Hello! I am so sorry! I can't tell you how much I had to ponder this chapter. I thought about it, but avoided writing it. I got into Attack on Titan, which is amazing, and just so much is happening. This chapter is short because next chapters are big. At least I hope they will be!
disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
The blood was still slightly damp on Austria's thin fingers. He wasn't sure if the blood was fresh or Hungary's tears had revived some of the blood, but the red fluid was alarming. Just as alarming as the name the envelope was carrying. The name belonged to a man who was both his friend and his enemy.
Hands shaking, Austria brought the letter into the parlor. There he managed to find a letter opener and used the tool to cut the seam. The cut wasn't clean, almost succeeding on cutting his own hand. Fortunately, he didn't cut the letter, but between the handwriting and the blood stains, it was barely readable anyway.
Dear Austria and Hungary
Goodbye
Love Prussia
The damn fool couldn't have said anything else that would have broken Austria faster. Within the one word, a thousand years of bloodshed was forgiven. Hate and hurt was forgotten. Joy and song was remembered. Love was given.
This letter had the last thing Prussia would ever say to either of them and it was written perfectly. Nothing could be better. Nothing could have been done about what had happened to the nation but Prussia had made up for it with this letter.
Hungary came in and looked over his shoulder. Her eyes absorbed the ink itself, embracing the farewell from a lost friend. Then the weeping began. Both of them, together, held each other and let the tears flow. They let their memories of the Germanic nation collect in puddles on the floor. Every fight, every hug, every day with Prussia, remembered, savored, and let go.
Austria went to his piano. His fingers were no longer under his influence, but they played from sorrow, filling the empty house with heavy notes. Hungary continued to cry, but sat in a chair, too weighed down by grief to continue to stand.
The plans that had been made escaped them. The party forgotten, and the letter forgotten on the floor. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Really nothing did matter, the grief took over.
Even if they had forgotten, the guests had not. The time for the dinner was tomorrow, and the two nations sunk in grief, forgetting everything. The playing was no longer clean, but rather heavy and blunt, like a stone pummeling the air. A stone that beat away at the Germanic nation's energy and soon drove them to sleep.