First attempt at a multichaptered fanfic, and I'm terrified.
So, I guess you've already seen the summary and know what you're here for, but I've got to warn you that I'm a very irregular updater (mainly because the muse hates me when I need her). Still I'll do my best to continue this story.
No pairings here, because that's not not the focus of the story (I might mention some of them), but there will be some Prussia/Liechtenstein friendship, and some Prussia/Estonia friendship if I manage to write Estonia (if you know any good Estonia fanfics that I could read, I'll be eternally grateful), but that's still a few chapters ahead.
Also, if you know anyone who'd like to beta this story, please let me know.
I hope you like this fanfic. As always, reviews and constructive criticism are welcome, as well as grammar and spelling corrections.
Thank you for reading.
Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Himaruya.
Prologue: Draw a circle…
Prussia woke up. In itself, that shouldn't be a surprising action, since most people tend to wake up when they can't continue sleeping for one reason or another, but the fact is that Prussia simply woke up. It wasn't because he'd slept a lot (considering he went out with France and Spain last night, he'd barely slept). He didn't wake up because an alarm clock was ringing or Germany had decided it was time for him to get out of bed and do something useful (he didn't own any alarm clocks, and he'd been too drunk to go back to West's, so he'd stayed at France's house; Spain must have been sleeping somewhere in the room too); and he hadn't had any nightmares either (he wasn't afraid, it wasn't any important date, he wasn't far from everything). There wasn't even any sunlight to make him believe that it was time to get up.
The point is that Prussia just woke up, without feeling any pain, without feeling cold or hunger; he woke up and he didn't feel anything, and that's how he knew that there wasn't anything left of him in the world; that no one in the world thought of him as a country. There wasn't a person in the entire world, not one person of the millions that went with their lives every day, who considered themselves as a citizen of Prussia or East Germany, not a single human who thought of him as something that belonged to the present.
"Fuck", he said as he sat up in the… bed? That wasn't a bed, that was the floor (Spain must have gotten the bed, lucky bastard), and he didn't even feel uncomfortable. "Fuck", he said again as he began to realize what that meant: he was a memory, he wasn't necessary and he'd fade away sooner o later, like all memories do.
"I guess this is it, then" he said as he stood up and tried to find his clothes, doing his best to discover in what room he was and to remember where the furniture was placed to avoid bumping into it, keeping his mind occupied before he tried to decide what to do next.
"Well", he said as he opened the door and gave one last look to the room behind him (Spain didn't get the bed either, he noted as he looked at the man sleeping on the floor and at the perfectly tidy bed), "at least it was a good party".
Short, I know. It's the prologue.