"Apples and honey. The jam in the tea is apricot." A masculine voice sang in a soft whisper. His hand brushed against a tea cup on the table. There it was… He grabbed the handle and daintily brought it up to his lips, taking a sip.

Ahh, yes. The smell of rusting iron metal met his nostrils. How alluring… the scent was addicting. His mouth was watering for more. So he indulged himself, just this once, by taking another sip of that red tea. Mein gott…

The man reluctantly put his cup down. Really, he would have rather chugged the contents inside the little piece of china if he wasn't a gentleman. There weren't many gentlemen in the twenty-first century anymore.

The room was dark; only the moonlight streaming in from the window illuminated the room. In the center of the room was a long, marble dinner table. There were enough chairs to fit fourteen other men, plus himself; fifteen in all. The other fourteen chairs were covered with white sheets. The man sat at the middle of the table, facing large windows. Snow bled from the sky outside, making the house unbearably cold.

February 25th.

The man seemed to be contrasting with the darkness surrounding him. His white hair shone especially bright in the moonlight. His skin so pale that it almost matched with the ghosts he saw sitting in the chairs around him. Half-lidded red eyes pierced through the black darkness. They matched the color of his tea.

Oh, that tea. He wanted more. Just once more, he would indulge himself by taking another sip. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips as he put the tea cup down again.

"So to begin. We have a storage problem in Germany, with these Jews…" The ghost of Heydrich said next to the pale man, matter-of-factly. Eyes glanced over at the ghost who sat in his covered seat, hands clasped together on the table, leaning forward, looking everyone over. His almost-platinum blonde hair was slicked back; Heydrich's blue eyes almost as piercing as the set of red ones.

Silent chatter erupted from the ghosts. The white haired man looked down at his feast he set out before himself. A beautiful tea set was spread out around him, along with matching plates and silverware. The main dish looked like a rare piece of meat; red as those eyes. He picked up a fork and a knife, about to cut into the delectable piece of meat…

"I'm sorry," The man said suddenly. All the ghosts looked at him. "Why can't you just shoot them?"

"Didn't you just hear him? It is the worst thing for our soldiers to be doing. They are women, they are children, and soldiers have a sense of honor, sir." Dr. Joseph Bühler said, trying to sound respectful.

"There's plenty if honor in following orders." The pale man frowned as he spoke.

"No, Gilbert Dietrich." Heydrich deadpanned.

"There is." Gilbert said stubbornly.

"No, there is not. Eleven million, or even half that number executed in small batches, would be foolish to undertake. It would be an inefficient use of time, manpower, and bullets. No… gas is much more efficient and less public." That bastard perfect Aryan said, his voice fading from Gilbert's hearing.

The man, now christened Gilbert, looked back down at his meal. How bothersome… Heydrich and Gilbert went through this every year since 1947, and yet still could not reach an agreement with each other.

February 25, 1947; his Deathday. The day those jackass Allied powers dissolved Prussia in a reign of bullets.

"The little bluebird escapes from its basket, gets beaten in the rain and gets its wings torn cleanly off."

This time, Gilbert did cut into his steak; rosy juices pouring out from it. He bathed the chunk on his fork in this fluid and then lifted it to his mouth. A bubblegum tongue flicked out to lick it. A smile came to his face showing off his pretty perfectly straight teeth. That chunk of meat was devoured in an instant.

Bittersweet taste burst out from the meat as his teeth sunk into it; the flavor coating his taste buds. This must be what power tastes like. A long time ago, he knew what it tasted like; what it felt like, but time had made him forget.

Oh how the memory fades with each tick of the clock.

"In Riga, Latvia, 27,800 I have some responsibility for," Lange's voice sliced through Gilbert's thoughts, just as his knife had sliced through that meat again. "I stood by with my men and allowed Latvian civilians to kill each other in mobs. The ones that managed to crawl out, still alive, were 'evacuated' as we were ordered. Not exactly war, is it? And gas chambers about to come?"

"This is more than war. There must be a different word for this." Kritzinger muttered from across the table.

"Try 'chaos'." Lange suggested, innocently.

Power is chaos. Gilbert distinctly remembered chaos. It had many different tastes to it, almost cancelling each other out. That's not what he wanted! No! He wanted more of this 'Power' that he could not remember.

Angrily, he stabbed his fork into the meat, moist maroon spraying in different directions. As if remembering something, Gilbert slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder at the fireplace behind him. Red eyes met with dull emerald ones. The body was curled up in itself on the heath of the fireplace. The person was lying in a puddle of congealed fluid, just like the meat on Gilbert's plate.

Gilbert glanced at his feast and took a second teacup, excused himself from the plotting ghosts to walk slowly over to the small man curled up in the fetal position.

The man tried to shrink in on himself; visibly trembling as the pale man crouched down. Gilbert used his free hand to grab at the man's face, pulling him up so that he could make his prey drink. "Wasn't it delicious? Come, let's sing again, Alesander." The German man, Gilbert, sang to the Czech man, Alesander.

The Prussian hummed happily as a scream tore through Alesander's throat. Poison was slowly beginning to invade the Czech Republic's veins.

With new energy, Gilbert stood up and spun on his heels, stalking back to his seat at the table. That country's screams reminded him of his own on that night so long ago…


Midnight. 12:00 a.m.; 1942. That's when the Final Solution was set in motion. That's when Gilbert's screams ripped through the German mansion.

Those screams were what sent Ludwig, Germany, running to his brother's room. The door flung open as Ludwig frantically tried to find the light switch on the wall.

12:05 a.m. As suddenly as those screams started; they stopped. Ludwig's ears rang painfully from the aftermath of the piercing voice. The younger German froze in his spot, hand on the light switch.

Heavy breathing was coming from the opposite side of the room. Fear and panic gripped at Ludwig's heart; a lump in his throat made it impossible to speak.

"Apples and honey. If I mix their red and gold, will it turn black, the same color as the sky?" A giggling voice sang out to Ludwig. The voice was suddenly up close to him; hot breath on his face. It made Ludwig jerk away, his back hitting the wall behind him.

Gilbert could feel his people's pain. It was like a blanket was laid over his mind; blurring everything that passed through his brain. It blurred the fact that Gilbert had chosen to take all this pain himself instead of splitting it between him and his brother. Gilbert had felt the need to protect his younger brother from his mistakes.

No! Why would he do such a thing! No one country could take this! It would surely tear them apart; it would drive them to insanity. This pain…

Nails were scratching at the wall on either side of Ludwig's head. A shudder involuntarily went down the blonde's body as he was trapped between his elder brother's arms. Shifting awkwardly, Ludwig managed to turn the lights on.

The sudden bright light cut through Gilbert's hazy mind, like a second of merciful peace. Bloody eyes looked onto his younger brother's beautiful features. In that moment, the pain was forgotten. It was strange how one knew when pain was there, but forgot when pain was not there…

During that brief time lapse, Ludwig sucked in air hastily. He nearly choked on his own spit by doing so, but all was justified from what his blue eyes saw. In a timeframe of a couple minutes, his elder brother looked like he had fallen from a ten story building.

The Prussian hissed and squeezed his eyes shut. White hot pain burst forth after that second of peace. The dam holding back the pain was broken down; releasing all of its molten pain.

The albino German's face was bleeding profusely; blood streaming from his nose and out his mouth. He already had large purple and blue bruises marking up his chest. Cuts and, what looked like bite marks, were bleeding alongside those bruises.

"Don't look at me," Gilbert demanded in a harsh whisper. He buried his face into his younger brother's chest seeking some comfort. No, he couldn't let his Ludwig see him like this. It would forever ruin what little innocence the boy hand left.

Ludwig didn't say anything. Instead, he turned the light back off and lead his elder brother to his bed. Gently, he laid his brother down onto the bed and climbed in with him. Ludwig wrapped his arms possessively around Gilbert's slim waist, holding the elder in a protective embrace. It reminded Gilbert of what he used to do as Germany blossomed into a great country.

Warm, desperate lips collided almost painfully with Gilbert's. Their teeth clacked as Prussia, through all the pain, managed to kiss those lips back. His brother needed comfort, and the albino tried to give him the comfort through the kiss.

Gilbert grimaced from the tight, possessive grip Ludwig had. The pain and anguish of a million of his people was placed solely on him and he couldn't stand it. Even their kiss was violent and almost carnivorous.

When day broke; Gilbert was gone.


The villa at 56–58 Am Grossen Wannsee. That's where he went and where he was now, thoroughly enjoying his feast. This villa was where the Wannsee Conference took place; the conference that decided the Final Solution.

Fifteen men to decide the fate of millions of people; that's all it took.

Gilbert looked back at the curled up country behind him. Green eyes stared, unfocused, in front of him. How boring; the country died.

Gilbert finished the meal set in front of him. How the heart of a country tasted. It added power into his weakened body…

Prussia would become his own countryonce again. He would be able to face his brother without shame. Maybe, if he was an Empire once again, he could restore Ludwig's innocence…

The Prussian poured himself another cup and drank. The blood helped warm up his body from the inside. Ah! That's what he should do!

Gilbert stood up from his seat and went over to the limp body of Alesander. He pushed and shoved it into the fireplace. With a happy smile, he fished his lighter out from his pocket.

The albino flicked the lighter, a small flame bursting to life. He moved that flame over to a not-yet blood soaked piece of clothing and watched as it caught fire.

He had felt fire lick his skin once.


Gilbert was in the Wannsee manor by himself. He had settled in this place after he left his brother that day. The only other person in the manor with him was his cocky butler who helped provide some comic relief in the Prussian's life.

His butler, Sebastian, was such an egomaniac that his motto was, "After all, I'm just one hell of a butler."

That stupid idiot…

It had been over two years after the Final Solution was set in motion, making it October, 1944. So many unspeakable things had happened to the country since then. Only his butler, Sebastian, seemed to be able to handle the situations at ease.

Sebastian was Prussia's connection to Germany, and at the moment, the butler was away delivering a message to Ludwig.

The albino was sitting in front of the fireplace; an emotionless mask on his face. There was no point anymore in expressing pain. It was all too unbearable anyways.

But this, this was new.

It started out as slight heartburn and quickly burst into flames around his heart. Gilbert clutched his chest, doubling over. It didn't stop there though, oh no. The burn spread all over his body. A loud gasp came from his lips unexpectedly. Oh gott. It burned!

Wide red eyes looked down at his hands. The skin on the palms of his hands was seared off, clearly showing the muscle underneath. Emotion finally made itself known on Gilbert's face; fear of dying. No! He would not die before he returned to his brother! Nein!

The invisible fire ate away at his skin like a hungry caterpillar on a leaf. Gilbert's body arched with pain, causing him to fall out of his chair and onto the ground. It felt as though nails were being hammered into his hands and feet. Quite literally, holes tore right through his skin, muscle, and bone. Small needle-like cuts began to cut into his head, making blood stream down his face.

This wasn't just happening in Germany, this was happening in his country. His Prussia. His people, not just the Jews, were being crucified. He could feel it; Gilbert could practically see it. Men were killing and crucifying his people to their houses. Was it Russians killing his men? They looked like Nazis. Why would Nazis be killing loyal Germans? It had to be Soviets… Yes…

"Master!" A voice shouted out from the doorway. There was his butler doing everything he could to ease the pain. Gilbert's butler… the man who had witnessed all the gruesome wounds inflicted on Prussia's body, still by his side. Would his loyal butler end up like his loyal German people?

Gilbert stared up into his butler's eyes. His back arched at what seemed to be an impossible angle against Sebastian; Gilbert breathed out five words to his obedient butler, "I don't want to die."


Warmth spread against the Prussian's skin. The room was slowly warming up as the fire crackled and popped. Gilbert went back to his seat for the last time, wondering if the Czech Republic was burning down; its people's flesh burning off…

"Do we have any disputes left to face here, either with my authority or with that we have agreed? General?" Heydrich's voice drifted back into Gilbert's mind. Heydrich looked at General Müller to his right.

"Let us astonish Charles Darwin." Müller announced.

"I second the motion. This is our most important war." Klopfer agreed, raising his glass of wine before quickly downing it.

"We are discussing the inevitable and bringing it about in the most practical way under one command. I have no dispute with that, I understand the realities. And indeed, count on my support." The man next to Klopfer, Kritzinger, nodded.

"Proceed." Hofmann, of course, agreed.

"I agree." Dr. Georg Leibbrandt said, his eyes glued to the table.

"If you are to do it, then force-feed it. Speed it along. Our situation, such as in Warsaw, is difficult, edging towards disastrous. Thank you." Dr. Alfred Meyer was all for the notion. He wanted the Jews out of his city as fast as humanly possible.

"...Oh, yes. What can I say? My enthusiasm is boundless." Dr. Wilhelm Stuckart said in a very unenthusiastic voice.

"Obviously." Undersecretary Martin Luther deadpanned.

"Sorry?" Heydrich asked as he raised an eyebrow.

"I trust my enthusiasm is clear. Yes!" Mr. Luther nodded vigorously.

"Neumann?" Heydrich asked, urging the men on.

"I would like to know that adequate labor will still be available..." Erich Neumann frowned. "But I suppose you have my approval."

"Major Lange?" Heydrich was becoming impatient as he urged the men on.

"Yes." Was all Major Lange said in response.

"I would like to urge that speed that Dr. Meyer asked of you. The Poles are not as disciplined as we Germans." Dr. Joseph Bühler said with a condescending tone to his voice.

"Colonel?" Heydrich didn't like that tone of voice, so he quickly moved on.

"I thoroughly approve and I'm anxious to start. I look forward to working with your office." . Eberhard 'Karl' Schöngarth said, clearly sucking up to Heydrich like a student would do to his teacher.

"The sooner, the better." Dr. Roland Freisler: said without needing to be prompted by Heydrich. A small smile was on the Aryan's lips. All eyes turned to Gilbert now, awaiting his answer.

"Do you agree with the Final Solution, Mr. Dietrich?" Heydrich wanted to get this over and done with so that he could leave this mansion behind. Eighty-five minutes had been long enough in this place.

Red eyes scanned each one of the ghost's faces. Then… "No." His voice was commanding and deep; asserting his authority as a country to these other men.

The ghosts began to wail and scream as they cursed him a thousand times over. Their transparent bodies twisted themselves into deformed corpses of the human bodies. Their ghostly bodies mirrored how each one of the men were killed for being a part of Hitler's army. The bodies deformed until there was nothing left in their seats.

If only he could have had a say in that meeting way back then. Maybe, just maybe the war could have ended.

Prussia would become great again.


Ludwig stood outside of the Wannsee villa, staring at the smoke coming out of the chimney. He was bundled up in the latest military winter clothes. It had been at least eight-five minutes that the German country had been standing out in the cold winter night, spying on his elder brother.

That smoke… it smelled like something familiar…

Like… like bodies. Bodies being burned in those huge ovens.

"Gilbert…"


A/N: This chapter is back up! I changed and took out some things... I hope you enjoyed it! Gilbert is CRAZY MAN. CRAZY.

Pleeease review. Thank you! Hope you enjoyed it!