Author's Note: Please give me any constructive criticism you can think of. I would really appreciate it. Also, try and guess who the two monarchs are!
Disclaimer: Hetalia does not belong to me in any way shape or form.
There were many years, thousands and thousands of days, which England could not remember.
Inconsequential moments had begun to meld together until they were just flashes of colours or vague impressions in his thoughts. His old monarchs were snaps of life, pride and often (sometimes, Arthur regretted, not so often) fear or uppity British scepticism, but most of them were just brief imprints of emotions while the little mannerisms of his Kings, Queens and legends which he had adored so much were cast into the murk of his mind, unable to resurface.
There was red hair under the pads of his fingertips, and a small, glowing face looking up at him. She tilted her head to the side and smiled ponderously, a closed mouth, sincere expression.
"Does it feel lonely?"
England knew that he would not remember everything. He had resigned himself to this.
It made the empty spaces in his life no easier to bear.
A weary but, most importantly, kind and warm face looked down at him.
England had always thought that his King had the most soulful eyes, not only because they seemed to reflect everything he wished for but because they also, quietly, spoke of everything he wished would wither.
"You have been good to me." The man laid a hand on his head, firm and comforting, and smiled at him.
Arthur looked up at him delightedly.
However, his memory proved to be most treacherous when he discovered that his memories of World War II were beginning to…dessert him.
There were hollers, screams, crunches and gunshots; sounds everywhere. They engulfed the air.
"Run," His breath was coming faster than the men's bodies which hit the ground, "Run!"
The lad's head in front of Arthur rolled, lolled and his entire body shuddered. He dropped.
Choking, squinting and shouting, England tried, "Please, god, run!" He screamed, "Run!"
