It was so cold. The large, pale blond man looked out of the window at the barren landscape wistfully. He placed a leather-gloved hand against the yellow-glass as he looked back to his office. It was cold as well, but in a different way. The large man, Russia as he was called, sat on his desk chair, the furniture creaking mournfully under his weight. He glanced at his desk, scanning over various documents, writing utensils and a lamp, before his eyes settle on a few frames; one upright, the other face down. The upright showed Russia's sisters, but he reached past to hold the other in his hand. His fingers traced down the glass before tightening his grip. A few sparkling drops fell onto the clearer-looking glass. A single word escaped his pale, chapped lips in the form of a sob.
"Alfred..."