"To think I once had it all… To think of the many times I stood in glory, just for…"
Prussia murmured strengthless as he lied almost dead on the ground. His purely snow-white hair had been stained with his own blood, and his eyes, ever so vibrant and passionate now seemed completely distant and off. His intimidating and scary twisted gaze had been washed away. The flame of life seemed to have escaped him, and all that was left now was a half-dead being waiting for nature to make justice and respect the little dignity that was left of him. The tears that ran from his eyes mixed with the blood that covered his face and body. He tore out the iron cross of his neck-tie with the little strength he had left and kissed it. "Could it be possible? My courage, my honor… everything I had to fight for… The time spent into structuring my discipline and splendor… Just how?" This last question was followed by a cough that inked scarlet the snow around him. "I had the world; I had the trust of the most respected sources of power. I laughed at their authority and was still able to get away with it. My very name inflicted fear to everyone who had heard of me. It was a reason to shiver." He closed his eyes, turned around to face the sky, and took a deep breath. The weak sunrays of that winter morning kissed his pale skin and gave a little brightness to his hair. For the first time throughout his whole existence, Prussia seemed completely defenseless and vulnerable. His senses were numbing and his heartbeat was gradually decreasing its velocity.
He looked miserable.
Prussia held his iron cross against his chest, so tight on his fist that the end of the corners cut his hand. The little energy he had left was barely enough to breathe, much less to talk. He had tasted the nectar of glory far too many times. He had known the euphoria of being unstoppable, the virtue of being exalted.
"Hell, to think it has all come to an end…" Prussia gave his last breath in the form of a sigh. His heart stopped beating. The strength in his fist wore off.
A red halo of blood was painted upon his head. His facial expression was a mix between troubled and surrendered, like that of a person who dies unsatisfied with himself but knowing there's nothing to do about it. The dripping blood of his body had spread around the snow below his corpse, forming the shape of what resembled the wings of a big bird.
The eagle had fallen. Prussia had been dissolved.