Chattering filled the air — old friends caught up with each other, sharing stories of what happened to them during their "isolation." This was the first World Meeting in fifty years, even though everybody still tried to keep in contact.
Everybody, that is, except for one country.
"This whole thing seems a bit . . . cruel, don't you think?"
"He needed to learn a lesson. He'll be okay, he's been through worse." The personification of England sipped tea from a fancy cup, his face betraying no emotion. The coolness with which he addressed essentially abandoning his son for half a century worried Canada.
"Yes, but he didn't deserve to be all alone."
"There are plenty of humans in his country. I don't think it tore him up too much."
"But humans die. Other nations are really the only company we can have."
"You're overthinking this." Anger burned through him. How could he care so little?
"Well, I'm sorry for being worried about my brother! He could be dead for all we know!"
"Your brother nearly killed us all!"
Suddenly, the noise in the room stopped. All eyes were on England and Canada. As it turns out, they were speaking louder than originally intended.
There was an uncomfortable silence, broken only by a light rapping on the wooden door.
"Do you think that's him?"
"Everyone else is here. Who else could it be?"
Another silence. Nobody really wanted to let him in, out of fear of being the first person in his way when he found out that he was the only one in exile.
"I'll get the door," offered Japan finally.
You could hear a pin drop as the island nation approached the door and twisted the handle.
What answered was not America.
It was a little girl none of them had ever seen before.
She had the same wheat-blond hair and cornflower blue eyes as him, but the similarities ended there. While he was stocky and muscular, she was so slim, Canada thought one could knock her over with a breeze. While his skin was light brown, hers was sickly pale, almost gray. She didn't have glasses and her long hair cascaded over her shoulders. She looked to be only around eight years old.
Nobody dared speak. It was, ironically, the missing nation's softspoken twin that broke the silence — how many uncomfortable silences have there been? Two? Three? It was a World Meeting, after all, and those were almost never quiet, although given the situation, he supposed it fit.
"Where's America?"
The girl smiled, though it contained no hint of the childlike innocence someone her age should have. Canada could've sworn he saw a cruel glint in her eyes.
And then she spoke two words in her soft, cold little voice, two words that shot through him almost like a bullet, two words that confirmed his worst fears.
Two words that changed his world forever.
"He's gone."