Hi, once again. So, there's been a few changes since last week. I've gotten a lot more organized, but at the expense of my writing time. Elricsgurl, sorry, but your one-shot will have to wait until next time. I've finished most of it, and I could probably post it now, but it hasn't been edited and I'm not satisfied. It wouldn't be fair to you if I posted a half-assed one-shot.

Anyways, everything has been sorted out now and I've got a plan all the way up to the 1st week of January.


Message (Part 1)

Fem!France x England

It all started with a flower.

She met him when they had just been children. She had run off into her family's garden after arguing with her father for some stupid reason that she no longer remembered, nor cared about. Francine had torn the ivy covered, crumbling part of the garden that no one would ever go to. Hidden by the bright green plants and broken pavilion, she sobbed and cried to her heart's content. About five minutes later, a little boy crawled in from the crumbling entrance.

He was scruffy, to say at the very least. His blonde hair was in a mess, bits of mud and twigs and plants stuck inside. The little boy, who only looked about a year or so younger than her, watched her with bright curious eyes. Shiny, green eyes, like that of the emeralds on her mother's jewelry.

"What are you doing here?" Francine had demanded with a boogery hiss. "Go away!" But the boy didn't move. Instead, he held out a small bouquet of some sort of flowers that she didn't recognize. She had let out a snarl. "I don't want your pity!" And then smacked them out of his hands, running off back into the manor.

Two weeks later, after Francine had finally ended her lessons with her boring old tutor, she sat in her room, staring at a vase of the same white bouquet of flowers that the little boy had offered her. She knew it was him, somehow. And the more time she spent by the window, the more she noticed him. "Lilian?" Francine had asked.

"Yes, M'Lady?" The older maid had curtsied to her politely.

The boy hadn't done that, she thought longingly. "Who is zat boy down zere?" Francine pointed outside to the boy working in the gardens. He always seemed to be in the gardens.

Lilian looked out the window before turning back to Francine with a smile. "That's Arthur Kirkland, M'Lady." The old woman gave a mournful look. "His family died in a fire a few years ago. He was the only survivor, but at a cost. He lost his ability to speak permanently, after the fire did something to his lungs. The poor lad, he can only communicate with sign language."

Or flowers, Francine glanced at the vase once again. She remembered her mother saying something about how flowers had hidden meanings. "Lilian, go get me zat one book, please. Ze one wiz ze flower translations."

And she had translated the flowers.

Daisy: Innocence; loyal love; I'll never tell. The last one struck a cord in her. Slowly, she began to feel that giddy feeling that could only be described as being a secret-keeper. No one ever told Francine anything, let alone secrets. Heather, white: Protection; wishes will come true. She frowned slightly, but continued. Hyacinth, pink: Play. Hyacinth, purple: I am sorry; please forgive me; sorrow.

Rose, yellow: Friendship.

Francine felt her heart nearly leap out of her chest. He wanted to be friends! The widest grin in the world spread across her small face. She raced down to the kitchen as fast as her tiny little legs could carry her. She had to fix this. "Mary, can you teach me how to make macaroons?"

The next day, Francine went to the same, crumbled hideout that she had met Arthur at. She fidgeted nervously. She had told a servant to tell him to come to the stone pavilion. But would he? She had been terrible to him that one time. If she was Arthur, she would never come. But he had been sending her bouquets of those flowers for two weeks straight, so it meant that he still wanted to be friends with her, right?

Right?

Someone cleared their throat from behind her and Francine whipped around to see Arthur. She squeaked a little. "H – Hello, Arzur." He seemed to beam a little at the use of his name. Francine swallowed whatever bits of fear were circling in her mind. "Here." She practically shoved a bag of macaroons, tied with a lace bow, into his hands. Tied to the bag of macaroons were two flowers. Peony: Shame and a yellow Rose: Friendship.

The largest and brightest grin she had ever seen on a person spread across Arthur's face. He nodded vigorously and Francine felt like flying.

XXX

Five years later, Arthur had stolen her first kiss.

But could she really say it was stolen, when she had wanted it to be taken?

The sat under the stone pavilion, eating the tuna fish sandwiches that Francine had made. They had that sort of friendship. Everyday, or whenever they could, the two would meet at the pavilion bringing flowers and food. They would dash around the garden and play, giggling and screeching playfully. Francine complained about being an heiress and her father almost daily. Arthur didn't seem to mind, smiling softly and nodding when needed.

But this time, it was different.

"Can you believe him, Artie?!" She nearly screamed. She hadn't brought any treats to eat that day. She was too busy fuming at her father to remember her part of the deal. "A boarding school! Of all ze zings, a boarding school! In Canada, no less."

Arthur frowned and made a motion with his hands. How long will you be gone?

Francine's chest clenched. Arthur had no other friends beside her. On one hand, she didn't want him to be lonely, but on the other, she refused to be replaced by anyone else. "I don't know…" She and Arthur didn't miss how her voice crumpled. "Artie, do you promise to always be my friend, no matter what happens?"

Arthur smiled softly, taking her hand in his. He nodded simply, watching as their fingers laced together. He nodded off somewhere into the garden, leading Francine away from the pavilion. She let him lead her away. Arthur didn't move far, taking a simple flower from the greenhouse garden. Sweat pea: Good-bye; Departure; Blissful Pleasure; Thank You for a Lovely Time. A yellow Zinnia: Daily Remembrance. Azalea: Take Care of Yourself for Me. Bells of Ireland: Good Luck.

The tears were dribbling from her eyes before she knew it. "How can you be so calm about zis?!" Francine sniffled, looking away from Arthur's wide eyes. "…I don't want to be separated from you."

She felt her hand be squeezed and spared a glance at Arthur.

That was all he had needed to swoop down and place a kiss on her lips. It was quick and messy, but even then Francine had felt the butterflies. "Arzur, you…"

And then he gave her one simple flower, a red Tulip. A declaration of love. She felt herself go red. Arthur smiled and made a variety of hand motions. I'll wait for you. A lump formed in her throat and she didn't trust herself to make any stupid decisions. Instead, she nodded and kissed his cheek before running away.

Francine didn't have the courage to tell him that she was leaving that night.

XXX

It was another five years before she finally returned to the manor.

Francine didn't even bother going into the manor or even to greet the servants. She bolted just after the carriage stopped. Barely. She ran straight to the pavilion, not caring that she had ripped her dress or that she was caking herself in mud. Arthur. Arthur was the only thing on her mind. He had been the only thing on her mind for five years.

She clutched the Ambrosia flower in hand, practically destroying the poor flower.

Francine stopped abruptly, her heart catching in her throat. There, under the shade of a half crumbled pavilion, was a boy. No, not a boy. A man. His disheveled blonde hair reached to his neck's nape. He was sleeping, not even making a sound. Francine traced every feature of him. The curve of his jaw, the point of his nose, the absent furrow of his somewhat thick brows. He was fit, probably from all the labor work in the garden. Arthur was smudged in dirt, but he looked peaceful.

For a moment, Francine was so torn between running away and running to him.

He was so handsome. Arthur probably, no, definitely, had a lover. He had probably forgotten all about her. She trembled slightly, tears threatening to spill over. What if he had been faking it? What if she was just some silly childhood crush to him? What if he had never loved her?

She stumbled backwards, landing on her rump. Francine didn't bother getting up. This was too much. She couldn't handle this. She thought she could, but she couldn't. Francine looked down with blurry eyes, watching her hands tremble loosely around the Ambrosia flower.

Returned love.

It had taken her a solid year before she finally decided that what she was feeling for Arthur was in fact love. The other four years had only been worse and worse after that. The constant ache of being away from your loved ones. This was the first time she had felt it. Her mother died when she was just a child, and was always too sick to see her before that. Francine hated her father and she knew that he, in return, felt the same way towards her.

Arthur was the only person she had ever loved and she knew it would destroy her if he didn't feel the same.