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I DO NOT own any rights to Hetalia nor do I claim to. I do not own the characters. I simply own the plot of the story. Thank you very much for reading~
He lay on the bed. Not making a move nor letting his mind wonder. He was very focused on the subject of this day. This sad day. Nothing would snap him out of this trance.
Francis Bonnefoy was a very outgoing man. He was not secluded and not afraid to speak. Yet of course he was famous amongst the ladies. He would have one nightstands many nights. But he would never bring a girl home. No never. Not into this house. Not into this room. Most definitely not into this bed. Never.
Today he felt the light hit his face as he focused on her. Soon enough he fell asleep. Although he didn't want to, sleep conquered his eyes.
"Come on Francis, Levez-vous." She giggled. Her voice was sweet and lovely.
Francis grunted in return, he wanted to sleep longer. "Francis! Up, up, up!" The blonde haired girl demanded. Oh was she beautiful. Very lovely indeed. Her hair shun like gold as her eyes were the colour that of sapphires.
"Fine. Je sais, Je sais." He laughed. Francis then sat up on his bed and looked up at the cheerful girl. "Today is a big day! We both need to eat well and prepare." She cheered. Francis stood up and gently kissed her lips. "Je t'aime." He whispered.
Once again Francis awoke- yet this time, he was on the empty bed, in the slight dark- it was nearly sunset. This wasn't fair. She was gone, she was gone. This was most definitely not fair. Francis sighed and covered his face with his forearm. "Je t'aime." He mumbled to the air.
He stood from the depression pit you call a bed and walked to his closet, where he picked out a black tuxedo. Slowly slipping into his white dress shirt he walked to the record player. The disk he played was- as usual- La Vie En Rose. That was his favourite song. It always reminded him of her. He continued to change. Francis tied his blonde hair back in a loose and low pony tail with a blue ribbon.
Finally he got to the bowtie which took him forever to tie- considering he always let other people do it for him. Matthew would always help him suit up. He was a nice little boy. Francis really loved him- he reminded him of her as well. They looked a lot alike. Too much alike that it was somewhat scary. Yet he loved both of them equally.
Matthew was so sweet- just like her. Yet he was taken away as well, by the same man.
Francis walked down the stairs after stopping the record. He looked around for the bouquet of roses he had bought earlier. They sat patiently on the mahogany coffee table waiting to be picked up by his big hands. He sadly smiled at them and picked them up.
Leaving the house he entered his car. The drive there was not long. He lived close to the certain place, and that was because he would visit every week. Yet today he would not do anything at all, just think of her. Just think.
Once he walked to where she had been for nearly the past millennium, he caught site of the grave stone. "Bonjour, mon amour." Francis smiled at the grave. "It's been a while, non?" He mumbled. "Oh, how much I've missed you." He knelt down and set the flowers in front of her tomb.
He promised himself he would not cry but at the corners of his eyes, they were there. Tears weld up and took their place there. "Je t'aime." He mumbled once more. "Je t'aime, je t'aime, je t'aime." He repeated over and over.
"Oh Jeanne, I miss you. Je suis du soleil. Je t'aime, mon amour. Je t'aime. S'il vous plait, Pardonnez-moi. Forgive me for not saving you in time. I love you so much." He cried over the grave.
Ashes and sparks filled the dark night sky. People watched and examined her. "This is your saviour? She's a witch!" The Briton spoke. "She shall be burned!" He exclaimed. "Burn the witch! Burn the witch!" People cheered.
Francis fought the crowd of people. "Jeanne! Jeanne!" He cried. "No! Don't! She's not a witch!" He added. This wasn't fair. Everything he ever had was being torn away from him. He deserved being happy. He was a good man.
As he reached the beautiful woman he had fallen in love with, she was in tears. Of course it hurt. It hurt so much, but she was strong. This was for Francis and God. That was all that mattered. It was for them and no one else.
Her legs burned but she couldn't move. How could people be so cruel? Tying an innocent female to a stake and setting it on fire. This was horrid and cruel. Yet she did not argue; she only coped. It would all be over soon. She would be in a better place.
As she looked at the crowd of people she saw him. She saw the most beautiful man she had ever met. He watched in tears as she burned. "NO! NO! JEANNE!" He screamed in horror. This could not be happening to him. It couldn't.
At the sight of his desperate face, she broke. Her whole world had completely shattered around her. It was abolished in less than a day. Yet it would never be rebuilt. Tears rolled endlessly down her cheeks. She broke. "Francis!" She cried in pain and agony. "Francis!"
She was going through so much pain and for what? To save Francis. To save him from Arthur, to end the 100 Years' War. To bring peace back to Europe. But she wanted this all to end. She needed this to end.
"Jeanne, Jeanne." Francis now cried hysterically over her grave. He couldn't stop. Tears just kept coming. They continued and never stopped. There was nothing he could do. Nothing at all.
Once his tears stopped-not that he stopped hurting- he stood. There were no more tears to fall- he ran out. Yet he hurt. His heart ached, his brain hurt and his body cried in pain.
He wiped his tear stained cheeks and collected himself. He really missed her. He wished she could be in his arms, smiling and laughing. He wished he could feel her soft hair and see her blue eyes once more. He wished to kiss her one last time. He wished for one more day.
He didn't want to but he had to walk back to his car and go home. He had to, it was getting late and he had promised Matthew that they would have a late dinner. He needed to go home and prepare some food. This was because Matthew Williams knew his father so well. He knew what day it was and what he would be doing. Matthew knew everything.
As Francis arrived home, the house smelled lovely. "Welcome home, papa." Matthew smiled as he went to meet his father. "I made dinner." He added as he brought him into a tight hug. "Mathieu, Je t'aime." Francis whispered. "Je t'aime aussi, papa." Matthew whispered in return.
It was hard to explain how much they cared for each other. It really was; it was extremely difficult. They were so close, yet so far. This made them try their best to keep in touch.
Matthew led his father into the dining room, where food awaited them both.
"Papa!" Matthew's childish voice called. "Papa!" It repeated. "It's going to be fine. We'll see each other again. Don't worry." Francis assured the young boy. "Papa, I don't want to leave you." The boy cried. "Oh, it will be just fine. Arthur is a good man. You'll like him very much, mon petit bébé." Francis insisted. Young Matthew hesitantly shook his head and walked to where the other man stood.
As soon as they left, Francis broke once more. He couldn't take it. He couldn't take any more pain. He couldn't stand Arthur ruining his life even more. He couldn't.
Francis sat down on the chair and Matthew on the one across. They began to eat in silence. Matthew respected the fact that his father had just come back from her grave. Francis looked bad. His eyes were red and glossed, his cheeks were puffy and his hair was a slight mess.
After a while Matthew looked up at his father. "Papa, if you would like, I can leave." He stated with the ghostly voice he boar.