November 24,

England has been trying ever since Halloween to reverse the spell. What seemed like amazing magic turned out to haunt him. Nothing worked. Nothing at all. But America had invited him over to decorate for thanksgiving. Arthur hadn't gotten out of his house for weeks. Dark circles hid under his eyes from lack of sleep.

"England?" Alfred opened the door and saw his British friend leaning against one of the pillars on the front porch. His eyes drooping.

"Goodmorning Alfred," England wakes himself up, "We ready to set everything up?"

"You don't have to help me, you know. I just thought you would want to get out of the house for a while. I know how you are when you think about my... Independence."

"No, I am an Englishman. I'm strong. Plus, I'm perfectly fine. There's nothing wrong."

America sighed and led England into his storage room starting to bring out old boxes. Inside were Native American and pilgrim clothes. Un loaded guns and toys laid around them as they began to inbox decorations and antiques.

England held up a rope in the storage room. Tan strands stuck out, itching his wrists as he wrapped it around his arm.

"What's this for?"

Alfred walked towards him from across the room, a fake stuffed turkey in his hand.

"Oh, you can throw that out. Looks like it's already been used before."

America walked back to the box he was working on, a pile of banners and streamers to his side.

Arthur moved the rope around his fingers. It was old but it was still strong. A sharp pain ached in the back of his head. He squeezed the rope and dropped to the floor. Bringing his hands to the back of his head and feeling warm tears fall off his eyelashes.

"America! It's happening again!"

Alfred was there in a split second. He picked up Arthur and took him to the bedroom. Locking him inside. He could hear England's painful screams and whimpers inside.

"I'm sorry! It's for your own good."

America sat outside the room, waiting for the screaming to stop. After a few minutes, silence fell in the house. England walked to the door, jiggling the handle.

"Al, do you not trust me?" He said in a sing-song voice, "After aaalll we've been together?"

"Shut up!"

"Oh, that's not very nice at all. Come on, let me out. I've done nothing wrong. I'm just a little moody." A high pitched laugh could be heard inside the room, "You invited me here. Might as well let me help."

Silence.

"England?"

More silence.

"Shit!" Alfred unlocked the door and ran inside. The window leading outside was wide open.

America quickly took out his cell phone and texted France, and Canada. His fingers jumble over the touch screen, his finger about to hit send.

"Well well, look at what we have here."

America turned around and saw the ginger looking back at him, the old rope in his hands. His bright blue eyes was wide in the sunlight.

"You've been a bad bad boy, Al. I tried so hard to make you so happy when you were younger, you know. But no mater what I did you still rejected me!" England yelled out but quickly took his temper back, "I love you, Al. I feel like a father when I'm around you. Since I'm a country I could never have kids. So, I took other nations for myself. And you, darling, you were the perfect country."

England slowly walked closer as he talked, America leaning back against the window sill.

"England, stop. You're not yourself right now."

"I raised you, I did my best for you, I struggled to keep you with me. But you and France had me. It's not fair!"

The possessed Englishman pushed America over the window, that he was already leaning over. Alfred fell two flights into the bushes below. His right arm was bent and broken. Slow heavy breaths rose his chest up and down. He was knocked out.

...

White blinding light shone in Alfred's eyes. He was being dragged across a stone floor. As he regained consciousness, he realized he was being dragged in England's basement back in London. His arm was badly bruised and swollen.

"E-England?"

England threw America into the dungeon, he still had the old rope with him. America laid on his back, struggling to pull himself up.

"I know you don't want to do this." America struggled to speak, "You're going to change back and you're going regret this."

England laughed, his eyes smiling wide underneath his orange strands of hair.

"I don't need you. But I've been wondering... Have you ever seen Sweeny Todd? I'm curious to see how you would taste like in a pie?"

America stumbled onto his knees, holding his mangled arm in his hand. A small stream of blood falling out of his mouth. His face pale and dehydrated. The glasses that once made him look strong and smart were now cracked and bent out of shape.

"England, I-"

America felt the rope crawling around his neck. Tightening and squeezing out the breath in his lungs. England stood over him, tying it tight in a noose. America was too weak to get out. Flinging small punches towards his British friend. England tied the rope over one of the candle sconces on the walls.

"England, please... Don't." America strained, "Iggy..."

Then the American stopped struggling. England stood back at what he had just done. America swinging lifelessly. His eyes closed, and his head crooked to the side. Arthur felt the heavy release out of his head. He had turned back. Arthur untied America quickly and laid him gently on the cold stone floor. Feeling colder than usual. The strong personification of America had fallen.

"Alfred?... ALFRED?!"

Arthur felt his heart sank at the corpse. It was all his fault. The noble British man clung onto his friend's shirt. Tears springing out of his eyes. Screaming and crying, Arthur beat his fists against Alfred's chest. America was dead. He wasn't coming back.

Hours past and the Englishman still hadn't left America. He laid next to the corpse, exhausted from sobbing. Suddenly, a line of steps filled the silence in the house.

"Angleterre? Have you seen where America went? Canada and I can't find him. Angleterre?" France called.

Another stabbing pain shot through Arthur's head.

"No."