were strangers in the end. Tell our brothers I love them.
Don't mope about Alfred. Though you were the one who knew him, even I could tell that he was ready to grow up.
Never forget that I love you, Arthur.
Love,
Alice'

Alfred felt tears streaming down his cheeks, both from the loving simplicity of her final good-bye to the fact that she was gone. The normally upbeat nation was somber and downcast as he refolded the letter and went to take it to Arthur.
At her memorial service a few weeks later, only Arthur, Alfred, and the other Britannic brothers attended.
When it was over, Alfred waited for the others to leave before he knelt down by the neat and clean plaque, his fingers running over the etched letters of her name as he allowed his tears to run freely again. "Alice, even if I didn't really know you that much," he started, pulling a rose from his coat and setting it down, "I never really forgot you."
Somewhere amongst the faded nations, Alice's tears mirrored his.