Before she entered the church, Ukraine paused at the bent and broken doors that had once been so strong and proud. The polished wood was splintered in many places from being forced open, and smoldering burns scarred the once beautiful carvings from the destructive fire that had eaten through the building. Ukraine sighed sorrowfully, placing a hand on the battered door to carefully ease it open. She stepped through the threshold with the quiet grace of a deer, the heavy material of her skirt becoming a dusty blue at the hem from the ash that her feet kicked up. She went to dip her hand in the stoup* out of pure habit, but there was no holy water in it.
"Sister," the familiar, stoic voice of her younger sister, Belarus, echoed softly throughout the gutted husk of the church. Of the three siblings, Belarus was the one who could always keep her emotions in check, but even her voice held the sting of betrayal and sorrow in it.
"Natalia...," Katyusha replied, inclining her head slightly in acknowledgement. After a short span of silence, she asked, "How long has he been here?", her light blue eyes drifting to the hunched form that sat on the charred, ash-covered floor of the burnt out building.
"Since they ransacked the place and set it on fire," Natalia answered in a grim tone, nudging at a blackened book with the toe of her shoe, watching with an unreadable expression as it crumbled under the light touch. "He could feel it happening."
Ukraine closed her eyes, allowing a tear to slip down her pale cheek. Why? Why must they do such things to a holy place? This was the only place where my dear brother could find some peace, the only place that he didn't feel judged. This was the only place where he could be free to cry out his pain and fear without looking over his shoulder, expecting accusations of weakness from those who beat him down when they should be raising him up. It was the only place on Earth where he could feel close to something that was bigger than himself, where he could ask for help on what to do next...instead of other people coming to him for answers that he did not have, she thought, silently approaching her younger brother.
Russia was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, his chin resting on his kneecaps and his arms hugging his legs. It was a defensive posture that Ukraine hadn't seen him use since he was little, so she knew exactly what she was going to be dealing with.
"медвежонок*, what are you doing, sitting on the floor like that? You're going to get your good trousers all dirty," Katyusha chided in a light tone, settling herself down onto the floor next to her brother with a soft rustle of dense cloth skirts, ignoring her own statement. She shifted around until she was comfortable, her knees bent and legs out to her side; she smoothed out her skirt, her calloused hands catching slightly on the rough but durable material. Ukraine waited patiently for Russia to speak, knowing from many years of experience with her brother that one did not rush him on this things.
Russia never took his gaze off of the rubble that used to be the altar, speaking in a low tone, "They shot the priest...His ashes are somewhere in here, mixed in with the ones of the very house he tended."
Ukraine let out a breath from her nose, her gaze falling to the ashy floor. "Well...he must be happy, then," she hummed, running her fingers lovingly through the slight layer of gray ash.
That caused Russia to turn his attention to his older sister, his eyes bloodshot and face flushed from crying. "Why? Why would he be happy?" Ivan asked in a hoarse voice, sounding desperate for an answer - though Ukraine knew it was not to this specific question.
"While he may not be here on Earth to care for his flock, he will always be a part of this church. As you said, his ashes are mixed with those of the church, and what holy man would not wish to forever be with his church?" Katyusha explained in a soft voice. "He has already forgiven those who took his life, you should not dwell on it either, brother."
Russia sighed brokenly, shifting his tired gaze back to the debris of the building. "If I do not, who will? They are my people, yet they are so divided amongst themselves that I just don't know how to make all of them happy! I just want things to go back to how they were! I hate the way I feel all of the time now, l-like I can't keep a single thought straight in my mind without their voices whispering in my head," he muttered, his voice breaking slightly.
Ukraine immediately knew what Russia was describing: Revolution and government change. When a country's people became unhappy with the current government, it wasn't unusual for certain groups - or even all of them - to start rebelling and demanding a shift in power. This sort of national unrest could manifest itself in many different ways over the course of the revolution, though it's effects varied from personification to personification. Other factors were where specific riots were happening, their size and magnitude, as well as why the people were rioting. Headaches, stomachaches, fevers, insomnia, clouded thoughts, and hearing a multitude of different voices were all common symptoms that a country may experience during a revolution - some worsening as the discontent remains unresolved.
Ukraine brought her arms around Russia's broad shoulders, remembering a time when this was much easier to do, and pulled his upper body down to rest on her lap. It was a rather awkward position, since Russia was a good deal larger than the last time she had done this, but it was still a comforting position to be in. Ukraine didn't mind that one of her little brother's shoulders was digging into her side, and Russia didn't complain about the somewhat twisted position his back had been put into by his older sister.
Ukraine heard rather than saw Belarus walk up to them, a soft scuffling sound indicating that she had joined them on the floor, her eyes drifting shut as she felt Russia open his arms so that their younger sibling could embrace him and rest her head against his chest. The eldest of the three siblings couldn't count how many times they had huddled together like this as children, but not once had any of those times been as desperate an embrace as this - save for one that she refused to dredge the horrible memory of up at the moment, though, later, she would reflect on the similarities and weep.
God...Help us...
Stoup: A small vessel for holy water that is usually at the entrance of a church; smaller than a font.
медвежонок: "Bear cub" or "Teddy bear" in Russian