France languidly opened his eyes to the morning sun that came to wake him. It was unbelievable, a sunny day in this place. He rolled over and saw England asleep. He didn't frown for once and didn't make much noise either. Just a soft snoring that sounded like a purring cat. France smiled, oh if he was tranquil like this more often! He would be liked by a lot more people. Then again, he wouldn't be England anymore either. He got out of bed and stretched. The house was still chilly, as if the cold never really crept out of it. Wrapped in a sheet he walked towards the open window. A lovely scent was coming in, it was coming from the garden.
He turned to his sleeping partner and sighed. He thought England's garden was wild and unruly, like himself. It almost couldn't be called a garden, it stretched on for kilometres and it was hard to determine where garden stopped and the forest began. There were even little streams and hills. His own gardens were well tended, wit geometrical shaped hedges and shruberies. To be able to shape nature like that, it showed the superiority of men, and of al men he himself was the most superior. However he felt something when looking upon so much green, something that all the trimmed flowerbeds of Versailles couldn't get across.
On a sunny day after rain, it smelled irresistable. It was the same something he adored in England himself. It was savage, outragous an insult to his culture, yet it sometimes felt so right.
A little morning's walk wouldn't hurt. It was early, England wouldn't be up anytime soon…
Clad in one of Englands long trenchcoats he made his way trough the garden. His own had been much to thin. He usually wouldn't be caught dead in this coat but this was a garden: who would see him here?
When walking past a small coblestone wall France began to feel uneasy, he heard someone just now. It was just rustling and footsteps. After walking on for a bit he was sure. He just heard a goat. What a weird place for a goat. Alongside the path fields of bluebells bloomed between the trees. The flowers were lovely but somehow they made the uneasy feeling worse. It felt as if there was something very wrong.
He turned the next corner and there, on a clearing between the trees she stood. France stopped in his tracks and stared. She was beautifull. Between the trees there were indeed goats eating the folliage of bushes and young trees. She stared at him with a cheeky but mature smile, somehow mischeivous. She got small dimples in her cheeks when she smiled and her eyes got a mysterious glitter.
"Bonjour monsieur, Etez vouz maitre Kirkland son visité? "
Her French came out hesitatingly, it was clear she wasn't used to speaking it. France had to blink a couple of times to switch back from using English with England.
"Merci, for trying my dear."
He moved a bit closer held his hand near his mouth as if whispering a secret.
"I hate to admit it, but I can speak English."
He noticed suddenly that she'd said 'maitre' Kirkland, master? Was this girl Englands servant? She was radiantly beautiful, without a blemish. France noticed he'd been staring at the ground because she was too much to look at. Her long green dress seemed to long for her, it completely hid her feet, not quite convenient when herding goats it seemed. She wasn't an innocent beauty, her long legs were accented by that green dress, her hips leant a bit to the side, her dress had a deep cut for a servants dress, and her face… It was mature yet sweet, with thick plump lips that were parted seductively, ears that would be lovely to whisper into, deep green eyes that sparkled from behind a lush mass of dark curls. Her dark brown hair glinted coper in the sunlight but seemed black where it caught shadow.
"What are you doing here all by yourself?"
France walked over and hoped his grin wasn't too predatory. He was so lucky to meet her here, alone.
"I'm looking after my masters cattle. Don't tell him tough. I'm not his servant, it's more a friends gesture."
France seated himself between the odd blue flowers. He patted the ground so she could sit next to him. She did and now he noticed how long that odd dress actually was: even when she was seated he couldn't even see her feet, unfortunately no peeking underneath it.
He made sure to compliment her beauty, make her laugh her tingling laugh, casually touch her.
"Monsieur you are quite the charmer. May I ask you something… a bit preposterous?"
France nodded.
"Are you already with somebody? Do you have a lover?"
Francis felt where this was going and whispered a soft. "No I don't"
"Will you make love to me?"
Her hand was gliding down her throat to her breast. She fondled a nipple trough the fabric and stared at France her lips parted and awaiting.
It was sudden but it saved France a lot of courting and time. On top of that, to see her do thouch herself like that send fire trough him.
He was too busy kissing her to notice the goats had dissapeared. Or that the bluebells let out a tingling sound as if they were real bells and not flowers. Funeral bells. Her hand moved up his leg and pressed between his legs, while her mouth moved to his neck.
France was in extacy. She was not only the most beautifull creature on the world, she was also skilled at this!
He moved his hands over her hips and pulled up the fabric of her dress. He stopped and his mind wouldn't proces it.
She had goats' legs.
The next moment he felt an excruciable pain in his neck. Many small needle like teeth were ripping his skin. Her grip was suddenly too strong to esccape from. He knew he was losing a lot of blood and the world was already blurring.
When France came to he was in bed. Englands bed, the same they had shared for the night. That must've been the most horrible dream ever. His heart was still racing. An attempt to move his head made him realise it hadn't been a dream. The sharp pain in his neck made him whine long and low. When his fingers wandered up there he felt a bandage. What had happened? Had England…
England was in a chair facing the window.
"What is this England? No 'thank god you're awake my beautifull France'?"
He was actually quite hurt the other didn't ask.
"If you have the strength to, then leave." was the reply. It came cold and emotionless.
Now he was furious.
"What kind of lover are you? I could've been seriously hurt!"
Englands figure in the chair seemed to tense.
"Yes, if I hadn't saved your sorry ass you would've been! I should've just left you there!"
England suddenly fell silent. France knew England long enough to know the other was fighting back tears.
France sat up. He was still wearing all his clothes and got out of the bed. In the dooropening he turned to stare at the chair.
"Why do you act as if it's my fault that there is a fucking, daytime vampire in your garden?"
This resulted in a long frustrated cry from England. "Not a vampire! You fucker, that was a Glaistig! A fucking Glaistig. Why did it have to..."
Then all that could be heard was tortured sobbing. France suddenly had the feeling that it might not have been his right to be angry. He didn't like the feeling one bit. It was way to close to feeling guilty.
Slowely he walked back into the room and knelt beside the chair. England was ugly when he cried. France put a comforting arm around England.
"England what is a Glaistig?"
He was swatted away by a painfull punch. England did sit up straight now and rubbed his eyes untill they were red and puffy but dry. He began to speak, his voice flat and raw. All the while he stared out of the window, not sparing France even the smallest glance.
"It's a faery. It apears as a beautifull woman, but has the legs of a goat. She hides them by wearing a long green dress."
England continued as if he was reading it from a book. A school text he'd memorised from reading the book to often. France didn't quite believe what England was saying. He could've just seen the psycho bitch and chased her away, now making this up.
"Like most fairies she's extremely double natured. She is especially kind to children and sometimes herds cattle as a friendly gesture."
Now France started to believe England. They had been alone when she had told she was herding the cattle. England couldn't have known.
"She is also a blood sucking monster that seduces men and then feeds on them. In old times she'd ask them to dance but she's gotten a bit more direct nowadays. Luckilly she only feeds on the unfaithfull."
A wry smile had made its way to Englands face. France felt empty now. He couldn't appologise, he'd said he was sorry to often. It would've been meaningless. Instead he got up. "I see. I'll leave then."
It was the best he could offer England at the moment and he left.