A/N: Sorry for dying for a long time. My interest with Hetalia has been on a swing and I've been writing a few drabbles for Devil Survivor 2.

I wanted to try something new with this prompt. Enjoy my tale of woes and joys.

Warnings: Potential OOCness, Canadian spelling, language, updates at random times, genderbending, etc...

Characters: Fem!England (Almira) and Fem!Canada

Pairings: Mapletea (with a hint of Nyotalia)

Word count: 925

Disclaimers: I don't Hetalia or Nyotalia. The world should rejoice!

The parchment is blank, the ink freshly made.

She dips her quill, the nib worn from years of use. Her hand does not grip the object to the point where it'll shatter, or too gently in fear that the idea nestling inside her brain may leave through the tips of her fingers.

Almira sighs.

It wasn't right for a lady of her stature to do this, but she doesn't care.

She places her quill on the paper but does not write. Resting in one spot, it causes a blotch to spread.

All of her inspiration is sucked away and she can only mutter curses.

With a click of her tongue, she shreds the parchment to pieces.

The idea is gone, in pieces like the parchment.

She takes her index finger and traces the knots and whorls on her desk, all splattered with ink from decades ago.

Each blob represented a story, but she does not want to recall the past. She wants to look to the future and leave that child in the shadows.

She stands up, the ornate chair squealing in protest as it moves back against the floor boards, and wanders about her study.

Her hand skims the leather bound books, in mint condition just like how she received them centuries ago.

Almira continues her solitary parade around her study until she stops at her grandfather clock. She brings her hand to her forehead and sighs in relief.

Afternoon tea would be served and she was thankful for that. Who knew how long she would be like this until she had her tea? It always did help her to relax.

She walks back to her desk, head held up high, as if she wishes to impress someone and delicately sits down.

Her hands reach for a drawer and she pulls out a few sheets of paper and spreads them about her desk to hide the fact that she had done nothing for the past two hours.

It wasn't as if she had shirked off her duties. It was far from that actually as she had been ahead of her work and had finished before she was presented with a light lunch of her favourite variety.

The bell tolls and resounds in the room. Almira furrows her brows as the sound is rather loud but quickly resumes her stoic face as there is a single knock on the door.

"Forgive me for disturbing your work," the voice pleads as figure enters the room. "I thought it would be refreshing to have Earl Grey and blueberry scones today."

Almira doesn't look up as Madison arranges the snack, pretending to resume her work.

She only looks up when the lady before her sits herself down.

Her heart beats quickly, and Almira is thankful that the ticking noise from the clock is unbearably loud and hides the thumping from her chest.

She quietly enjoys her snack and only becomes more annoyed by the second as inspiration strikes her.

Her eyes wander from the tea to the woman in front of her.

Fair wavy hair framed her face and her porcelain skin glimmered in the stray strands of light that struck her in the most magnificent of ways. Her deep mauve eyes, long eye lashes topped off with high rosy pink cheek bones and soft plump lips completed a look that made her ethereal. It was like staring at a fine china doll that should be kept in the middle of a display – the first doll you would ever lay your eyes on and certainly the last.

Her heart clenches as her inspiration sings of eternal beauty and fleeting love.

Urgency pervades her lest her ink covered pen never meet paper to forever be recorded.

She quickly finishes tea and notes of the flicker of worry that was once present in the other's eyes mentally.

Almira scolds herself for acting out of character.

Madison leaves the room and Almira can only scramble to find blank parchment.

Her perfectly inked quill's tip meets the rough surface but her hand does not move. An ebony splotch sears into the paper and her inspiration burns.

She can only curse the woman who leaves her like this- the cheating leanan sidhe that does not play to her role like she should.

Almira can only spin tales that don't even touch the brink of reality and she chuckles to herself.

That is not like her leanan sidhe so she can only fight down impure thoughts of her being a cheating wench. A fairy of this breed would never stray from their masters.

Then the cloud of realization rains on her.

A leanan sidhe's role is purely artistic; they never betray, and so she rings the bell, calling for her fairy, only a tad resentful for not decorating her room to appeal to her kind.

Anticipation consumes her heart and it is painful as each knock on the door is drawn out with the turning of the knob.

The fairy walks in, stuttering and blushing, and Almira can only worry that she has ruined her fair creature for not giving it enough love.

She kindly asks for Madison to sit down.

It is odd and Almira sighs at how undisciplined and green her fairy is, but that will change in the long hours of the future.

And so she begins to write about her beloved leanan sidhe.

This one is hers and she can no longer regretfully say that she has not efficiently borrowed her beauty as her energy drains away over the years.

A/N: To those who thought I was only going to have Fem!Canada x England, you must all be surprised but I like switching things up. It all depends on my mood.

I gave Fem!England the name Almira as it means aristocratic lady or princess. I thought it was... fitting in a way. Just like how Madison can mean strong warrior.

I'll just describe what a leanan sidhe is for those who aren't well informed of their Celtic folklore:

They are like fairies and elves but have the appearance of a beautiful woman. Lovers of this creature live short but inspired lives. By having a leanan sidhe, you must give it your love and devotion which usually causes the artist to go mad and die an early death.

As always, comments, criticisms and questions are welcome.

Also, I apologize to people that have read the drabbles on my tumblr and are swamped with pictures of food or DeSu 2 drabbles.