He stands there in the snow, eyes closed, scarf blowing in the harsh winter wind. In his mind, he sees a field of sunflowers stretching out in front of him, the yellow contrasting against the bright blue sky.
"Прощайте, until the day I can see clear skies. Прощайте, facing the darkness so I can collect my confused thoughts. Прощайте..."
He opens his eyes, and the illusion melts away to reveal a cold, barren stretch of snow devoid of life as far as the eye can see. He smiles, shivering slightly.
That's right; he's all alone, isn't he? They all left him, because they're afraid of him. Why are they afraid? He's always smiling, isn't he? So why do they all run from him when they see that smile? How could they possibly be able to see through that friendly smile, the one that hides a broken soul frozen by the harsh, cold winter? Russia isn't a bad person, right?
Just keep smiling... never let the mask slip.
He scoops up a handful of snow, as though he is a child again, having a snowball fight with his sisters.
No, I mustn't think of them, it will only make me sad...Russia doesn't want to be sad...
He watches with cold, dead eyes as it melts away in his hand, slipping away through his fingers.
We're not so different from each other, are we, snow? Both seemingly pure and innocent at first glance, yet cold and deadly if not treated with caution... perhaps even something to be feared...
He reaches into his pocket and draws out a knife. He looks at his reflection in the blade. A pleasant smile, but eyes as cold and hard as the blizzard surrounding him.
All I wanted was for everyone to become one with Russia... then we could all be friends and live together in a warm place filled with sunflowers and happy things, where nobody will ever be afraid of Russia and run away from him ever again...
He runs a finger across the blade of the knife, leaving a deep cut. Blood begins to run down his hand and drip onto the pure white snow on the ground.
Red looks so pretty against the white snow...
He lets a single tear slide down his face, unaware of the figure walking towards him through the blizzard.
"Ivan...? You'll catch cold if you stand out here in the snow..."
(a/n): Fail story is fail. Also, I'll leave it up to your imagination to decide who that was at the end – I know who I imagined but everyone ships Russia with different people, and this was not intended to be a shipping fic.