Character key:
Alfred: America.
Arthur: England.
Alistair: Scotland.
Medwyn: Wales.
Cathal: Ireland.
Nestled amongst a sea of various works of fiction, the young Alfred cautiously readjusted his resting position as to not disrupt the perfect angle he'd acquired for the book he was fixed to. For an upcoming assignment set by his tutor, he was to write a book report on a work of fiction he'd enjoyed lately and right now, Bram Stoker's 'Dracula' was scratching that itch for the boy. At that moment, a gentle rapping of knuckles against the library door resounded, drawing the American from the pages his eyes were glued to. The thick oak door was slowly opened by Alistair, who carried a small tray.
"How're you getting on lad?" The Scotsman spoke, his voice notably deeper than his younger brother's as he cleared a space on Alfred's desk for the tray, which held a cup of hot chocolate and a slender slice of cherry bakewell. Alfred who, upon seeing the confection, was immediately grateful to have been pulled from the pages of his book as he felt his mouth salivate once the smell of the piping hot beverage hit his nostrils. "It's going well, I think I'm going to choose this book here, it's creepy but super interesting like, I can't put it down!" Delicately placing a paper bookmark between the pages, the young boy closed the book over and held the cover up for his 'uncle' to see. Alistair hummed in acceptance at the child's choice of literature, observing with amusement as the young nation placed the book to one side to start scoffing the sweet treat presented to him.
"Oh, a good choice. Y'know, the author is an Irishman and I'm sure if you have any questions, Cathal may be able to answer. I mean, the man's like a vampire himself with how much he's sleeping lately" The brunette joked yet internally, he knew how tired his brother had been due to the famine that were ravishing his land. Which was extremely unfortunate given how the last, the Great Famine, had nearly resulted in his death but still, he did not want Alfred to worry too much as the elder knew the child often asked way too many questions about the matter, many he did not hold a direct answer to. However while Alistair thought he'd made a light hearted joke to the boy, even managing a small smile despite the anxiety rising in his chest, this was not taken as such by America. The child looked to his uncle with wide, unblinking sky blue eyes and his mouth slightly agape. Could one of his relatives be a vampire? It would be impossible surely, as vampires were a work of fiction, but nations and countries personified were real so maybe...
Scotland ruffled America's hair playfully, removing the tea tray with the now empty dishes from Alfred's working space and backing out of the door. "Well, I won't keep you lad, enjoy your book." With that, the Scotsman closed the door behind him with the boy hearing his uncle's footsteps descending down the staircase. Instantaneously, Alfred's mind began to race like a mouse caught in a mousetrap. If Ireland were a vampire, could it explain why he was so tired and slept so much during the day lately? The blond delved into the pages of Stoker's latest work, scanning its contents for some semblance of information he could use to further his understanding.
Meanwhile, Alistair entered the kitchen area where he handed the tray to a working member of staff. As he spun on his heel to depart, his emerald irises spotted Wales to his side grasping a jug of water and a glass to his chest. "Is that for Cathal?" Alistair asked, though he felt it were pointless as he had already gathered it would be for their ailing sibling. Surprised by the Scot's presence, Medwyn swung his head back to meet his brother's gaze, wearing a worried expression upon his features, "Yes, his temperature has spiked again. I'm going to take this up to him." Unsure of what to say in the moment, Alistair nodded in acknowledgement to Medwyn's comment, knowing there wasn't anything he could say at this time that was alleviate the undeniable weight that hung over the household like a storm.
Wales glumly clambered up the staircase, each slow step providing an interrupted thought process whereby his thinking was halted abruptly by the unpleasant memories from Ireland's brush with death. The Welshman recalled how he held his sibling's hand in his and prayed to anyone who would listen for Cathal to be spared, how he'd cradled his brother like a newborn babe as the man wept for his people. Suddenly, Medwyn found himself stood before Ireland's bedroom door and the nation fought to remain composed as he tentatively turned the door knob and careful crept across the ancient floorboards, which creaked and groaned at the slightest moment, as to not wake a sleeping Cathal. This did little for when Wales placed the jug and glass on Ireland's bedside table, the ginger cracked open a single eyelid, signalling he was awake. "Medwyn...is everything OK?" Ireland spoke barely over a whisper, the man's voice raspy from the coughing fits he'd routinely have and of which could be heard throughout the house daily. Wales peered down to Ireland, pressing a hand to the nation's forehead for a moment before removing it; Ireland still had a temperature that showed no sign of breaking anytime soon. "Yes, I've brought you some water so make sure you stay hydrated ok?" Medwyn let out a small gasp because when he retracted his hand from Cathal's forehead, the latter clung onto his hand with a shockingly strong grip given his current condition. Ireland gazed at Medwyn, his breath harsh and laboured. "I'll be OK. I'll be better soon..." Those words were enough to make Wales want to break into a fit of sobbing right then and there. The Welshman wished he could believe that statement but, knowing the last time was almost the end for Cathal, he didn't hold much hope. Medwyn stared silently as Ireland released his grip on his hand and surrendered to another wave of slumber, the nation's chest rising and falling with each rattled breath he drew in as he rested. The blond took this as his cue to leave. As soon as he closed the door behind him, Medwyn couldn't suppress his emotions any longer and felt warm tears trickle down his face.
A few hours passed by and, having spent all day confined to the library, Alfred had finished reading his selected book as well as a selection of other books regarding myths and legends that he felt would be pertinent to his research into vampires. The young boy was certain that his uncle being a vampire was a very real possibility and, in his notebook, drew up a list of the ways in which he would be able assess the situation and decide if Ireland was a vampire once and for all. On the other side of the page, however, was another list only this one contained brief instructions for destroying a vampire which Alfred prayed that he wouldn't have to call upon if his worst fears were confirmed. Would he be able to drive a stake through his uncle's heart if it meant saving his family, including himself? America closed his notebook over and, with his copy of Dracula, exited the library. The child pondered over the literature he consumed, a small sense of relief prevalent as he now had a plan of action but an even bigger feeling of dread for fear that the worst would happen.