In the middle of a white field they sit, two cold bodies pressed together. The snow around them is stained red.
One is too cold to be alive.
The snowflakes are swirling around them. Tears of blood are rolling down the pale cheeks of a man who has died a thousand times.
"Now, now. Don't cry. The pain will numb with the cold." He could hear the smile in the others voice. "Your blood matches your eyes. They are both a beautiful ruby red." The voice belongs to a man who has suffered, hated and loved. He places a hand over the empty eye sockets of his beloved.
"Your eyes are the first pair of eyes I have ever held in my hand." He whispers into his ears. "Prussia."
Prussia cringes at the way he says his name. Not with hate, nor disgust. He says it with love.
"Why?" He manages to breath out. Russia seemed taken aback, judging by the way he froze for a second.
"Why you ask." He felt Russia tighten the grip on him, pulling him closer. "Because without eyes you can't see my madness, and then you might love me back." Just as Russia said, the pain has numbed.
"Never." He felt something warm drip on his face.
"What do you mean?" Tears.
"I will never love you back." A silent sob.
"... Then I have to take your heart by force."
A scream of pain echoed through the forest.