During the evening of an autumnal day rather than having a meeting, the nations decided to throw a reception. At the reception they were not alone. People from all over the world were invited. It was held in the manor of an especially wealthy gentleman in France. In the vast hall, atop the carpeted steps, Francis stood there awaiting his guests to arrive. He wore his trademark white suit and upon his lapel a pin featuring a red-breasted bird sat. Perched on a gilded ring, the bird perked its head upwards, his chubby cheeks prominent. Francis walked down the steps, seeing as how the servants had pulled the doors open.

A distinguished lady with plaited hair and a careworn face with her portly husband was first to come in. She extended her hand, bent at the wrist to Francis. Francis took it and placed a brief kiss on her knuckles, welcoming her. He shook hands with the man and they went into the parlor room, taking glasses of champagne that were offered by one of the maids.

The man who owned the manor was not there. He owed a good deal of his fortune to Francis and his connections and thus gladly left his summer home to him at any time of need. Now he was in Leon visiting an aunt.

Slowly the room filled. Most of the guests that swarmed in were French. Others had already come on a vacation in France and still others had taken the train ride over for the most celebrated occasion. Feliciano approached Francis while the reception went on, greeting and smiling happily at those who came across his way.

Francis looked up, an agitated look straining his face. "Hello, Feliciano," he said in French.

Feliciano's smile fell away at once, dissolving into a frown. "I haven't seen Arthur anywhere. Are you sure you invited him?"

"Of course I did. And it was not even my job to do so. All nations are called at once to the meeting."

"Perhaps he doesn't know where it is!"

"You're being ridiculous." Francis said harshly. At the hurt expression Feliciano gave him he at once lowered his eyes in apology. "I'm sorry, Feliciano, but I don't know where he is and it's bothering me too. And I am positive that it has to do with those letters."

Paling, Feliciano stepped aside to make room for a young lady coming to greet Francis. She gave him a radiant smile and bowed, holding out her hand. In rapid French she gave her name and her position. Francis greeted her offhandedly and she, no more than fifteen years old, walked away with her head held high.

"Francis!" Someone called from among the ranks. Francis turned and discovered the well-suited American Alfred looking at him. His lips were curled into a smile and he shook Francis's hand. "Hello. I've been meaning to ask but is the actual meeting going to be after."

"Of course," Francis said, again in a disinterested, bored tone. "Do you really think these people would stay long enough to discover what we are?"

"'Course not…" Alfred looked uneasy. The trip there had been a hassle. "Another thing, have you seen Arthur?"

Francis's cheek twitched. "No. Have you seen him?"

Alfred shook his head, stretching his mouth to one side. "I thought he wouldn't come. He sent me a letter about a month back saying that he hadn't been feeling very well." He shrugged and walked away, brushing at his blonde hair and making his piercing, youthful eyes more visible.

"Why would he write to him?" Francis said tartly, greeting the man from India who had just arrived.

In the back of the room Francis noticed something, just before Feliciano could give him advice. When he noticed the strange man in the corner his stomach plummeted. An ominous feeling settled on his chest. He nudged Feliciano and directed his attention over. A butler, dressed in all black and spectacled, stood next to a young, blonde hair boy. The boy bounced eagerly and spoke rapidly. He waltzed over to various young men and laughed at them. Towards the young ladies he edged closer than necessary, practically breathing down their necks. Red-faced, the women stepped away from the intrusive young man. In response the boy only laughed and returned to the butler like a puppy would to its mother.

The butler met Francis's gaze and Francis felt cold. Turning away, Francis chose to mingle with various others, shaking hands and kissing knuckles. The reception drew on and the butler went unnoticed, his master eventually too became ignored.

This bothered the boy and he grouchily went over to sit on one of the divans, lounging as if it was his house. He picked at the divan's arm, becoming increasingly bored with the lack of attention. His hair was fair and his eyes blue, his skin clear but maintaining a weariness to it. The sorrow inside seemed to be overwhelmed by the giddy personality he had; like perfume covering a foul smell.

Feliciano greeted the two, holding out his hands. He shook briefly with the butler, who he learned was called Claude, and then greeted the boy. He held his gloved, delicate hands above the boy's head. The boy looked up, staring uncomprehendingly. Eventually he understood and jumped up, shaking the hand, introducing himself as Alois Trancy.

"A pleasure to meet you two," Feliciano said sweetly in accented English. His amber hair was pulled back behind his ears, gleaming in the lamplight.

Claude nodded stoically. Alois burst into a great smile, "And a pleasure to meet you, too, sir." He said.

After an hour the guests filed away, leaving the nations alone to a long table. They sat around it. Kiku, the round-faced, raven-haired man who kept quiet for most of the evening, spoke up. "That was a lovely idea, Francis. I am glad that you chose to do this. I think it is a nice change, we get to relax and talk before we settle down to business."

Francis thanked him and stood up; making a gesture that indicated his desire to lead the meeting. The others, mollified with champagne and delicacies made no objection. Drowsiness began to crop up, giving them a lethargic air.

"Now before we get onto political and economical issues I want to begin with one of the most pressing issues of late," Francis began, holding his hands behind his back like a school boy. All eyes fastened on him. "How many of you have received peculiar letters in your mail? Most of which contain various objects of no obvious reason."

Several raised their hands. Those who did appeared frightened.

"If you notice, as well, Arthur's missing," Francis continued dryly, "He has been struck hardest by those messages and I fear that it has all to do with it. I worry now for our safety and I was tempted to call off this gathering. I think… I think what happened is this.

"A group of people have created a cult and have passed it down through generations and they have been targeting us for some strange reason. They're doing so with these letters and so now my advice is that you do not, under any circumstance, open them. Do not touch them. Dispose of them, burn them, do whatever you need to do. It's like how you don't antagonize an enemy since it will only encourage them to bother you more. And so… what are we supposed to do about it?" He ended weakly, realizing that his terror had propelled only the first half of his soliloquy.

Yao piped up, "I think that we shouldn't ignore them. No matter how hard we try to pretend they are not there they will still be there."

"Yes," Elizaveta said in her thick Hungarian accent, "I think we should actually find out about them." She pulled her pale lips into a smile. Her curled, brown hair hung loose around her shoulder, rolling down her back.

Francis sat back down, happy that their conversation was going along well and productively so far. Even if Arthur was rude they didn't celebrate his loss. Perhaps it was because that he acted the same way to all alike unless he desired something. It was easy to read him. There aren't very many people going around like that. Or perhaps their calm was from the reception.

Roderich cleared his throat. His slim face was pale and grim, his dark eyes glowering. He pushed up his spectacles. "I know zis seems unrelated," he began in his harsh accent, "but did you see that man earlier? He looks very much like me."

"Oh I met him, his name is Claude," Feliciano chimed in.

"Yes, Claude," Roderich said, curling his upper lip and placing his hands on the table, pressing his fingertips together. "Vell I got this very bad feeling from him, like he was dangerous or not of zis world."

Ludwig, dissimilar in appearance as he was similar in blood, agreed. His strong jaw was set. "I saw him and I felt the same thing," his accent was less obvious.

"Perhaps he had just a bad aura," Elizaveta argued, raising her strong hand. "Some men have that and often they are not bad people."

Ivan cast his brooding eyes towards Francis. In broken French, he casually remarked; "Perhaps it's not a cult of people."

Francis looked at him, the idea dawning on him.

"Are you suggesting they are from another world?" Vash, the Swiss man responded also in French.

Disgruntled by the butchering of his language, Francis frowned, but started to respond. However somehow had translated it and Kiku butted in. "No, I think they are not from another world but instead they could be like us. We aren't extraterrestrials and I would assume they aren't either. In fact they seem completely terrestrial, just not human."

Again, Francis tried to interject his comment but another person overrode him. Soon they were speaking one over the other and order was lost.

"If they are like us they could have more authority! More power!"

"That would be horrible but what will they do to the people?"

"I do not need another war."

"Have they killed anyone yet?"

"Are they like the-?"

"No don't be silly they're just targeting us."

"Ahh but that's where you're wrong!"

"Oh my goodness!"

"Heavens above!"

"Arthur?"

The final three were all reactions to the very same occurrence. Francis, who was struggling to settle the chaos, found himself yelling in brutal French at a silent room. He paused and turned to the door, which had opened.

Standing there, pale and trembling as though capture by grippe, Arthur stood. He gripped the door handle, looking into the room. His hair was matted and nearly brown with dirt. A bathrobe draped over his shoulders and bandages covered his entire arms, including the fingers. His nose was crimson and his eyes were foggy.

"Arthur…!" Feliciano said being the first to move. He rushed over and gently picked Arthur up, helping him to a seat. He rushed out into the hall and called to one of the maids, telling her at once to bring a carafe of water and a glass. She nodded, her curls bouncing, and scrambled to carry out the orders.

Arthur looked stiffly around the room, his lips parting in a vain attempt to speak.

"No, no, shh…" Feliciano said, gently pressing Arthur's shoulders. "Don't speak, rest. When you've rested then I will allow you to explain."

The entire meeting was on their feet except for Arthur, looking towards him in terror. No one dared move or speak. The maid rushed up, her shoes clattering against the floor. She set the glass on the table and poured water into it, setting them both down, bowing to the gathering, and leaving without another word.

Arthur picked up the glass. His bandages restricted movement and he was only able to bend his elbows and wrists, looking as though he were a doll straining for hydration. After he drank the glass, a drop of water running down his chin and making a track in the dirt, he began to speak in a haggard voice.

"No, I heard what you were talking about. I used up all my energy to come here and I am using the last of it to explain this… Goodness I feel faint. Why are you all standing? You know it's rude," he added gruffly and the others grudgingly pulled up a chair and sat, waiting eagerly for him to explain himself.

"Thank you," he didn't smile, "Now you shan't go out to learn about these groups because you will ultimately get yourselves ill or killed, as I am now, and furthermore you will bring your world into a heap of trouble. I've cut off a majority of my ties with my nation, allowing it to reign loose for some time—or perhaps forever. I suppose they could run well without me. They could use my female counterpart—but that is beyond the point! What I am telling you is don't you bloody go there. Be damned if you do! Go straight to the devil instead! At any rate, they are a vicious, rude bunch of brutes and they will tear you apart for even approaching them. It took me ages to find them and I lived wearing this and eating scraps of food that were offered for me or what I could buy from my dwindling supply of money. But you aren't interested with that, are you? However I will continue—"

"Just get on with it!" Lovino replied moodily, his cheeks flushed.

"If you say so," Arthur retorted, taking in a deep breath and collecting his thoughts. As he spoke his eyes grew livelier and his voice strength. "Now, they are an anomaly of this wretched planet, they are not humans and they only vaguely resemble them. Some would suggest that they are the origin of all those tales of devils and demons and all, but they are vaguely related to grim reapers and demons too. However these are cruel and do not believe in equivalent exchange."

A thin line appeared between Kiku's eyebrows.

"They will not pay a price for something they want. They infest human beings, take them over, rid them of their souls, and move on."

"Assuming souls exist, of course…" someone muttered.

Many faces flushed bright red. Chatter sprung up again. Arthur sighed and took another drink of water.

"Of course they exist! Good Heavens!"

"Why even we have souls!"

"Don't you believe at all?"

And so forth, various insults were scattered and offense was taken.

"Quiet!" Ludwig hollered, smacking his palm against the table. During the debate he chose to be silent. "Assume they exist, whatever you believe, but let us not turn this into a debate. Go on, Arthur."

"Thank you, Ludwig," Arthur said, "However they have targeted us because we are the same 'rank' as them. They want us. They want our souls to create something."

And at the most untimely moment just then, someone shrieked.