Sounds of shouting and running resonated in the house's corridors up to the last floor, rumbling as would the stampede of a herd of wild horses frightened by a wildcat,. "Kugelmugel!" England exclaimed as he climbed first the thin stairs of the attic.

"Yes, what is it?" the young boy simply answered, much to the Englishman's surprise.

The white braided micronation was sitting on the rough floor, knees comfortably brought up to his chin, arms hugging his legs, facing an old mirror with a latch and cracked glass. The sheet that once covered it was displayed around its sculpted wooden feet. Kugelmugel didn't bothered to turn around, even when the Englishman approached, agape.

"Is everything alright? You screamed."

"I did?" he simply answered.

"Yes. And what are you doing on the floor?"

"A blow startled me and I tripped." Without taking his eyes away from the mirror, he pointed at the wall. The old round window's rusty latch had broken and wind engulfed in the attic, lifting the corners of the sheets. England lifted an eyebrow, getting more and more surprised. However, he quickly pulled himself together, trying to keep a straight face in front of the little boy who was still staring at his reflection in the mirror.

"Are you… sure? That's all?"

Kugelmugel blinked two or three times before his purple gaze looked up at the Englishman. A reassuring smile painted itself on his face and England barely sighed from the relief. But before either of them could open his mouth and speak, noise raised again.

"Can we come up now?"

"What's happening? What happened with Kugel?"

"Eyebrows, I want to come up!"

"Wow, hey there, what's up? Let me through, kids, it's my attic." America's curious face appeared above the trapdoor opened over the thin stairs in a choir of protests from the young ones stuck in the corridor. "Iggy, what happened? What is Austria's kid doing here?" he asked. His voice was reproach-free, he wasn't even worried, simply curious. By reflex, England used a paternalist and annoyed tone again.

"He climbed here to find art material. We should forbid kids to come up here, it's dangerous."

"Relax, dude, they're just having fun! Though it is true I didn't come up here for a very long time. There might still be old weapons lying around." the American added pensively. "But hey, they're probably busted by now!"

"Alfred, even old weapons are dangerous! You think it's fine? What will you do if one of them gets hurt? The door to the attic shouldn't even be unlocked, you idiot!"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it…" America shrugged. "Sorry, kid, but the old fart is right, you should not come up here. I'll found you some paint if that's what you wanted."

"Old fart? Alfred, are you kidding me?"

"What? It's true!"

Kugelmugel barely reacted. He had turned to the mirror again and was contemplating his reflection once more. England felt worried again but Ladonia, having obviously decided it was enough, ran pass America and jumped to the Austrian micronation. "Hey, Kugel, you're ok, right? Come here, you're not gonna stay here all day, you heard Alfred, right?"

Kugelmugel recoiled slightly when his friend's hand touched his shoulder. It was barely visible, in fact no one noticed it, except for the little redhead who frowned immediately. "You sure you're okay?" Still no answer. Kugelmugel simply let him help him up and guide him to the exit with a pensive face. "Hey," Ladonia whispered before they left, "I've found the office's computer's access code. We can go play with it if you want." The white braided kid giggled at this and it was as if colors suddenly rushed back in him. They joined Sealand and Wy downstairs, who had no idea of what had happened but were glad they could move on, and they all ran to the living room, followed by America.

"Yo, dude, you coming or not?" he shouted at his former caretaker before he went down.

England waited for him to leave to study the cracked mirror that had interested Kugelmugel so much from a little bit closer. He might be imagining things but… Better safe than sorry. He made a point to close the latch and put the sheet back in place before he left. An ominous feeling he tried to ignore was holding his heart in a burning grip. He really hoped he was wrong.