Smoke fills my lungs and an unbearable pain shoots up my right leg. Damn, they must have fought back, I thought they were over that.
I roll onto my stomach with a loud thud that jerks my leg across the hardwood floor, and elicits a shriek from my lips that turns into a violent hack as I breath out the ashy air.
I force my head off of the floor trying to find the door. All about me mermaids with flickering red tails swish and swoop across the floor will their dancing golden hair falls across their glimmering orange eyes. Swirling around them are ribbons of seaweed in maroon and yellow, that pass flecks of blue in between them.
There's mermaids and seaweed and I feel like I'm drowning, but it's hot, no, sweltering, it can't be water, it must be fire, yes, it must be.
Did Norge forget that I was in here? Did he set the house on fire?...No, no it was the villagers who fought me.
Oh, but they weren't villagers were they? No they couldn't be, I'm a nation, only other nations can hurt me.
What did they… yes, big eyebrows, all of them and...two of them were blond, the rest had red hair. And one was sick, yes that one must personify the place were invading.
One of them… yes they fought me and won, did they set the house on fire? Why would they do that?
Never mind that, I need to get out. I reach my arm across what's left of the floor and dig my nails into the boards, pulling myself across the one-room house. My leg gives out another spasm of aggravating pain and I bite into my tongue without thinking.
I taste my metallic blood as it pools on my tongue and slides down my throat, making me shudder.
But I don't stop, I keep scratching my way to the door until finally I feel the cool night air hit my lungs and I collapse on cinder filled grass in the glowing light of a burning house.
I blink open my heavy eyes and gape at the starchy white room. My leg is wrapped in stiff bandages and a stack of ivory blankets is piled on top of me so that I can't move.
The room is quaint. Theres a small unframed picture, painted in hushed purple brush strokes and menacing black lines. Beneath it there's a short white table that plays host to a vase and flowers match the purple of the painting. I'm in a plain bed that's been pushed against the middle of a wall, and a few steps away there's an open window with cream colored curtains that blow about in a breeze. The whole place smells like hot beeswax and burning cake.
I hear the sound of bustling fabric and turn away from the window to see what's going on. In the doorway there's an old woman, she has eyes the color of the ocean after a bad storm and she has high cheekbones that hold up her thin face. Wrinkles hide beneath her eyes and nose then fall asleep on her cheeks, and wisps of grey hair peek out from her long black head scarf. She's got on a long black dress and you can hardly see any of her, only the heavy loose cloth that hangs from her shoulders. I've seen women like this before, I think Norge called them nuns.
"Hello." I give her a fake smile, maybe if I'm nice she'll tell me where I am.
"Oh, you're up, good." She gives me a sweet motherly smile and walks over to my bed. "Now dear, why don't you tell me what your name is?"
"My name is Mathias Khøler. I-Uh where am I?"
She throws her head back and lets out a hearty chuckle. "Oh dear, yes, I suppose you wouldn't remember would you? Well you see, I heard that the invaders from the north had come back, so I went to go find and collect all the wounded. You were passed-out in front of a burnt down house, and your leg was broken so I brought you In."
I give her a puzzled look. "But I am an invader from the north."
She look shocked for a minute. "Oh my, well, I suppose we are all God's children. You may stay here until you are better."
"God's children?"
"Oh that's right, you were not raised with the beliefs of the good book. Would you like to learn?"
I still don't know where I am or who this woman is, but maybe if I do what she want's she'll tell me. "I'd like to see, is that alright?"
She glances down at me and starts to turn away. "Of course."
She meanders over to the little table and picks up a black book with golden letters on the front. She looks up at me with a grin. "Mr. Khøler, this is what we call the Bible."
I sit with my leg propped up against a mound of pillows while my little black book rests on the bed beside me. A chilly midnight breeze crawls through the open window and runs it's fingers across my arms, making me shiver.
There's bells outside and they clink together like nobles toasting to themselves, and it clashes with the footsteps that give the hushed wind a beat to dance to.
That's when I hear him. "Dane! Dane! Mathias Khøler where are you?" The voice is stuck between a high sing song and a deep demanding shout that tells me it's Norge.
Norge. How will he feel about Christianity? I don't agree with all of it myself, and I don't want to abandon my current gods, but sister Clarean has been so kind and I agree with some of it, but what will he think?
That's when she walks in. "It appears that your friend is here, I'll let him in," then she's gone again.
I hear running foot steps and then Norge's lips are pressed against mine and he tastes like fire and passion, and his mouth is the temperature of happiness.
I missed him, even for just one day I missed him so much.
I wrap my arms around his neck and let my fingers fumble about in his hair. Just before I close my eyes I watch sister Clarean shake her head and leave. I ignore her disapproving face and sink into the kiss. I don't need her to tell me who to love.
After a few seconds my lips are left with nothing to kiss and I open my open my eyes to see Norge sitting at my side and pointing to my Bible. "What's that?"
"A book."
"I know that, but about what?"
I pick it up and hand it to him "Why don't you find out yourself?"
He grabs the book and tucks it into his belt. "I'll look at it later. Now let's get back to the ship, everyone's waiting."
I sling my arm across his shoulder and he wraps an arm around my waist, hoisting me onto my feet.
As I limp out the door I look back, and give my caretaker a heartfelt smile. "Thank you, sister Clarean."
AN: So this is rather different, having brakes in the page and all. Sister Clarean is a random OC who I made for this story, I hope you like her (:
Please review
I don't own Hetalia
