"Getting closer every time. Who knows how long this will take but…..I'll be back soon Ludwig. I'll be home soon Roderich."

He didn't mean to scare Melody off. He really didn't. But it seemed he did that to a lot of people now. He either scared them off from snapping at them or from his own self pity from the deeds he had done to so many people and so many countries he once considered family and friends. He sighed with a shake of his head as he walked the cavern, his hand on the rough wall and taking in the surroundings. The crystals were glowing a deep scarlet red this time. Why did they keep changing color on him. He even stopped to wonder if it was a sign of something bad that would happen to him or the next history he would have to fix. He clutched the bandelier tighter in his hand, scared of what his next adventure would be after his encounter with Russia and what he had to do to that poor mob of people who just wanted change to happen for them. As he finally found an open cave, he seemed to relax a bit when he saw the words. Until he actually read what they said. He wasn't so happy to see English for the first time since he had entered the cavern that was starting to feel like a prison in the slightest. He looked away as he tried not to remember those words. Those curses she sent to him. The hatred that seemed to burn in her eyes as she spat on the ground near his feet. He didn't want to have to face her in any form.

'Look what you've done PR- No...I won't even say it! You don't even deserve to be called your real name! Not anymore! You're a shell of what you used to be! I curse you! I curse your lifeline! I curse everything you care for!'

He didn't know at the time that she was actually magic. A lot of people hadn't known what she was capable of in the Second World War. She was a Christian and she seemed so sweet and kind to those around her even if she never wore anything that wasn't long pants and long shirt or even dresses. She had hidden her magic from everyone so well behind her smile and freckles. Before this all went down she would even have been considered a friend to Gilbert when she caught his plane crashed into the bogs of her country. Since she was neutral the prisoners of war had a more relaxed life in her hills and bogs and beauty. They would go drinking together even on cold nights, laughing about their siblings mischief as children and seeming to talk the night away under star lit skies. Many even believed they were in love for a time but they both had secrets. Gilbert about his love for Austria and Ireland about her love of someone who was too clueless to even realize it. Gilbert had offered to be her wing man once but she had declined that day, saying she'd rather the man figure it out on his own. He gently placed his hand over the writing, wiping away the dust with a hand that shook from both fear and sorrow, to uncover the writing that was held beneath the grime. It suddenly glowed a hellish red and then it went black, tendrils of the blackness running up his arm at an alarming speed. He felt something odd surge through his body as he fell to his knees, nearly screaming from the pain that seemed to come in waves. The tendrils kept climbing faster and faster until it seemed into his eyes. The pain was agonizing as the blackness seemed to seep into him before his vision cleared and everything seemed almost normal until he remembered. That was right…..He was cursed…..He let the pain subside from the waves that had just flooded his body with white fire before he got up and looked at his hand. There was a mark, red and bloody on his palm that seemed to have a dull throbbing pain to the sight. It looked like a Celtic cross lit ablaze to him which unnerved him greatly since he knew that the curse was still fresh after over a century and he could see…...things. So many things. He could see faint images of magical creatures that danced and flitted in his vision like a ghost of the past that had returned to haunt his apparently doomed soul. The entire experience made him feel ill for a few moments, both from the newly found vision that he now apparently had and the fact that this was once normal for the magic countries. He had believed like everyone else that they were crazy and now he would be considered it too. He closed his eyes for a few moments, praying the images would pass before opening them again. Everything seemed normal again. But he couldn't stop thinking about the things he had seen. Fairies flitting about on paper wings and leprechauns that danced with gold coins. The unicorn with the silvery blood oozing down it's side. He finally managed to gather the courage to read the inscription and his heart fell, realizing the time he would have to face.

'The cold took my people, the hatred took my heart. The day they left and never came home. Ireland 1845-1852'

"The…...Potato famine…..I have to go to that of all times…..Why did it have to be that..."

He shook his head with a sad smile, thinking back to how he remembered it from his point of view. England had told him she had been troublesome and so he was going to do something to fix it. He didn't know until World War Two when she finally told him what happened under the starlit skies. How England starved and tortured her people and how crazy he had been. How she had starved and her people left her so she had to run to America just to stay alive. After thinking over it for a while he finally looked around for Melody, seeing no trace of her. He just wanted to apologize for whatever he had done to scare her off. He wasn't that same person that he was back then. He was different now, knowing the folly of the mistakes he made. He even called out her name in an attempt to maybe draw her out before giving up and facing the cave again. He made sure his hair was tied back just in case he needed to cut it off in a struggle before realizing he needed to do something about his appearance. Ireland would know who he was since they had met a few times before the famine, mostly in passing but still he knew she might recognize his white hair. He decided he would figure it out when he got in there since he never met the country he was saving right when he entered the history as he dropped the bandelier nearby before shutting his eyes, giving a battle cry as he ran in as fast as he could. His feet touched solid earth faster than he thought it should have as he quickly dived into a bush for cover just in case. He hadn't expected a frozen and skeletal dead body lying there with him as he almost screamed. He couldn't help it since it had reminded him of something he'd rather forget. He knew he had to take the clothes. He had no choice at the moment. The clothes would just barely work. He tried not to think on what he was doing with this corpse, stomping on limbs to get the pieces of cloth off the stiff cadaver as he stripped and put the dead man's clothes on. He then rubbed himself down with dirt and put it into his hair to make it seem at least a light brunette. It was the best that he could do as he surveyed his surroundings. Everything was so cold. So very cold and desolate. It reminded him so much of the warfields of the Third World War, making him internally cringe at the thought. He knew the bush would not have been a good cover if he had found anyone due to what he had to do to the corpse and the fact it had no leaves on it. He eventually heard voices, forcing him to run for cover behind some trees, praying to God he was hidden enough to not be caught..

'I….I can do this Alistair! H-He'll wake up y-you'll see! I-I promised not to let him sleep! I promised!'

'Brighid he's dead…..the lad died. He's as cold as your country in this winter.'

'I-I can fix him I…...I can…..I….'

'Me and Wales have to leave before England shows up but….I can at least promise to come back.'

'Yeah…..Francis promised the same thing…He never did...Just…..Just go….'

Gilbert saw Scotland walk off with Wales close behind. He didn't even know Wales was there though he should have realized when Alistair said 'we'. He was always so quiet with his brunette hair and nervous eyes. Scotland meanwhile looked like shit. He had a black eye and his fiery red hair was a lot duller and tied back into a ponytail. He couldn't remember Wales' name sadly. He barely had even spoken with him since he tended to stay away from meetings. When he believed they were far enough he came from his place of hiding, working the best acting skills he could into his performance of being a poor Irish person who had somehow managed to struggle through survival. He finally could see how bad Brighid was fully now. Her ginger-brown hair was matted and dull, reminding him of the ground that he was walking upon and just making the dirty and thin appearance she had remind him of that time again. She looked like one of the people from the camps in World War Two except she still had her hair, as horribly matted as it was. She had on a normal green dress but it was tattered and filthy, showing just how poor she really was. She was clutching a boy that looked no more than four years old, limp and definitely dead. Brighid finally looked up but seemed so out of it she didn't even notice his crappy disguise which he was only slightly glad for before he heard a voice as had to run off, making it look like he was seeing British soldiers almost. When he was hidden he watched none other than England approach her, still sitting in the road clutching the child.

'Don't you see what happens dear sister? If you don't pay then you're left to rot with the rest of your people.'

'My people are the Celtic Catholics! Not your protestant landowners that you keep safe!'

'Oh sister you're so….pathetic!'

She gently laid the boy down before standing up, tears and rage in her eyes as she ran at her brother with a ball of clover green magic only to be grabbed by the neck and held up. Arthur then grabbed a bottle from his belt and opened it as Brighid sputtered and coughed, a clover green stream of what Gilbert assumed was magic coming from her mouth and eyes as it collected itself inside the bottle. When the color was completely in the bottle Arthur threw her sister to the ground and spat on her, smirking as if he had won something. In Gilbert's eyes all he had won was Gilbert's new-found hatred of England. Of what he had done to poor Brighid who was just trying to stay alive. Who had acted out of anger like so many people whom he had know eventually had done in their past. Of what he had done in the Second World War when he shot England at point blank range that splattered the brains of the country upon the cobblestones of London. It made him feel sick to his stomach to know England had caused so much pain to his friend. But he didn't dare leave his hiding spot in fear of what England would do to him if caught. So he had to watch in silence as Arthur proceeded to beat the shit out of his sister who was already in enough pain from her people suffering, kicking her in the ribs and stomping on her pale and thin flesh until bruises and cuts littered her body as she was sobbing and coughing up a small puddle of dark red liquid that Gilbert already knew would be blood. It was only when Brighid was in a fetal position, unable to scream anymore that England finally walked away. Only then did Gilbert come out from hiding and ran over to Brighid, trying to help her sit up, trying to get her to move on her own before picking her up, too scared of letting her do it now since she was unable to do it on her own. She was light, dangerously light and it scared him. The blood coming from her mouth scared him. The dull and dead look in her eyes scared him. The shallow breathing that soon developed into coughing and more blood scared him. He was so scared his friend was going down even though he knew better than that. He knew she would live with a slight limp she would play off for centuries because of what Arthur did to her. When she finally seemed slightly aware of what was going on she spoke, her voice scared and cracking.

'A-Are you leaving too? Are you all going to leave me here? To die in the cold and hunger?'

"N-No….I…."

He knew what he had to do this time and he was thankful he didn't have to hurt her in any way. He just had to take her and put her on some sort of transportation to America. He knew that Alfred would take care of her from there. At least he hoped he would at least. He then took out a knife and cut the mats from her hair, being gentle and whispering calmly as he worked until all she had left was a sort of bobbed style haircut. He could only do that much as he put the knife away. She at least looked a little better now. As he gently reach towards her face to move the bangs he had been forced to create her eyes went wide as he had forgotten the symbol that was on his hand, having already grown accustomed to the dull throb that seemed to never stop from it. Her eyes held a sort of pity towards Gilbert as she looked away. Her eyes didn't hold any sort of caring for the mark that had been placed upon him. She didn't even look like she held a shred of happiness towards the mark, instead having a twinge of fear of what had been etched into his palm and he winced at a new-found pain that wracked his body as he shut his eyes and hissed. Why was it hurting again! Why was everything hurting! A white fire seemed to be engulfing his entire arm as tears of pain formed and rolled down his face. It took a while for it all to subside again as he was left breathing heavily, Brighid not meeting his gaze. When she finally spoke it held fear and a slight hint of awe to it in his mind.

'You are cursed….That's a symbol of treason. A symbol of hatred and fear. It makes the wearer see magic and magical creatures and forces them to feel pain around white magic users. People who are born of pure magic that cannot be corrupted. You have the symbol of black magic, a magic that slowly destroys the spot it has been etched from the inside out.….I pity and pray for your mortal soul…..'

She slowly reached out and touched her hand with his, sending another flash of pain from him before she retracted it, looking towards the child on the ground. Gilbert instinctively let Brighid down towards the ground so she could pick the child up and cradle it in her arms much like a mother would. He only then got up and walked as slow as he could so he could lead her away from the horrifying sight that was her land. He had to get her onto a boat to America at any cost to his own being right now. He knew that he had to as a sort of repayment for what he did to her. To the family she had and cared for enough to hide her magic from her siblings. He didn't even want to ask her how she would get her magic back by World War Two if he survived this. He knew it was none of his business and she would have told him. He was just glad that this time nobody would have to be hurt by his hand to fix a history. He wouldn't have to make someone have to remember him as whatever they saw in their history. They wouldn't remember him as a monster that was too cowardly to do anything to fix his mistakes. Ireland wouldn't become dependent on her younger brother and never leave the status of a British Colony. She would gain her independence and become the strong woman that he knew who loved to go out drinking and held life and nature above all else, even when praying for the souls that had been taken. She would have secrets that even he wouldn't know, at least he believed that. He was so happy. He seemed to walk forever before he eventually found a group running away to America and led her through the crowd. He found a man crying, holding what seemed to be a letter. Gilbert asked with a lowered head if he would carry Brighid onto the boat as he was unable to, taking the child from Brighid's arms as she had thankfully fallen asleep. He then wrote a letter to Alfred, placing in her hand as he knew Alfred would come to see the new arrivals off the boat like he always did. He stood there as the people boarded the boats, waving to the man who had taken Brighid into his arms, still holding the poor child. He had learned the child was named Seamus from Brighid. It was the only thing she had repeated to herself until she had fallen asleep. When the boat was finally out of sight he walked away, going back to where his clothes lay hidden and grabbed them, putting them back on. He didn't have to worry about other countries coming to him as he was vulnerable or even about being caught as he knew the countries wouldn't really care. Ireland was part of the United Kingdom. Northern Ireland didn't exist yet. He was just a lost soul wandering with a dead child. He knew Brighid would return to her home eventually to fight against her brother for her freedom to be herself, away from the British rule. When he was changed back into his normal clothes he picked up the clothes he had used and walked in the direction of a forest, not caring if he was seen. The people would be too delirious to think of him as more than a hunger hallucination. He needed to bury the child. It was only fair to poor Brighid as it was one of her people who were now gone and would never return to the land of the living. He laid the child down gently onto the ground and started to dig with his hands, the cold and hard dirt hurting him with every scoop of dirt he managed to get out of the hole he was making. It seemed to take him hours, even a whole day to dig the grave for the child except time didn't change. The sun stayed in it's position which worried him. It was like time had suddenly become weird around him, making it slower and seemingly stop as he had dug. He tried to ignore it as best he could as he finally had a grave for the small and innocent child, gently picking up the body and placing it in the grave much like a father would do for his own child. He then took the clothes he had stolen earlier and ripped them apart before tying them together to resemble a sort of blanket that he covered the boy in. If it wasn't for the fact the child was starting to stiffen from the cold around him Gilbert could almost believe it was only sleeping. He covered the child, the little four year old Seamus forever before he bowed his head and said a prayer, even if it was in German. He didn't care about what language he was speaking in that moment as it still meant the same thing across all languages. Since the day he killed so many people he had grown into a more kind, gentle and caring person from realizing the mistakes he had made. He just wanted to fix it all now, like a redemption for his soul. When he opened his eyes again he saw that the bubble appeared. He gave a soft yet sad smile as he reached out his hand and touched it, not expecting the bubble to give him the same memory he had already seen before.

Gilbert was walking through London which had just been taken by the Axis. He smirked as he walked those cobble stone streets, the roads once clean and full of children held the bodies of people who hadn't gotten to the shelters in time. Chunks of people were everywhere and blood both fresh and dried coated the streets. After the initial shock he was finally helping get the Axis powerful and finally end the war. He was tired of war and everything it brought. But he wanted to win. Whatever he had done had lit a spark of defiance in his body and he wanted to win more than anything. England's people were nearly gone too. They had either fled or been captured by the Axis. Soon enough Gilbert came to the town square where a ginger woman was desperately clutching a blonde man who was bleeding from his ears, eyes and mouth. His body was mangled and he was missing a limb or two yet he had his hand to the crying woman's cheek. When the woman looked up her clover green eyes went cold and she clutched the man tighter to her chest.

'Look what you've done PR- no...I won't even say it! You don't even deserve to be called your real name. Not anymore. You're a shell of what you used to be. I curse you. I curse your lifeline. I curse everything you care for!'

"Shut it Brighid. You knew damn well this would happen. I'm just here to finish it. Run back to your little neutral home in Ireland you whore."

Gilbert yanked the man from the woman's grip who was now identified as The Republic of Ireland as the man, known as England held a glare to his very final moments. Gilbert put his revolver to England's head and shot him as he dropped to the ground. As he walked away he could hear the shouts and wails of Ireland as she cursed him to the heavens. He only looked back once to see Ireland gently petting England's hair and muttering the same sentence over and over.

'I'm so sorry Arthur. I'm so sorry I wasn't there when you needed me most.'

He stared wide eyed at the memory replay as the bright light surrounded him, forcing his eyes shut. Why did it repeat the memory! Why! He was supposed to see a new one on how Ireland died! That was what happened before! He fixed England's history! It should have played a new memory! When he opened his eyes once again he was in a cave but it was small with another cave entrance in it. He stared at it with a dumbfounded expression. It wasn't over? How was it not over! There was one huge crystal on the ceiling that held a white but gentle light. It seemed warm, inviting almost before he felt the pain in his hand go up to his head. He held his head and swore, the pain being more dull and throbbing than a digging knife would like when Brighid had touched it. When he opened his eyes there was a mint green bunny flying circles around his head and seeming to be trying to say something but it seemed to fade away after only two minutes, it's voice never getting above a whisper. His head hurt so much and the world seemed to be spinning around him. Was this what part of this mark meant? Seeing the magic and magical creatures? And why was it getting stronger! He laid down and closed his eyes, curling up and for once having a dreamless sleep. He didn't have a nightmare. He didn't dream either. It was only black nothingness. He muttered something quietly in his half-awake state though before going completely out.

"What is happening to me….."