Disclaimer: I own not Hetalia, nor the Cardverse. The girl Hannah, her brother, and father belong to me though, so back off.

Hannah came from a poor farming family in a small village on the skirts of the prestigious Kingdom of Clubs. She had an elder half-brother, two years older than her at twenty-one, and an older half-sister already married to a richer farmer from a distant village. Her mother had died of an illness that had swept the countryside twelve years previous and she lived with her father, a kind man in his late forties who tried his best to provide for his daughter and step-son.

To help her aging father and brother who worked in the fields all day, she babysat the village children for money and mended worn clothes of the other villagers, using the money she earned to give her family food, though her father had her set aside a third of the profits for herself. And now, sitting on a stool in the village head's home, sewing closed a tear in his youngest son's breeches, quietly keeping an eye on his three-year-old daughter who played with wooden carved toys in the corner, she recalled the past month in longing, wishing to go through the time again.

~CLUBS~

It started with word catching fire though the kingdom that their king had died of a dreaded illness, the same one to take her mother's life, and that in a ten days, his eldest, and only, son, Ivan Braginski, would be crowned king of the Clubs Kingdom. Word quickly spread, and Hannah was only able to smile in sadness, knowing her family would not be able to travel to the capital, just as the rest of her village would not be able to.

This fact did not truly depress her, but she had always wanted to see the capital in person, remembering the stories her father told her from when he met her mother there while she was still a highly requested woman of fashion and cloth making. The bustling streets filled with men and women dressed in clothes of finely spun silk and resplendent satin opposite rough cotton and soft wool, colors vibrant and beautiful from every specter of the rainbow, not the dull, drained shades of earth brown, deluded green, wheat beige, and pitch black only seen in the far villages.

Her fate seemed to change, however, when she woke to the neighing of horses and the hushed cooing of a masculine voice the day after she heard of the death of the kingdom's beloved king. Rising from her cot of rough canvas stuffed with hay, pushing away the old wool blanket covering her, she looked to the window, a mere square open to let early morning light shine though in golden hues, she cough barely see the top of a white cover. Rising, she walked to the window to find her father loading an old, beat up cart she recognized at Mr. Curan's donkey haul up with things usually seen for a traveling family. Her parent's bed and blankets, pots and pans, and food, more than she'd seen in her whole life, enough for a weeks travel. She briefly wondered where her brother was before remembering he left for the field two hours before daybreak was even thought of each and everyday save Sunday, a day of the week she forced her father and brother to take as a break until midday. She forgot today was Monday.

"Daddy," she called to him, watching him visibly jump and almost drop the small chest he was hauling onto the cart, the one filled with her family's clothes, both special occasion clothes and old ones, "what are you doing with Mr. Curan's cart?"

He turned to his daughter, head of short, navy cut hair, bleached white from years in the blazing sun, turning red in the rise of the sun, blue eyes hidden behind square spectacles warm as he saw his daughter, standing there, rubbing sleep from her hazel eyes, body conveying how tired she was. Rarely did she let anyone see her so filled with sleep, usually fully awake by the time he saw her, watching her run around the tiny kitchen, putting together breakfast, lunch, and dinner in the raw daylight for him and Joseph, her half-brother. Now he saw her in the fresh of things and particularly liked his daughter showing a vulnerable side, telling him she was yet to be fully grown and ready to leave home.

"Baby girl, I'm getting ready for the trip."

"Trip?" She replied, voice slurred ever so slightly. "Where are you going?"

"Not just me," he replied, walking to the window. "You and Luke are coming to."

Hannah nodded, knowing the decision was final when he used Joseph's nickname, one which branched from his middle name Luther. "Okay, Daddy... Where to?"

He laughed, a deep, belly laugh only she seemed to provoke since her mother died. "Where else at a time like this? We're going to the Club Kingdom's capital, Moscow!"

The dark ash blonde jumped slightly, eyes growing wider as she heard this. "Really?" Her voice couldn't hide the excitement and hope within her. "Are we really going?"

"Of course, after I bring in the final harvest with Luke this afternoon," Hannah's father promised, smile becoming softer a her childish excitement only seen when she was younger than seven. "We leave at sundown."

"We'll, let me get your breakfast and lunch ready!" She replied, grabbing her white apron, not bothering to change her clothing yet. "Will you need dinner tonight, too?"

"No, sweetheart, we'll be eating on the road, okay?" At her nod he was soon back to loading the cart before he was presented with his breakfast and lunch through the window with a stern, "Don't choke while walking, old man."

He scoffed, ruffling her shoulder length bed head even further than it was, making her whine and swat at his hand. Andrew McCullough ran off before his only child Hannah could hit him and off down the dusty road, heading towards the field. Shoulders slumping as he left her gaze, hazy at a distance from her need of glasses like her father, and turned back into the small cottage, pulling the shutters closed behind her and changing into her deep brown skirt, beige poet's shirt, and light brown vest with her apron, slipping on her black flat shoes and fixing her dark ash blonde hair she hadn't been able to wash in weeks.

Leaving home after a fast breakfast, she quickly went through her chores in the small village, babysitting several children without older siblings while mothers attended to their gardens of vegetables, mended clothing in need of help of that day, and then wine track home to her own garden she had, filled with not only vegetables an fruit, but flowers her mother had planted when she first came here years ago with her brother and sister after marrying Hannah's father before she was born.

Finishing her weeding and picking if ripe vegetables and fruit just as the sun began to set she headed back in side, not bothering to fix her dirty clothing as she wrapped dinner, sandwiches with fowl between the slices, in white cotton napkins she never used save for patching clothes she was unable to stitch back together. Sitting down at the small table, it wasn't long before her father and brother came in drenched in sweat, looking satisfied.

"Good fall harvest?"

"Damn straight!" Joseph cheered, throwing a hand in the air. He received a soft laugh from his sister before a shriek as he scooped her up, throwing her over his shoulder. "And now it's time to show you where I was born!"