Whew~ Here;s the third installment ... once again, please be mindful this is 2p! and actually quite sad/disturbing ... this one is the ... one that probably requires a strong stomach to read. It's also kind of controversial. ... Next chapter will be 2p!Russia ^_^ that should be fun XD
Cracked
White Lilies
She was unlike anyone he'd ever met. Even throughout his childhood, he had never come close to experiencing the joy he felt when she was around.
Jeanne d'Arc, patron saint of France, was a glorious woman who led many into battle against England. He would never forget her, nor would he forgive those responsible for her downfall.
France looked up from the crate he sat upon. He had heard of a supposed 'new hope' that they talked about all the time, but this woman was not what he had been expecting. In fact, she was far from it. France had seen many women in his lifetime, not that he had any interest in them. As far as he was concerned, women made men weak.
It drove men to succumb to desires that distracted them from the realities of life. Take England, for example. He fell too easily to his teasing words and instead of standing his ground, he always ran off to be coddled by his mother or whatever queen he was being ruled by. Women could bring no good …
She bit her lip softly and walked up, "Um … I'm Jeanne d'Arc …" she looked quite nervous, but comfortable at the same time.
"France." He muttered back, holding out his hand for hers. She raised her brow, but placed her hand in his and blushed slightly when his lips met her hand, "I've heard little of you so far. In fact, my king has so graciously left out every detail I thought would be important."
He sighed. France had not always been so depressed. He could honestly remember a time when he was a happy child, teasing his growing rivals, spending time with England before his disappearance into his own country. When Prussia went off, and then Spain … he was all alone. Then, of course, his crown was held by Britain. That was unacceptable. France should be ruled by the French!
That deranged man should have no say on what happened with his people. However, that plague … that had devastated his people. He could still feel the hollowness in his heart from all the people that suffered, and the people who haven't recovered yet from the mess.
He still remembered vividly that little girl's face as she stumbled toward him. She clutched her doll close with blackened fingers, blood dripping from an open wound in her neck.
France never contracted the disease his people were dying from; he only got constant headaches and fevers. Oh how he wished he'd died instead.
"What's your name?" he asked the girl, his voice soft and sad.
Her bright blue eyes lit up. He could bet that not many people went near her. France also couldn't help but wonder where her parents were, or if they had already died.
"I'm Joie." She muttered back, only sending herself into a coughing fit. France leaned against a wall and opened his arms to her. Joie seemed a bit confused, but crawled into his arms, seeking the comfort of another human.
"I'm France …" he whispered.
Joie looked up with a small smile, "Were you named after our kingdom?"
France nodded, "Yes, I was …"
"I like that name." she coughed again, obviously having trouble breathing. Joie began shaking violently in his arms, "Mr. France … I don't feel good …"
France bit his lip, wishing that he had the power to help her. He couldn't believe his people were suffering so much, "Don't worry, my little flower, everything will be alright. God has a plan for everyone and you are no exception …" however, he didn't believe his own words. He'd abandoned that idea long ago.
She smiled, "You think so? Mommy told me that God gave up on our family. She said we were all going to die … I'm … I'm the only one left." She explained, clutching onto France's shirt.
He felt how warm she was. Joie was burning up.
"I know I'm going to die, too … I see the angels that are coming to take me away."
France felt his heart breaking. What kind of mother tells her child God gave up on them? He looked up and into the streets that surrounded him. He heard the moans of agony and saw the corpses lying in the streets, flies attacking them until someone could collect them for burial. Had God really condemned his children to the Black Death?
He looked back down to Joie. She had closed her eyes, but her face was contorted in pain. He made it his mission to make sure she died happy, or even better, didn't die at all.
"Joie, little flower, tell me, what are you going to do when you get better?" he asked.
She opened her eyes, "I'm going to …" Joie thought for a moment, "I'm going to marry a prince and become a princess."
He smiled, "A princess, huh?"
"Yes. Then I wouldn't have to worry about seeing people die. I could just dress up in pretty dresses." She explained.
France smiled and wiped some sweat soaked hair from her face.
"You like pretty dresses?"
"Oh yes! Mommy made me a really pretty dress not long ago … I wore it on special occasions … but when I was picking flowers it got torn so I had to throw it away. Mommy got sick before she could make a new one …" Joie frowned.
"Oh? How about I buy you one when you get better? And then we'll go pick some pretty flowers." France hated seeing her skin turning black and her face so pale.
"That would be wonderful!" she smiled brightly.
"Do you have a favorite flower?" He asked.
Joie nodded, letting her eyes slip closed, "I love the white lily … I found one once, brought it home … it wilted a few days later. Mommy said it was because I had taken it from its home."
France rocked her slightly, "That's true, but sometimes it's okay. There's always one flower that you like that you can have, so don't worry."
Joie nodded, a smile on her face, "Thank you, Mr. France …"
"Anything, my little flower." He bit his lip and sat silently for a moment. However, his heart began racing. Joie wasn't stirring anymore.
"Joie?" he whispered, lightly shaking her. The child remained unresponsive. He placed his hand against her forehead and found it cooling rather quickly. "Joie?"
It was no use, France realized. She was gone. Tears fell from his eyes as he clutched her close, hoping the plague would take him next. So many innocent lives had been taken! His people were suffering! Where was God now? Where had he been when his people were suffering?
He began sobbing even harder.
"Sir …" he heard a voice above him. He glared up at one of the men in charge of collecting the dead.
"No!" he yelled out, "You can't have her!"
"But-"
France grabbed a knife and held it up in shaking arms, "You won't touch her!"
The man bit his lip, nut only nodded and walked on. It was probably for the best. France rested back against the wall and looked down at her face. Despite the dark skin covering her neck and part of her jaw, she looked like a little angel.
Two hours later, France found himself placing the small, cloth wrapped body into the ground. His chest was numb, his fingers cold, and his face dry. He was no longer able to shed a tear. A life, barely begun, had left so early.
Once she was properly buried, he placed a single white lily on the grave. It was her favorite, after all …
France shook the memory from his head. There was no use thinking of her now. He was in the middle of trying to defeat England.
"I asked if you were okay with that?" Jeanne spoke.
France raised his brow, "With what?" he mentally cursed himself for not paying attention.
"With me being a woman. I know it's a tad strange, but I know it's my destiny to lead France into victory." She spoke with such vigor.
"It doesn't bother me. I just don't understand why you would want to be in the heat of battle when you could be wearing beautiful dresses and picking flowers." He spoke softly.
Jeanne laughed lightly, filling the air with such musical sounds, "That's never really been who I was. When I was little, I was visited by holy spirits. They told me I would be the one to lead France into victory and drive away the English. It's the word of God."
The man froze up at that word. His people flourished thinking and hoping and praying to God, but he'd stopped believing a long time ago. He wasn't about to crush her thoughts and dreams, but she was full of it.
Months passed and turned into a year. Slowly this woman, driven by God's supposed word, had wedged herself into France's heart. Her words were inspirational, even to him. He'd long since lost hope for humanity, but she was restoring that in him.
Needless to say, the man, who held a firm belief that he would never find anything worth wile about a woman, had fallen in love.
It was a clear day, beautiful and calm. He sat with her at a stream. They were surrounded by wildflowers and chirping birds. It was a most gorgeous day. The perfect day to confess to the most amazing woman one man could ever meet.
France played with a white lily in his hands. His thoughts were drifting to a sweet little face that had blinked out so long ago, but maybe … just maybe … God was real and had given him someone to help ease the pain he carried. Jeanne made the numb feeling go away. He felt warm near her.
"Jeanne," he began, gaining the woman's attention. She pulled her fingers from the cool water of the stream, "Yes?"
"You … I had my doubts about you at first," she frowned, looking slightly offended. He offered a smile, "But the truth is, if anyone can help us, help the country of France, it's you. Jeanne, I love you. I just want you to know that I am behind you in everything you do. I will protect you and I want you to know that France is truly grateful to you."
Tears welled up in her eyes and she smiled. A moment passed before she threw her arms around him, "You are the sweetest man I've ever met!" she kissed his cheek, "I love you too, France."
For the first time in a very long time, France felt his heart leap for joy. He let a genuine smile come over him. He kissed her lips softly. That was all he truly needed from her.
They spent many happy months training for battle, talking and just being around eachother. He treated her like a queen and even let her talk him into believing again. For someone like her to be placed on the Earth, there had to be a higher power.
It was a joyous day! They were winning! Reimes had opened their gates to the army! Things were looking up for France.
France looked at Jeanne as she stood next to him. It had been a few days since the coronation and things were calming a bit. He couldn't imagine life without her. She had changed everything, even him.
He grabbed her hand and kissed the flesh, "Still beautiful." He smiled lightly when she hugged him tightly.
"Jeanne …" he whispered in her ear as the wind blew gently, "Marry me." Something in him told him that marrying a human would end in tragedy when she died, but he shook it off. She would live the best life possible and he would hold her up and make sure she was always happy, no matter what. That way, when she did eventually die, she would have been completely happy.
Jeanne pulled back and looked into his eyes, tears brimming, "Are you serious, France?"
His heart skipped a beat and he nodded, "I can't live without you, Jeanne. I want to marry you and make you happy." He realized he would have to tell her exactly what he was.
The woman laughed as tears rolled down her face, "You already make me happy! I will! I will marry you!" they embraced and she sobbed happily into his shirt.
They couldn't be happier. At least, until May came. They were in Compiègne to help defend against the English.
France had turned his back once to slam his sword down onto an enemy. He heard her yell for retreat. He turned to see her directing the men out into the woods. They listened and quickly evacuated. However, she wasn't going with them. Suddenly, she was surrounded. The men demanded her surrender.
France watched from his distance as she yelled that she would not. He tried to get to her, but she was captured.
It seemed like forever had passed and the king refused to do anything. France decided to take thing into his own hands. He headed into the enemy territory.
He knew exactly where she would be kept, however something caught his attention. A crowd surrounding another small group, one of them was the psycho himself, England.
"We're gathered today, the thirtieth of May, to execute this woman for heresy!" one of the men yelled.
France's blood ran cold. "No …" he whispered, drawing his hood further up on his head before rushing through the people.
His worst fear was coming true. Jeanne was tied to the large stake. England glanced around, that unusually large smile gracing his face. Their eyes locked and England seemed to smile larger than thought possible. He waved by wiggling his fingers.
France tried to push passed a few more people but it was too late. A huge blaze sprouted from his love's body.
"No!" he screamed, trying his hardest to get through the loud, thick crowd.
Jeanne winced in intense pain, but caught France's eyes. Tears spilled over, but she smiled. His heart froze.
She mouthed, 'I love you, France'.
He felt his heart shatter as the woman tried to hold back her pain and agony. France could only watch as the woman he loved was killed. To make it worse, as if England wanted him to suffer more, they raked out her remains only to burn her again.
By the third time, France had left. He had failed to save her, like he'd failed to save Joie. Both died such horrific deaths. Jeanne was supposed to be different, though! God had sent her to do her mission! So why did he let her get killed? What God would send such a beautiful flower to die?
He let out a scream of agony and slammed his fist into a wall. The world would burn for taking Jeanne away from him. His chest was numb again, his heart frozen completely without the warmth of his Sun to defrost him.
"Aw, Francey~ was she important to you? I do so love a good burning, though~" a familiar voice came from behind him.
France turned around, "Go to hell. You and everyone else on this Earth will die a horrific agonizing death."
"Is that a promise?" England laughed, "So did you enjoy the show?"
That was it, the last straw. France pulled out a dagger and lurched himself at the man with strawberry hair. The knife was embedded in England's shoulder, but the man only let out a cackling laughter, "Give up, France, I'm stronger than you now~ your little Devil woman is dead! And guess what? We killed her~"
France pulled the knife free, but it was knocked from his hand as England kicked him. The man groaned in pain and pushed himself up on his knees to clutch his throbbing ribs. He was kicked to the ground, "This isn't over, poppet~ We will win and then I'll make sure you die~ You can join that witch in Hell~"
"Go die." France whispered, no longer feeling the fight in him. It expended too much energy to attack him head on. He would figure it out eventually. He would figure out how to kill another nation and then he would take solace in killing England.
Since her remains had been thrown into the Seine, he found himself without someone to bury, but that didn't stop him from setting up a marker right beside Joie's. In his hands was a large bouquet of white lilies and a small package.
"Jeanne … I'm so sorry … I failed … I failed to protect you, I failed to save you … I'm so sorry … I will kill him and get revenge." He whispered placing the flowers between the graves.
He reached into a bag and pulled out a beautiful little dress and set it on Joie's grave marker, and then he sat in front of the two.
France sat, his hands folded under his chin. His mind drifted to Jeanne and Joie and then to the many possible ways he could kill and be killed.
Well? I told you ... it was really hard to start writing this knowing I would have to write in the deaths ... but it got easier to write and I think this one is the best so far because everything clicked and came together without me really trying ...
~Lady Pyrien
up next: 2p!Russia
