It was her brother's idea, and that's all she could admit. It was Prussia's idea when he found out that he would soon be getting a younger sister- not the brother he quite had anticipated for months upon months. He was full of disappointment that he would be having to live with a girl, someone who wouldn't understand the awesomeness that was himself. That Monika, named after a woman that their father Germania had seen die in a battle against Roman soldiers, could not understand war. That she could not understand the loneliness and pain of a country. Even Hungary couldn't understand it in his eyes. No woman ever could.
It was her brother's idea to try and become a man. So that she too could suffer, as selfish as he had sounded. But as she stood here, amoung the fields of the dying, of the wounded, of the suffering- she knew deep down he was right.
Her boss refused to let her enter the war. He fought and he fought, but in the end, the war had raged on, and he knew that Monika could not be protected from it's horrors. It's not like she didn't know what war was, because who didn't? War covered and spread like the plague. It destroyed vast amounts of people with one wave, and double in the next. Ever in a cycle leaving millions to die before her eyes.
Germany, the Fatherland. They all thought that she was a man, just as Prussia wanted her to be. Even the citizens assumed that she, only the streets, was a male. That the friendship between herself and Italy and Japan were an alliance, and nothing more- but yet she felt a deeper connection than just an alliance. She felt like a mother to them.
She was always chastising Italy for his mistakes, but comforting and coming to his rescue in a time of need. She always help Japan clean, and cook, and she would be there for him in his time of need if he too ever needed it. They were more than allies, more than friends- they were family. And yet she felt that she couldn't tell them that she was not of her supposed binary gender.
Monika had thought numerous times that the struggle could all be over. She could secretly get a sex change. It would be easy, and her boss would go through with it as well. If any of the other countries found out ever in her stance as a country that she was a woman, there was no telling what they would do. Would they respect her or would they treat her like the others? Hungary was never invited to a world meeting. Neither was Lichtenstein, Belgium, Belarus, Ukraine- any of them. Only if they were some how invested in a war.
She knew that she would never be able to fight like she wanted to. German women could never enter the army, and her boss wouldn't let her anyway. And yet Italy, even as the cowards he is, lead his troops across the Alps to reach her own country for the war rally against the opposing countries. It wasn't full of pleasantry to say the least. Italy had nightmares for days.
Just the thought of what would happen if they knew scared her. It stressed her out. It caused her to pull out her hair in some cases. When she was alone to herself, she would cry. She would cry because she was a woman, she told herself. That's what women are supposed to do. Her boss always told her that she cries because she is brave and has been strong for too long.
She just wished she could trust the people most important to her.
When she got up that morning, she looked herself over in the mirror, a usual ritual. Her hair was down in her face, lightly framing her cheeks on either side of her hair. The blonde was striking against her pale complexion; blue eyes glowed like sapphire jewels that Italy had given to their allies at the recent meeting. Under her eyes were red and blotchy, stains of when she cried the night before. Only because once more she thought she was caught.
Italy had called her last night. Not so much as a difference of usual, but something he said still bugged her.
"Germany~ Germany! I think you would be very pretty if you were a girl."
It wasn't that abnormal of a sentence. She recalls him saying that to America once too, only to have the heroic nation laugh it off as if it were the most hilariously challenged thing in the world. It was the way he said it. As if he knew something he wasn't supposed to know.
As if he knew what she really was.
After checking her fragile reflection, Monika made her way across the hardwood flooring of her room. It felt cold against her sensitive bare feet, sending unpleasant shivers up her spine. With her elbow she pushed open the door to her private bathroom effortlessly, waltzing in to the fully finished room, unlike her brother's bathroom. He always complained that it was because she was daddy's little girl, with which she wouldn't argue with. The only time she felt she could be appreciated about her gender was with her father, who was long gone by now.
The first thing she did ever morning, so she could remember, was take her pill. It was to control her hormones. While she was on it, she wouldn't have most girly side effects. She wouldn't menstruate. Her breasts and hips would stay a believable size, even though she still had to cover up her breasts with a bandage to keep them from showing too much. It was a small mercy to her. It helped with the whole thing.
Monika took out a tape measure from the bottom drawer and unraveled the small, neatly kept measuring device. She put one end under her armpit and pulled it across her back and over her breasts with trouble, but finally succeeded after many trials of failure.
Her expression dropped. They were bigger than yesterday. The medicine was supposed to keep them from growing. They weren't supposed to grow even more.
Thoughts clouded her mind, but after a minute of standing it menacing and dreadful silence, she brushed it off and went back to continuing her ritual.
Germany did the usual of straightening her hair back and bandaging her breasts. She put on a loose fitting black tank top over her bandages, continuing with her black work shirt. The tie was always the hardest part with her large hands, but she managed to tie a matching red tie to hide under her brown jacket she always wore to the meeting. Before leaving she would have to see if her brother was careful enough to dry clean it for her the previous night. Knowing him, probably not.
Before she left to go upstairs, she gave herself one final look. Everything, for the day, seemed it check. She didn't look feminine. She looked like any of the other male countries: tall, well sculpted, and had a serious atmosphere around her. Monika felt the day would be a breeze for her. There would be no stress, there would be no worries, nothing.
She was completely wrong. And she was never wrong.