ALTE LIEBE
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Not even in my dreams do I own Hetalia.
O reader, beware; although this is Gerita, there are other ships sitting about in this port too.
Overture
Winter either bites with its teeth or lashes with its tail.
- Proverb
Winter lays herself white and cold against the earth, nestled amongst the trees, dusted upon the withered remnants of autumn that snap with careless step, beautiful and sorrowful. The people below travel her land so, with such disregard and irreverence for her power. Once she could expunge empires and bring the ruin of tyrants, but now she is reduced to being amongst the too unambitious autumn, too cheery summer and too gentle spring.
Long ago, if of them she would be queen, but now there is no distinction.
She sleeps her impassioned slumber, for whilst she rests her fury is greater, and vents her frustrations and makes them wraths upon her land in sleep: blizzards to the east and winds to the north, ice to the west and only cold calm to the south.
His presence wakes her like the touch of the silken petals of a flower upon skin; she stirs groggily, as slow as the sun might rise from beyond the hilltops. His step grazes autumn's leaves, but the leaves do not crunch and Winter is only brushed; Winter watches him, delightful of eye. By Beauty's vanity, such a deliciously gentle creature!
He could be a nymph of Winter herself, with his tawny tresses and eyes painted like the dark wood of trees and skin like crystals of snow. He moves like smoke through Winter's land, effortlessly graceful with his frail, lithe body carved of porcelain and ivory.
Winter is pleased, pictures him as one of her own wonderful beasts, imagines him to be a majesty born of her own womb, and somewhere in a land far yonder, the frigid winds of a blizzard gentle until they are no more.
It is a while before she realises her beauty has stopped and frantic, she searches for him, only to find him in the arms of another, and she senses that this other possesses his love.
Winter is envious of this man for possessing the heart of this angel, this wonder, but she too should be equally envious of her seraph, for this man is too very beautiful. He is taller than her fair boy, slender and silken of lock - but he is too much of Summer for her taste, with aureate hair and eyes like aestival skies.
And, mind full of Summer, she flinches away from the thought of the beautiful man with disgust.
O, my fair beauty! Thou hast chosen one of Summer to make thine, but thou are mine! Summer, no doubt, delights in seeing one of my wonders choose hers. You are of white breast; forget it not, my son!
Her nymph rests his head against the man's chest. "I missed you, mi amore," he whispers in his wine sweet voice, clutching the other man's stronger hand.
With softened soul the man lifts the nymph's hand to his mouth and kisses it, and Winter delights in watching and lessens her hold over sky to wash over the pair light.
"Mon coeur, you have not a clue how much I have missed you."
The lovebirds do not falter and Winter, unashamed, does not look away – and thus even Winter is unaware that another watches.
Teaser of an overture. Review and tell me if you actually want me to continue this ~