Italy was becoming tired, writing all of this for no reason. His life, though, had become empty. So, he needed to empty that emptiness into a bowl...a flat, paper one with ink scrawled all over.

Canada was leaning back, stark naked, as the women he knew and was (making) love with was in a sweaty pile of spent bodies. They all were together, still panting and seeking more.

Canada, however, wasn't satisfied.

He wasn't a cruel, manipulative man. He was sweet. He wanted an actual love. Not just sex.

So, when he met the exotic South American countries, he buried himself in more bodies, seeking what could never be found.

Canada was still large, kinda cold, and quite Nieve. The only difference?

He was no longer an innocent man. He should be locked away.

Canada stood, dislodging himself from a sticky mess of girls (And some boys) to look in the mirror.

"What's wrong?" A voice whispered. "You wanted to be known, and this is what you got. Every man, woman, and child wanting to be under you. You wanted to be known. You did this."

Canada stared at his grinning self.

Sealand was grinning, sitting in the throne room that was inside of Buckingham palace. Another was next to him as well. In that throne was Liechtenstein, looking majestic as ever.

However, she had shut herself off from everything, including her newly wed husband.

Looking at his graceful wife, his grin dropped. He stood and knelt in front of her. "Are you okay?"

"..."

"Please speak to me."

"..."

"Well, I have good news."

"..."

"Your brother has been fully healed." He said softly.

Finally, a word came from a cracked, unused voice. "Really?"

"Yes."

Switzerland walked in, bounded in cuffs.

"Big brother!" Tears fell from a face that hadn't made an emotion for months.

She hurried towards the sad faced boy that continuously looked down submissively. The first thing he did was embrace his little sister.

Second, he bowed to Sealand. "I am sorry and I will conform to any rules you make."

Sealand laughed, falling into his throne. "I don't want much. In fact, you could have been spared any injuries if you would have listened instead of acting rashly. I wanted someone to protect the gates of this castle, nothing more. Your sister needs protection. She will be very sought after."

Switzerland glared at the once tiny nation.

"But where's Italy during this?" Italy wrote sourly.

Italy was busy.

Italy, in all of his wicked thoughts, wanted to be flashy, but not the flashiest.

The most powerful, though it wouldn't show.

What would shine through curtains of soft silk and lace would be a heart of molten steel – un breakable but passionate.

Able to burn, but locked away safely.

Italy now dressed royally – dress shirts with bullet-proof vests underneath and dress pants that hid silver and gold painted guns. He only wore tuxedos that out shined anything the Mafia could produce.

A gentle hum passed through soft lips.

"That is how I'll rule the world~"

EXTRA NOTE: What about Romano?

Romano could feel himself become sicker. To the north, his brother was threatening to take him (And Sicily) for his kingdom.

"That bastard! I should skin him! Deciding to take over the world without his Fratello!"

"BASTARD!"

Italy turned, seeing his older brother charging towards him. "Fratello?"

When the two met face to face, Romano noticed that Italy had grown taller.

Said powerful Italian was confused. "What are you doing here?"

The angry Italian started ranting like a misunderstood teenager. "You bastard! I hate you so much, jerk! I turn around to give Sicily her allowance, and you turn and take over the world without me? You son of a bitch! Didn't even ask if I wanted to join, bastard!"

Italy paused. "You're right. Sorry Fratello. Well...If you want, you'll be my Switzerland. You'll be neutral and I'll make you more powerful."

"...Wouldn't I be more of a Liechtenstein, then?"

"Eh, whatever floats the boat."

Italy laughed. And that is why Romano Italy was the only part of the world under its own rule.