Author's Note before we begin: I highly recommend listening to Davy Jones' theme from 'Pirates of the Caribbean', but only the music box version. Just the music box version.
Regular font indicates the present, particularly through Matthew's perspective.
Italic font indicates flashbacking, a lot of which may/may not be in Matthew's perspective.
Bold italic font indicates thought.
~February 28th, 1947~
Matthew absentmindedly readjusted his red scarf around his neck to prevent the cold February air from seeping into his skin, keeping a firm grip on the flower held between his gloved fingertips, the freshwater turning to icicles on the light green stem due to the steadily decreasing temperature to rival even that of Canada's winter weather.
He removed his glasses and wiped them using the hem of his winter jacket to clear the lenses of fog. Canada put his glasses back on, glancing up at the snowflakes fluttering down from the grey sky. A soft sigh escaped in a puff of smoke in front of his face as he made his way towards a small white church bathed in snow.
The blonde stepped inside the church, his violet orbs glinting like amethysts amongst the candles lit in the foyer. A moment of listening to an organ playing a familiar march resulted in Canada heading to the hall with haste, realizing the event had already started.
Considering the Second World War was still fresh in the memories of the world's personifications, Ludwig, Feliciano, Elizabeta, and Roderich were the only countries present, aside from Matthew (Kiku was unable to attend, given he was still recovering from the bombs of Hiroshima and Nagasaki). Even then, Matthew was thankful for his powers of invisibility, given they probably wouldn't have welcomed him to the service knowing he was related to America, England, and France, three of the four countries involved in the Allied Control Council.
The Alfred, Arthur, and Francis didn't even bother to pay their respects, The Canadian personification thought bitterly, his grip on the flower tightening in the process. Even though they caused this to happen.
The last thing he remembered was seeing a priest walk to the altar, a solemn look beheld on his features as he sprinkled the coffin with holy water and incense. After the priest gave his requiem, the funeral went by in a blur, or at least it seemed for Matthew. He remembered Elizabeta stepping up to the altar to present her piece regarding the deceased shortly after the priest finished, followed by Roderich. Feliciano tried to give a eulogy but broke into tears before he could finish, eventually being escorted off the podium by Ludwig, who appeared to be repressing the urge to cry as well.
When the eulogies had finished, the coffin was opened by the priest to allow the mourners a final look at the corpse before the burial.
It was when the German personification caught sight of his older sister in the casket, that he finally broke into a fit of silent tears. After a moment of furiously wiping at his eyes to get rid of the saltwater, he placed a lily beside her and walked stiffly towards his seat.
The remaining countries walked up to the coffin, each bearing their own flowers to place. Only after the others went forth and paid their respects in the form of plants, did Matthew go up and do the same.
Time seemed to slow down for the Canadian, as he made his way towards the box. The coffin was made of ebony, with a Prussian eagle and a familiar phrase engraved in the center:
'Ich bin ein Preuße, kennt ihr meine Farben?'
His heart plummeted to a stop when seeing the corpse of the former nation resting in a box of blue cornflowers.
Her hair, usually tangled and covered in leaves, was properly brushed and groomed, with silk-like strands draped over her shoulders and chest.
Her eyes, crimson and always brimming with life, closed, most likely dull like the eyes of a porcelain doll.
Her clothes, normally consisting of dark neutral colors and blue, were replaced with a plain white dress. The only things somewhat colorful about her were the flowers she was surrounded by, and the Prussian flag beneath her head like a pillow.
Just the sight of her, so lifeless and devoid of any color, made him feel sick to his stomach.
"Hello, Julchen," Matthew began, tenderly brushing a strand of snow-white hair behind her ear, already feeling tears begin to form. "It's Birdie."
He ignored the eyes peering into his back, and resumed speaking to her in a tone much quieter than his usual whisper.
"Since I figured you would have more than enough blue cornflowers," He expressed, motioning to the many flowers surrounding her form. "I brought something else instead."
Matthew placed the red poppy he brought behind her ear, a pained smile residing amongst his features at the sight of the plant. "Awesome."
With that, Matthew returned to his seat.
A few ministrants, dressed in robes of purple and black, came along and picked the coffin up and went outside, the priest and mourners following behind.
Matthew trudged far behind the others, the nipping sensation of snow and frost lost upon the Canadian. All he could see was the black box raised above the heads of everyone else, snowflakes already covering the Prussian eagle and inscription on the ebony cover.
Never in his life did Matthew truly understand the feeling of helplessness, than when he saw Julchen's coffin lowered into the ground.
I'm sorry.
He stared at it, unblinking in horror, as the ministrants began shoveling dirt onto the box.
I'm so sorry.
He remained behind, even as the others retreated back inside the church, still staring.
If I had known this was going to happen-
The Canadian personification didn't realize he had fallen onto his knees until he felt the cold snow envelop his legs, until he felt himself hugging the fresh tombstone, wracked sobs omitting from his form as he tried to comprehend the fact that…that…
I would have done something else.
He didn't even realize he was no longer alone until he felt a familiar bomber jacket slip around his shoulders. He continued to sob, tuning out the sound of footsteps coming closer.
"Matt..." Alfred began, his gloved hands in his pockets, his bespectacled gaze averting the sight of his Northern brother. "Please try to understand what Arthur, Francis, Ivan, and I did."
"What is there to understand, Alfred?" Matthew muttered, letting go of the tombstone and facing his sibling, his face feeling warm from the tears yet cold from the icicles that now froze them.
The American personification frowned. "We had no choice. She was corrupted by Hitler and the Nazis. She was evil. We just couldn't let her go when she could have possibly tried again-"
Alfred's sentence was cut off by Matthew grabbing the cuff of his sweater and shoving him to the ground, his expression brimming with anger and hatred, the bomber jacket long discarded on the snow.
"Shut the hell up, Alfred! I'm sick to death of your 'good versus evil' crap! Because of your stupid hero complex, Julchen's dead, and she's never coming back!" He shouted, ignoring how quiet America became at his outburst.
A grim silence overtook the two, aquamarine encountering amethyst, their breaths mingling in puffs of smoke. Matthew broke the silence when he let go of his brother's attire, his head lowering until his gold tresses obscured his vision, the snow still fluttering from the February sky.
"All she wanted," He whispered, covering his face with shaking hands. "Was to make her brother happy. That's all she really wanted. She wasn't a monster."
America continued to gaze at his brother in a mixture of pity and empathy. He reached out and touched Canada's shoulder in a comforting mannerism. "It's okay, bro. We're countries. The sooner you understand that we're all stained in blood, the better off you'll be."
The Southern brother was caught off-guard when he was hugged by the Northern, his face buried in his chest as he continued to cry. Alfred wore an expression of guilt and regret at what he had reverted his sibling to.
We're all stained in blood, Alfred thought, stroking through Matthew's hair to bring reassurance, glancing up at the fresh tombstone with half-lidded eyes. Always have been, always will.
"…As much as it pains me to admit it, he was right." Matthew spoke, sitting in the same spot he was back then, his hands on his knees, his head lowered in respect and sorrow. "As long as we live, there will always be death. That applies to anything."
He took a deep breath, savoring the scent of water-brushed plants and the faint smell of blue cornflowers covering Julchen's stone.
"You should know that your greatest fears won't come true, Julchen." He said, smiling a bittersweet smile. "Although you were loud and boisterous, arrogant and capricious, you were afraid. You were afraid of being alone, of being forgotten, of becoming what your stereotype depicted you as until it was no longer a stereotype, but who you truly were."
He could feel his throat starting to give out, his vision becoming blurry with saltwater threatening to spill, but he continued. He needed to get this out into the open. Not for his sake, but for hers.
"So you hid behind a mask, a façade, a lie to establish upon yourself. If you went about declaring how awesome you were, you hoped that people would remember you, even if they remembered you in a negative way. You hoped you would start believing it, yourself."
"Yet, while you were brilliant, Julchen, you always had a tendency to make things seem more complicated than they actually were. You didn't even realize that I realized all of this about you. There were times when your mask cracked,"
You asked why I wouldn't look at you, even though I went out of my way to warn you about a war.
"When I got a glimpse of what you used to be,"
After World War One, in the Palace of Versailles, you shouted at me to stay away.
"When I saw how you really felt."
Old Frtiz died, and you came to my door in tears.
"There were times when you scared me,"
"Though West has been getting better. Much better than before. All thanks to Adolf."
"Times when you worried me,"
"Join me in this war, Birdie. Arthur forced you to join the Great War, and I don't want to possibly fight against you again. We can fight together and win. We can have everything be as it used to, and much more."
"…And times when you broke my heart."
"I HATE YOU!"
"And I probably did the same to you." Matthew murmured beneath his breath, stroking the tombstone inscriptions, riddled away by frost and time:
Here lies Julchen Beilschmidt.
"What is the good of experience if you do not reflect?" –Frederick the Great
"And I'm sorry."
The Canadian personification stood up from where he sat, brushing remnants of snow from his pants and heading the way he came. With a glance back at Julchen's grave, Matthew Williams left the burial grounds, the wind brushing against the trees in a way that sounded like a familiar hiss-like laugh.
Author's Note: You wouldn't believe how long it took me to type this out. Seriously.
*On February 25th, 1947, Prussia officially ceased to exist, as one of the many punishments given from the Allied Control Council (a group mainly made of America, England, France, and Russia) after WW2. They believed Prussia to be the core of Germany's evildoings, along with many other reasons, resulting in their decision.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I'll try to update soon. Follows, favorites, and reviews are much appreciated, for I love constructive criticism.