This was something I did for an English assignment and I figured it'd be appropriate for me to post it here since it is of some relevance.

Technically, this is England-Centric and based in Victorian England. My objective here was to create a Dickens-style kind of writing piece and hopefully I pulled it off though I won't tell you what grade I got for this. xD


Arthur Kirkland paced the streets. The same streets inhabited by street urchins, dressed in torn clothing and tattered fabrics, the unfortunate, all varying in age, stature and appearance. It appeared to be a market of sorts, the crowd bustling weaving through the many individuals, some carrying necessities and nutrition, others without, scrounging and loitering about the alleyway's entrances.

The particular man was of average-height for his age, willowy and slender in posture yet domineering in appearance; with a supple, delicate figure, his fingers skeletal and extended. His alabaster complexion was ghostly and almost translucent to the eye, yet velvety like porcelain to the touch; equally unmarred and chilling. Below broad, ashen-furred eyebrows, gleamed omnipotent, arrogant eyes, emerald in colour but otherwise unyielding and enigmatic. They shone ominously, possessing a perceptive glimmer; not of a meaningful quality but unnerving should anyone threaten to meet his merciless gaze. His gaze was hard to catch however, if not only for a few moments, for his eyes darted about his surroundings conspicuously, constantly aware and alert of every minor detail in his environment.

Every confident, boastful stride the gentlemen made was without hesitance and shadowed repetitively by the dangerous click of a cane, which was decorated in ebony with the outlines of serpents, accompanying the light, otherwise inaudible thud oh his fabricated boots against the cobbled pavement. A champagne-blonde, mussed fringe hung loosely against his forehead, a portion of which was concealed by an elegant top hat, shadowing his features, redefining every contour of his chiselled jaw, of his prominent cheek bones. He maintained an apathetic, albeit emotionless expression, brows knitted and furrowed faintly together into an almost permanent frown. Though, despite the latter, he was capable of numerous other facades of masks, false identities, unfaltering but feigned save for the infrequently, ceremonious self-centred smirk. Occasionally, his frame would rattle with a nervous tick- jutting a shoulder or inclining his head, for every sinister soul has their respective insecurities.


I don't own Hetalia. Thanks for reading! ^^