Yes.

Florida~

Down in the southern regions of America, a state named Florida sat in the shade of a palm tree, reading from a book as the waves crashed upon the beach. His book was about, like he'd read anything else, romance. He eagerly flipped the page, muttering "No, Jessie! He's cheating on you with Madeline..." So engrossed with her dilemma, Florida didn't even feel the eyes boring into the back of his head. Nor did he feel the temperature lower, or hear the footsteps as a lone woman approached him. He only realized his presence when a shadow was cast over the shade of the tree.
Florida looked behind him, recognizing his guest. "Belarus?" He said, confused. What was Belarus doing in Florida? "Are you looking for America?"
"Ne..." She shook her head.
"Oh. Well, is there anything I can help you with?" He carefully folded over the page of his book, setting it down in the pure white sand of the beach.
"Tak..." She nodded, taking a few steps closer to him as he climbed to his feet. "I came here to see you. I have a problem, you see..."
"Oh?" Florida smiled. "I'd be happy to help a nice young lady like yourself." He said, brushing a strand of his brown hair out of his eyes. "Tell me what's troubling you."

~~Author's intervention~~

"Obviously, you've never heard of Natalia's tendency to... Kill things, Florida." Celestial smirked, typing her reply.

~~Back to the current moment~~~

"I'm having a bit of relationship troubles... With my dear Russia." She murmured, standing in front of the tall state with her head bowed. Her shoulders shook lightly. A sudden surge of emotion flooded through him.
"It's alright, Belarus." He rested a hand on her shoulder. "I'll help you with your problem. There's no need to cry." His gentle smile was wiped off his face in that very moment as something slammed into his stomach. "Oh..." He looked down, watching his blood as it soaked through his white shirt. A silver knife was imbedded deeply within his flesh, burning like nothing had burned before.
The Belorussian laughed as she raised her head, the coldness chilling him to the bone. He lifted his own head to meet her eyes, face draining of color. Her eyes reflected the anger and insanity in her mind.
"What... Did I do... Wrong?" He moaned in pain as she twisted the blade before she pulled the knife out, and pushed him to the ground. He landed on his back with a fwump, sand flying around him.
Florida was still confused, he didn't fully understand what had just happened until he placed his hand on his stomach and held up his red-stained hand, coughing. Belarus watched him with a smile still plastered on her face as she gripped the knife tighter in her hand.
"I have nothing personal against you Florida... But my dear Russia could get hurt with America chasing after him." She sighed, watching him struggle to his knees, spitting out blood as it filled his mouth with its metallic taste.
"W-what are you talking about?" He had a feeling she came after him due to his... certain reputation as America's... You know what. But... America wasn't pursuing Russia. He was after England... Florida would have known if he'd changed his mind.
He let out a strangled cry as she pulled on the back of his shirt, hauling him to his feet and slamming him against the tree. His glasses fell from his face as his head banged against the tree trunk, landing somewhere by his feet. He pushed her back, stopping her from stabbing him again. She was strong, he thought, taking nearly all his strength to hold her back. In the end of their short struggle, his arms finally gave out. He gasped in horror as she raised the knife over her head, screaming when she brought it down, slashing the arm he held up to protect himself with. The searing pain clouded his thoughts. His vision was blurry without his glasses. The knife was but a fuzzy blur as it plunged downwards again, cutting through both his shirt and flesh alike. His body seemed unwilling to fight back, more blood spilling down from his mouth, dripping off his chin.
Her next strike, he couldn't even muster enough strength to raise his arm in a pitiful attempt to block.
"Y-you've made a mistake..." He mumbled, barely able to hear his own voice.
It didn't matter in the least. She ignored him, slashing that damned knife with little regard for what part of him she hit. As long as the blade met his flesh, she seemed happy. Eventually, he slid down the tree trunk, falling to his side. A kick to his injured stomach wrenched another dry scream from the state. Another to his face. He heard a crack, and felt blood gushing from his nose. The assault continued, his body growing weaker and weaker as his blood slowly drained from his body, oozing into the sand, creating a thick gritty paste.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, though in reality only a few minutes, the Belorussian ceased her assault and knelt down beside him, running her finger under his chin, collecting a few drops of blood. She rubbed her thumb and her ring finger together, smearing it and then licking it off slowly, as if it were a drip of ice cream rolling down her finger.
"I hope America realizes he can't have my Russia. She pulled a photo from her dress pocket and tore it in half, keeping one side wile the other fluttered through the air, landing by his face. He coughed painfully, body shuddering and blood spattering the photo of a blonde man.
'Ca... Cana...da...' he thought, recognizing the nearly identical younger brother of America. As his vision finally blurred into blackness, he felt something slide through his chest, puncturing the important organ that kept him alive. Oddly, this one didn't hurt as much. The last thing he felt before nothingness was a cold, cold numbness... And then he was gone.

Oh, the irony.