A part of England's chapter derives from the scene from France's chapter. If you've read this far into the compilation of illnesses, then you know what I'm talking about… Warning: description of rape. I don't recommend this chapter for those highly sensitive to this heinous crime. (Edit-A little note I just realized: listening to Evanescence's "Imaginary" while reading this chapter creates an awesome reading effect.)

Hetalia isn't mine.

Little England sat on the base of one the many beautiful forest's trees, hugging his bare, bloody knees and burying his face in them. He let the forest's empty silence swallow up his soft sobs as his whole body quivered from both his crying and the burning, scary pain that still burned near his vital regions. This was supposed to be a nice hike through the woods, where he could have the privacy he needed to practice his magic. It wasn't supposed to end up like this!

France wasn't supposed to find him alone in the woods, distracted with the list of chants in the spell book. He wasn't supposed to fight England to the ground, sneering like a madman as he held England down and ripped off the robes and undergarments from his small frame and tossed them aside so easily. France wasn't supposed to use his own regions to commit acts on England that made him cry out in sheer pain and beg for it to end as he feebly tried to fight France's heavy body off, while France just moaned in what sounded like unbridled pleasure. England wasn't supposed to be left on the forest floor, naked and bleeding and so stunned that his legs and his mind went numb. With the last bit of strength that was supposed to be used for practicing his magic, England crawled to the nearest tree.

"I-I'm okay," he tried to assure himself as he leaned his head back against the cool, rough bark. "I-I'm fine…"

Once he was sure that France was far away, he hugged his knees and stared into space- especially at the area where France had attacked him and the robes that were carelessly strewn across the damp grass- and tried to understand what had happened to him, tried to place a name and a reason to it. Because he was still such a young child, though, he wasn't able to know what he had just experienced and understand why he was bleeding so profusely, only able to describe it as humiliating, filthy, and agonizingly painful. It was then that he began to weep, sobbing away and wishing that he hadn't come into the forest to begin with. He felt so alone and frightened, twitching at every sound of broken twigs and rustling grass that suggested that France was coming back for him, that he just needed someone to-

"Hey, are you okay, lad?"

"Yeah, little one, you seemed troubled. And where are your clothes?"

England snapped his head up at the gentle, voices. His eyes enlarged when they landed on the voices' sources, and a small, sad smile tugged at his lips…

England sat in the large empty conference room, peacefully seated in his assigned seat even after Germany dismissed everyone for a meeting break. He was smiling in those few minutes more than anyone has ever seen him smile in his entire life, his face bright and eyes attentive. He was having a wonderful conversation with his friends, listening and giggling and giving short responses to their latest gossip, life stories, and jokes. England knew his friends for his entire life, and the occasional visit was a godsend that he was going to enjoy for as long as he can. So he basked gleefully in their presence.

For the outside observer, though, England is talking to himself.

For anyone not living in England's little world, they wouldn't be able to see the lime-green Flying Mint and the small pink fairy glide gracefully around England's head or perch on his shoulder, the scruffy-faced pirate stand next to him and attempt to sneak quick kisses before being playfully pushed away, or the majestic unicorn lay its head gently on England's lap to have its soft, white mane and long face stroked lovingly. England knew that people were watching, and he knew those same onlookers wouldn't be able to see his companions like he could, and he honestly didn't care. It didn't matter that the other nations didn't believe that they exist because that didn't change the fact that they were there and the best friends England ever had, the only friends that were willing to visit him and give their utmost loyalty to him without question. Although more frequent visits would have been nice…

Yes, England was willing to admit that even though Mint Bunny and Miss Fairy and the others were his best friends, they weren't exactly the perfect friends. They do make fun of him for his flaws like his imperfect cooking and really large eyebrows, which fed his hidden insecurities, and they do tend to disappear for long periods of time, which he sometimes didn't notice because he was too busy winning wars and conquering countries. But they do come back whenever they could. The last time they had visited after decades of absence was when America initiated the Revolutionary War and betrayed him remorselessly, finding England inebriated and in the midst of testing out that "nations can't kill themselves" theory with a dueling sword. They had provided him with comfort, encouragement, and false, sugar-coated promises of a brighter tomorrow, and helped him and his civilians to recover, departing again once they saw their friend back on his feet. As flawed as they were, their kindness and love proved them to be England's most pristine companion anyone could ever ask for.

As Mr. Unicorn was about to bray his funny encounter with a grumpy magical mushroom, America barged into the room in his usual, boisterous manner.

"Yo, Britain, dude!" He shouted, his voice booming into the space in echoes. "The ol' Allies and Axis are getting together for a little after-conference dinner once this shit's over. You wanna join in?"

The grin on England's face faltered. "Er, but I thought you said that you were coming over to my place for dinner, like we do every month at this time to just reconnect?"

America laughed. "No way, dude! Don't you remember that one of the reasons why I wanted independence was so that I wouldn't hafta suffer diarrhea from your food again?"

"Um, yes, right, of course; how could I get forget?" England replied, his voice soft with heartache even with the grin returning.

Confused by the lack of anger-filled retorts, America shrugged and turned, walking back out into the hall. England continued to smile weakly at America's retreating back, only half-listening to his friends' sweet attempts at healing his reopened wound as his mind flooded with bittersweet memories of a sweet, compliant nation growing up too strong and too quickly before he broke away.

England was glad his friends came to visit him today…

Paracosm is when children create imaginary friends or an imaginary world, sometimes to help them make sense of reality and assert their own identity as they grow, or sometimes to find comfort after traumatic events.

It explains why after so long, England kept his friends, what with him having to see the faces of two of his sources of suffering almost daily.