Hello everyone! This is my first Hetalia fiction. I wrote it some months ago and finally decided to post it here as well. Since English is not my native language, there might be grammar errors and typos (though I hope there aren't any), so I'd like to ask you not to ignore them, but correct them :)

~ Luna

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Side note of a bittersweet melody

Silent music was floating through the castle. The quiet, beautiful melody was full of sorrow. Somewhat it suited her, she thought. Its sadness was lingering in the room; it filled her heart, her soul. She was standing in front of the mirror, watching her own reflection in that frilly, long, elegant dress.

A month ago she was out in the battlefield, ardently fighting for her own freedom – she felt hopeful and powerful: then she knew she can do it, she can fight, she can win – she shouted zealous words, she sang songs of hope and then –

Three weeks ago she found herself locked in a cold cell, all left alone, bleeding from several wounds, torn inside – the chains on her wrists were too heavy to bear and the rope around her neck was so tight – it hurt, it hurt, it hurt so much, but she promised herself that she would never cry, never cry –

A week ago people in the prison started to whisper about a compromise – she knew they had to, she didn't want to remain in that cell forever – and she was willing to change.

The day before, soldiers came to her cell and lead her from underground to the highest room – her once so shiny clothes were grey from the prison's dirt, and ragged like a beggar's from a street of Pest-Buda – and she did feel like a beggar. They offered her new, beautiful dresses, they offered her a compromise. And she had to accept it.

A lonely tear fell from her cheeks. She knew she had to go, the ball is about to start – the ball which was organized to celebrate the compromise, her wedding on the next day, her forced, arranged, political marriage.

When she was heading to the hall she decided she won't complain anymore. This was her fate. She would bear it. The sad music was getting louder and louder – it was coming from a room nearby – and then she saw him. The melody echoed in the empty room, like it echoed in her heart; she watched him playing. Long fingers brushed against the black and white keys elegantly – and he was playing with his eyes closed. His handsome face reflected his heart, how he felt sorry and sinful, he poured his feelings into his playing – and she felt it. She was stunned by this sorrow and bittersweet beauty. If she can marry a man like him… she would be happy.

The song was over and the player realized that he was not alone. He stood up from his seat and slowly walked across the room to introduce himself. He kissed her hand, held her fingers in his and silently gazed into her eyes. She was touched by his gentle words, mesmerized by his melodic voice. Two teardrops begin their way to fall, but a gentle hand wiped them away – wiped them together with her late despairs, fears, pain and sadness. A little smile played on her lips as she nodded and let herself lead to the direction of the ballroom.

After the ball, when she was finally alone in her room, sitting on the edge of the soft bed, she whispered a happy prayer into the darkness. She thanked God that the day arrived when she was able to meet him.

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For people who are not familiar with Hungarian history (I don't expect it from anyone) a short note on the events what I wrote into the fic:

The fight was the Hungarian War of Independence in 1848-49, the rope means the execution of the 13 martyrs of Arad and the "never cry" part was the silent resistance what the Hungarian people did during the 1850s. And Pest-Buda is the older name of Budapest.