There was peace. And it was terrible. The bosses cried out for their nations, to no avail. Roits broke out in Shanghai and Cape Town and Montevideo and Calgary and dozens of other cities across the world. The riots seemed to have no purpose, no spark. They simply began, as the people, unsure, confused, afraid, snapped and lashed out at their neighbors and local governments.
In other cities a malaise set in. People traveled in unseeing packs, ticking through their normal routines without really experiencing anything. They walked from home to work to school like automatons, sure that if they just followed the right steps, the feeling of wrongness would eventually lift.
Those less susceptible to the effects of their nations' capture watched in horror as their friends and family fell into rage or routine. They questioned, reaching out to others online, seeking answers, finding none beyond the fact that somehow they had entered a nightmare for which there seemed to be no end. An apocalyptic event. There was nothing to do but wait for the spark that would ignite a more destructive madness. The more nervous or practical stocked up on supplies and hunkered down to watch world end.
The tension built. The world trembled, and waited.
She was never alone. Russia was there, every day, watching her, chatting with her, playing chess or backgammon, watching movies and plays, reading aloud to her. He made sure that if he was not with her, at least three other nations watched her at any given moment. They took shifts to watch her sleep, waited outside the restroom door, followed her from room to room. She was not allowed to leave the grounds of the mansion.
She was also not allowed to have anything sharp. Even pens were kept from her hands. This rule was never spoken aloud. It was simply understood that her mirrors would be held up for her and her dinner would come pre-cut and her tablet was her only means for writing - and even that was taken away from her every night. Emma was sure Elizabeth may have shared the story of the TV in the hotel. Anything that could be broken and given an edge was kept from her.
"I think the precaution is unnecessary," she grumped at Russia one night at dinner (held in the ballroom every night so that every nation could eat together - "it builds camaraderie," Russia said). "Where on Earth do you think I'd run to? Anyway, all you'd have to do is send Australia after me."
"You are a clever woman." Russia smiled and patted her hand. "I will not risk your escape. Someday you will be willing to stay here, and you will be free to go where you wish with whoever you wish. But not now."
The days bled into each other. She kept herself occupied by helping the nations with the upkeep of the house, reading, watching the chaos unfold online, taking up music lessons from Austria. And Russia was often there, happily helping out or critiquing her music. As the first signs of spring began to arrive, the melting snow and frost turning the earth in the garden into a muddy slop, Emma could almost convince herself that she was happy. That this was a life she could continue.
And then Russia's glee would unnerve her and keep her in check.
Canada approached Russia one day as he and Emma helped prepare dinner, shivering a bit as he tugged the large nation's sleeve. "Um. Russia. There are a number of smaller nations that are getting really sick. I was wondering, can I let them see their bosses?"
Russia looked up from his chopping block, holding his knife aloft. He grinned. "They're sick? How very sad. They cannot see their bosses, no." He grabbed another onion and sliced it in half.
Canada's face fell. "But. I know if they see their bosses, they -"
Russia pointed at Canada with his knife. "They are sick because their people refuse to accept our new situation. Are we going to allow these nations to be corrupted by their people?"
Canada hesitated. Russia set down his knife. "Canada, my friend. Think carefully. You began this project to bring peace to the world. The nations are willing, but the people must be dragged along. Humans are never receptive to change. Allowing the nations to return to their people will make the people think they are in control. Do you want this?"
"No," Canada said, his eyes wide. "I want the peace to last."
"Very good!" Russia slapped Canada on the back. "Now, go. Help the nations through their sickness. Keep them comfortable."
Canada beamed, nodded and happily ran off. Russia watched him go with a low chuckle.
"It has begun," he murmured.
Emma's heart sank. She kept her face blank and her voice curt. "What, the burning of the world?"
Russia grinned at her and minced his onion without an answer.
All the while, as she moved through her days with Russia or her guard, Russia planned the wedding. She was unsure of the specifics, as he never let her in on the plans. She knew only two things: it would be held in St. Basil's Cathedral, and the dress was extravagant. Russia brought in the best tailors and seamstresses. They poked and prodded and measured, and a number of weeks later brought the base of the gown for her to try on for tweaking. As the fittings continued, he dress grew from that initial shift into a long, empire-waisted gown covered in sparkling lace with a train that stretched for many meters.
As the dress grew, Emma's hope dwindled. Where once she was sure that there was a way out of her confinement, and that of the nations, she wondered if she had made a mistake by allowing Russia to grow comfortable in his complete rule. Still, she kept her eyes and ears open, her spark of hope fanned by her determination to not let the story end in the world's destruction.
And one day, her salvation appeared. It was the last fitting. The seamstresses fluttered around Emma, giving the dress the last few nips and tucks, perfecting the lace, shaping the train just so. Emma stood on the stool, heavy-hearted, the dress like a weight on her soul. She watched the seamstresses work, face drawn and listless, when out of the corner of her eye she watched one woman pin a bit of lace to the silk, shake her head, remove the pin and stick it to the pun cushion she had tied around her wrist. But the pin was not firmly in place. It jiggled free from the cushion and fell to the floor, unnoticed by the seamstress.
Emma breathed in quickly and stared forward, careful not to bring attention to the pin. Throughout the rest of the fitting, she was sure someone would notice the bit of metal. But the seamstresses finished, helped her out of the dress, watched her put on her clothes and left without taking stock of missing pins.
As soon as the door closed behind the seamstresses, Emma scooped up the pin before any nation entered the room. Her hand was in and out of her pocket just as Georgia, Armenia and Azerbaijan entered the room.
"Where's Russia?" She said lightly.
"Busy," Georgia said with a smile. "Which is why we're here."
"Wonderful." Emma hurried out of the room and down the hallway, the nations following behind. A fire filled her chest. "Then I can cause have some fun!"
Emma burst through the door of Russia's office. America, Australia, Canada and China were gathered around him, looking at the screen of his computer. They looked up as Emma entered.
"Emma. We are busy," Russia said, waving at the door.
Emma smiled. "Is the world deteriorating?"
"It is not of your concern. Go on. I will be with you shortly."
"A question, Russia: when we're married, are you going to be requiring conjugal visits from me?" Emma placed her hands on her hips. "You know, wifely duties and all that? I wasn't really sure. You haven't been handsy until now, but you know, I figured things might change when we tie the knot."
Russia's eyes grew wide. He blushed. The other nations, particularly Australia and Canada, looked embarrassed, excepting America, who snort-laughed into his hand, quickly switching it to a cough.
Russia paused a moment, before smiling with clenched teeth. "I know I am many things, Emma, but I'm not a rapist. There won't be any wifely duties for you to perform."
"I must have really got to you," Emma said sweetly. "I don't think I've ever heard you use a contraction."
Russia lifted from his desk, his blush growing deeper. "You have come to cause trouble. I do not know why, but it annoys me. Please leave."
Emma ignored his request and walked lazily to his bookshelf.
"When I'm your wife, will I be able to do anything important?" She pulled a book from the shelf, opened it and flipped through the pages. "Or am I just another creature in the menagerie? Something for you to play with until you get bored?"
Russia slammed a fist on his desk. "Australia. Canada. Please remove my fiance. She is obviously over-tired and in need of a rest. Tell the countries guarding her to do a better job of it."
Canada and Australia nodded, took Emma by the arms and escorted her from the room. Emma pocketed her hands as they did so, palming the pin.
"See you later, Russia!" She called cheerfully as the two countries closed the door behind her.
"Oy, watch her better," Australia said to the guard, letting go of her arm. "She just did a number on Russia."
"Yes, see to it that she doesn't - ow!" Canada yelped as Emma stuck him in the hand with the pin. A bit of blood welled up from the wound. She dabbed it with the edge of her sleeve, slipping the pin down the same sleeve. All of this happened in the matter of seconds. Canada let go of her. "What did you just do?"
"You were holding on too tightly," Emma said, clawing her fingers at Canada. "I thought I'd send you a message."
"Just watch her!" Canada snapped, shoving her at her guard. He and Australia went back into Russia's office.
Georgia narrowed her eyes at Emma. "Have you lost your mind?"
"Nope, just found it again," Emma said cheerfully. She took Georgia and Armenia by the hand. "Let's go do something. Got to fill the days, haven't we?"