A/N: hey fanfiction readers and wanderers who have found this short story! This was a piece I wrote for my creative writing class for the instrumentals for "Once Upon a December". I'm sorry for making it so short but I hope you like it anyway. As always I do not own Hetalia but I would like to... hope wishes.
~I do NOT own Hetalia or the characters
Thank you for the reviews!
To Spring C, I was always wondering what a force like General Winter would feel like and well this is what came up. I'm glad you liked it!
Winter Never Ends
The fields of Russia have once again been plagued by the powdered white that drives away the summer images of young children running about in the large, golden fields of wheat. Instead a young child no older than five stands before the spirit of General Winter twirling around in a circle of pure innocent protection. He blows at her with his mighty breath and picks at her face and feet with the coldness of his heart. He'd seen this scene many times before, the children of this small farming village, all just babies twirling in the age old dance of the fascinated.
As they stare up in the sky to bear witness to his greatest work a pang of electric fiery hits the General where his heart should have been. He'd taken too many lives to ever deserve such a beautiful display before him, the raspy echoing of screams begging him to end his reign of terror makes him turn away. No one could see him, no; he trots across the fields his head held high in a graceful and purposeful way. His cold purple eyes stare ahead malice and destruction bore deep within his orbs, born from centuries of instability and murder.
As he floats away from the girl he finally bows his head allowing the sick burning that he often felt in his eyes and heart engulf him. The air becomes frigid dropping to dangerous temperatures. Dry screams escape his mouth creating the soft blows that reaches your ears, the agony and pain of living without the possibility of death erupts as he sees the lives he's taken before him. The tall, the weak, the young and old, the rich, the stupid they all surround him never leaving an impression on the perfection he'd created, the murder weapon.
Crouching down, falling into himself unable to support the weight of his emotional spirals General Winter lets the warm salty liquid burn on his pale skin staining it. It disgusted him to show himself in this manner but it wasn't as though anyone could see him, he was alone and always would be. A tiny red gloved hand reaches out and touches the shoulder of the weeping spirit successfully getting his attention. Slowly turning afraid of what he'd come across the General risks a glance of what horrors he'd see next only to find the girl. Her face was pale accentuating her dark blue eyes and blonde hair; he didn't pay much attention to these though he was focused on the girl's lips. They were smiling, the small motion of an upturned lip was all it took to make him want to melt.
How could such a small gesture pull his purpose away and make him succumb to something so inferior? No he was the spirit of winter, he was General Winter. He couldn't fall for something this weak and pathetic not when he'd risen against the wars and death of the grand nation of Russia. Raising to his full height the spirit stared down at the child and turned quickly. Taking brisk steps he stomped off to the forest to continue his never ending job of unimaginable pain and suffering.