Syria sat on the ground for hours. She sat there, wallowing in her sadness. Italy was injured, and it was her fault. She had blood on her hands, and there was a small streak on her jaw from where she rubbed her face. The blood was dried and starting to crust.

The angry growl of her stomach and the chill of the air caused Syria to get up and go home. She walked as if she was dead. Her arms hung loose and her legs moved slowly. She stared into the distance as she walked. Surprisingly, she didn't run into anything.

Syria made it home just as a light snow began to fall. She got as far as the front door. As she took hold of the door knob, her legs gave out under her. She fell to the ground with a loud sob. Her hands went to her face as she started weeping over Italy once more.

Inside his house, Russia watched the scene from his window. Needless to say he was curious, but the scene was too beautiful to interrupt. The sight of the girl in a heap crying, her figure against the snowflakes was something that made him speechless. He'd never seen such a beauty, living out in the middle of nowhere.

A strange satisfaction rose in the heart of Russia. He enjoyed the scene while it lasted. Seeing the girl in such a distressed state brought some form of comfort to him. He wanted to go out there and touch her; he wanted to hold her in his arms as she wept. He wanted to feel the hot tears of another person against his skin. It wasn't until Syria managed to enter the house when he realized these desires were complete nonsense. He grimaced to himself and turned from the window.

Once she managed to get inside, Syria went to her room. She got Sargon off from her bed and hugged him with one arm. She cried against his plush head. The feel of the fabric brought comfort to her. Syria stood in her room, hugging the toy until she finally stopped crying. She brought Sargon away from her, looking at him. His head was wet from the tears.

"Sargon...," Syria whispered. She smiled a little at the rabbit as she brushed his floppy away ears from the his face. "Thanks for always being here when I need you." Syria hugged Sargon tightly and put him back on the bed. She headed for the bathroom, grabbing a clean change of clothes as she did.

Once out of the bath, Syria went to the kitchen to calm her raging stomach. She combed back her wet hair as she searched the fridge for something to eat. Finding nothing, she groaned and wandered into the front room.

"Hello," said a familiar Russian accent. Syria turned to the voice, seeing the Russian sitting comfortably in one of the cushioned chairs he had made. He smiled his innocent smile and said to her, "You look hungry, da?"

"What are you doing here? How did you even get in?" Syria asked, annoyed. Russia seemed to enjoy breaking into her house more than she would like him to. She just hoped he'd stop, once he realized she was too small of a country to be worth anything yet.

"I bring you food," he said as he held out to her a container with food inside it. "It's gous v yablokach. It's a Russian cuisine." Syria took the container and looked inside. The food looked delicious.

"Did you cook this?" Syria asked, a bit surprised. She didn't expect Russia to be a chef. She also didn't expect him to be this nice to her.

"No, my chef did," he said. "He make too much so I bring some to you. I thought you'd like it, da?" Russia smiled at her. Syria looked at him, a half-smile plastered onto her face. She opened the container and the smell of cooked goose hit her nose.

"Well, that's very nice of you. Why are you doing all of this stuff for me, Russia?" Syria asked. She inhaled the smell of the goose and sighed happily. The smell made her think of a Christmas dinner, with a happy family around a table.

"I like to see people happy before I make their face contort in pain," Russia said. His tone was all too innocent for what he had just said. "It makes it more interesting." Syria felt the chills crawl down her back and closed the container.

"W-well, I'm not sure whether I should be worrying or laughing. Because that was a joke, right?" she said, trying to convince herself more than him. Russia simply smiled at her.

"You find out soon, da," he said. His reply was unnerving. Syria forced out a laugh.

"Hahaha, it's getting late, don't you think? You should probably head home," Syria said. Russia took the hint and stood up. He brushed past her to get to the door. The closeness of him sent more chills down Syria's spine.

"Right. I see you later, da? Spokoinai nochi,"

"Uh, sure. Tosbeh 'ala khair." Russia smiled once more before leaving. Syria sighed and locked the door. She went to her kitchen to eat the food Russia had given her. It tasted as good as it smelled. Once she had eaten, Syria went to bed.

The next morning Syria woke to find the ground covered with snow. She smiled at it, she had always loved snow. She sat up in bed and stretched, her back popping as she did. With a sigh she got out of bed and headed out of the bedroom. It was cold in the house; she didn't have any heating yet.

She noticed a piece of paper on the floor by the door. Syria went and picked it up. The paper was neatly folded in half. She opened the paper. It appeared to be a letter. She read it aloud as she carried on with her morning routine.

Dear Syria,

I regret to inform you that your alliance with Italy has hereby ended. He wishes no further contact unless it is him who contacts you. Please respect this decision, or I will be forced to gas you. Italy is in good health and recovering from the shot wound. He will only have a scar once he is fully healed.

Sincerely,
Germany

"My...alliance with Italy?" Syria questioned. She frowned. "Italy doesn't want to be my friend anymore." Syria gritted her teeth and slammed the letter down. "Damnit!" She started to tear up again, but quickly wiped the tears away. "I'm losing my only friend!" Syria leaned down onto the counter, holding her head in her hands.

She stayed like that for a few minutes to allow herself to calm down. Syria slowly rubbed her face and went to her bedroom to get dressed. She dressed warmly, in a long coat with a thick dress underneath; she put on a matching scarf and gloves as well. Her boots were long and were tied neatly at the top. With a sigh, she grabbed Sargon, dressed him up with a scarf, and went outside.

Just as she expected, the temperature outside was dangling just above the negatives. She sat on her porch step and watched as the snow kept falling. It felt nice to be outside, just by herself. It helped her think about things clearly. The fresh air was comforting and the snow was calming. She really liked it here.

"Oh, Sargon. What am I going to do? I don't have any allies now," she said. She frowned as she spoke. "Being independent is hard." Syria pouted and sighed. She looked at Sargon. "At least I have you." She smiled a little and hugged him.

Syria couldn't help but notice the pang of depression starting to grow inside her. All she wanted was independence. She didn't want anyone to get hurt. And she didn't want to lose her best friend over it either. It seemed she bit off more than she could chew when she left France.

"It is pretty, da?" asked Russia, who was suddenly sitting right next to her. Syria jumped, being startled out of her thoughts. She blinked and looked at Russia, then sighed.

"What are you doing here?" Syria asked.

"You look lonely, so I sit with you," Russia stated. "We are friends, da?" Syria smiled a bit.

"I suppose we are," she said quietly.