I possess the bathroom mirror… Am I supposed to curse someone?

You cannot spell prank without P… russia!

I'm not the chaotic combination of blood, iron, awesomeness, the bathtub full of whipped cream I ate yesterday, hair like a Samoyed puppy, and a ribcage full of glitter without my pranks! Back when I was a regular, humble-pie Prussia, I committed insane and hilarious antics every chance I got! I'm sure I started the whole Antic Masters' Lodge by just existing on my pile of crassness and chamberpots. That's right! I stole all the parchment paper and paper-like substances out of Poland's castle, and never once did he suspect me! Until I got locked in his dungeon those three or four times. But even then, I had my ways of making the Great Phoenix walk around with his pants in a pinch.

Oh, don't make that face at me! It wasn't all toilet humor! But laughter is a sign of youth and healing, isn't it? And childlike spirits are always loveable!

There was that time during the Seven Years' War. In the midst of all the fighting, Big Brows and I invited Austria over for a little chat. I didn't even know what was going to happen! I knew the guy had magic powers, so I said, "I don't know, make him see his worst fear or something." Well, Big Brows has always been an over the top kind of guy. You ask him for a crumb, and he gives you a scone. You ask him for his shoe size, and he shows you an empire. We all showed up at the dinner table, and Big Brows somehow poured a bit of potion into Austria's wine without either of us noticing! And he drank it!

Austria started complaining that he felt sick. His stomach made some obnoxious noises, like he was the hungriest he'd ever been, and the next thing any of us knew, he was clucking and popping buttons off his coat as he bloated and swelled into the shape of a big, fat chicken! The feathers were flying! The fabric was tearing! The wine spilled absolutely everywhere. I laughed so hard, I could've had melanin!

"Is that his worst fear? Chickens?" I squealed.

Big Brows gave his crooked grin. "Oh, that potion wasn't to show his worst fear. It was to show your best joy! I'm glad you find it so hilarious!"

"Oh! OH! 'CAUSE HE'S A CHICKEN!"

Needless to say, I had an awful ache in my abs the next time I rode out to battle.

Now that I have limitless power, my pranks are something of a sacred art. I could easily recreate that chicken night if I wanted, but I'm saving that for a special occasion. There's always time-traveling back to the classic moment!

This morning, Germany zoomed to a world meeting in Florence, Italy, and I followed him by teleporting. After that incident with the existential crisis and my pants, I'm putting wormholes aside.

I'm in the hotel where the meeting is being held. Moments ago, I was floating above the city, taking in its famous ruddy steeples and rustic, artsy feel. Italy's gonna live forever. If he doesn't, his spirit is too important to lose, so he'll end up in a cosmic checkpoint for sacred intellectuals. I think he'd like those singing puppets Fritz gets to hang out with, although that begs the question… how long has Fritz been waiting for reincarnation? Or is he being kept as a spirit guide? Does he even know I can't die?

I duck out of the way when I see some other nations crossing the hall. There's Greece with a cat, Seychelles with some overlarge fishy earrings, and Belgium with a waffle that smells really good, even to someone who got to eat a whole bathtub full of whipped cream yesterday. More and more nations start showing up, waiting for Italy no doubt, because lord knows he's zooming around his whole country to get the best coffee for everyone. When I see Germany, I scramble for a place to hide. If he's too close, he'll sense my EP signature. It's too similar to his own.

I end up in the men's bathroom down a floor. It's cleaner than the one upstairs, but between the evils of cleanliness and efficiency, Germany will forfeit a good smell for fewer steps to relieve himself. Now what… Should I become invisible and haunt the meeting hall? Canada already does that pretty well. Should I try my hand at shape-changing? Eeh, definitely need more practice. There's always changing someone else's shape, but that would waste my perfect chicken moment.

While I'm figuring out the perfect scheme, I fold and compress the air over the urinals into a cone shape for maximum splashiness. Then I stuff the toilet paper into my pocket dimension for whenever another antic master one-ups me in theft. I settle on the idea of making Italy Veneziano sprout a monkey tail when I suddenly hear footsteps. Quick footsteps. Too quick to be human.

Without thinking, I scoot onto the counter and press my fingers into the mirror, which splishes and ripples at my touch. Yes! I can just hide in the mirror world! All that exists in those is what the mirror reflects, but I can duck behind the stall, and my EP signature will be masked!

But Italy's too quick. He bursts into the room, and instead of cleanly melting into the mirror world, I hear a sickening gloop, followed by an incredible pressure that spreads from my chest outward. The air is forced out of my lungs. I suck in, but it feels like there's a sheet over my mouth. No, denser and flatter than a sheet. Like glass.

I realize I'm feeling quite tingly. That gloop must have been my body melting, but then why wouldn't I at least feel wet? I only feel tingly, and while I can't feel anything except my face, (which is quickly fading, too,) I can't seem to find the strength to move! No, I can't move at all! Not even my eyes move!

I'm looking out of the mirror. Did I make it? Am I on the other side? My lack of limbs prohibits me from spinning to see what's mirrored, and since I can't breathe, I can't even blow myself around. I feel bigger. My head feels bigger, at least. Do I have a head? I think I do have one! It's just very flat!

Italy sets a couple dozen coffee cups on the counter. His eyes are still glowing, and his scarlet aura of earth power is flickering around his body. He wrenches a leg up onto the counter and pulls back the pant leg. The calf alone is throbbing and swollen with energy. He slaps a lidocaine patch on the back, then pulls it back down and leans in close to the mirror to fix his hair.

"Dio, I'm old," he whimpers. "Uni students asking my opinion on this and that and using ridiculous slang terms expecting me to understand them. My own people are moving too fast for me."

"Heh, that's ironic."

"Who said that!?"

Italy whips around, only to come face to face with the mirror again, and I suddenly realize… the mirror is me.

"A face... " he starts. "There's a face in the mirror. There's a face in the mirror!"

My face must suddenly disappear, because Italy wipes his hands all over the mirror, (I can feel them,) before floundering with a back-pocket rosary I'm sure he just keeps for superstition and backing out of the room with his coffee cups.

So I possessed the mirror. Not the strangest thing I could've embodied. I can't move nor breathe, but because it's reflective, I can create an image of myself on the surface. I shrink the face and add the rest of my body to make a little 2-D me dance around on the glass. It would be fun, except I can't see the surface, only what's beyond.

Italy should be back soon, and I pray to the puppets he doesn't bring Germany with him. True, Germany's insistent on keeping my powers a secret, but he can still use the butter knife on me. Not only am I summoned, but I'm made to do everything he says until he's satisfied. I guess even quasi-gods have responsibilities to earth people.

But I'm surprised when it's not Germany I hear, but that kid America outside the bathroom trying to understand Italy's supersonic speech.

"Slow down, noodle dude. You know I'm bad with accents to begin with."

"There's a ghost in the bathroom! In the mirror! I saw a face!"

"What did it look like?"

"Em, it had white hair."

"W'll, then it's just an old guy's spirit."

"Yeah, but can you check it out, please? Aren't you good with that paranormal stuff?"

"Not really. I do like paranormal stuff, but more for theory, not for actual ghosts. 'Cause those scare the crap outta me."

"I'm pretty sure there's an actual ghost in there. Just go see, eh? Tell me I'm not crazy."

"Okay, but if I get scared, you're buying me as much gelato as I want."

"I can zoom to the best gelato shop in Firenze in half a second!"

The door pushes open, and even as a mirror, I sweatdrop. I clear my mind, and the image of me vanishes. America peers around the dimly-lit room, searching for strangeness. He knuckles his bottom lip between his teeth and gnaws at the skin, ripping into an old, wet scab on the membrane. Nasty habit. I never got him to kick it. If his face were turned inside out, he'd have a clown smile of scar tissue stretching from cheek to shining cheek.

He then leans toward the mirror, and I feel like he's staring into my soul, which of course, is of galactic proportions. He touches me first with his fingertips, then with his palms, and then his nose squishes up on my glass self and I feel his breath.

Eh, might as well mess with him. I do a little warping of consciousness, which I learned from the wormhole escapade, and America jumps back in terror.

"Woah!"

He comes back, then removes his glasses and stares dumbfounded at his reflection.

"I have pink eyes… I have pink eyes! Cosmic Americus? Cosmic Americus!"

I don't know what that means, but I go further in distorting his reflection. He grabs at his face, trying to hold in skin that bubbles and shifts over his skull and a lengthening nose. His hair frizzes, then poofs and bleaches. His teeth grow sharper in his mouth.

"Fuck! Italy!? Italy, dude, you are so right! There is a ghost in here! The mirror's possessed!"

I start to cackle, and my voice echoes off the tiled walls. The lights flicker. The toilet gurgles. The soap dispensers soil themselves. America punches me…

America punches me.

Another mighty gloop-bloop rushes through my head. My physical form melts as glittery Prussian blue sludge from the shattered glass shards scattered in the sink. It builds upon itself, squelching and morphing and growing until the loose shape of my body comes into being. My fingers and toes bubble out at the ends of goopy stumps. My head glorps up from my stretching shoulders. Little details harden and mold themselves back to their usual states.

And then I'm sitting on the counter, clutching an aching head and groaning. My stomach burbles, and I spit up some glass cleaner.

"Prussia?"

I lift my head. America has stumbled back into the urinals. He's just as pale as I made his illusion. "Cosmic Americus," he repeats under his breath.

I hop off the counter and extend a hand to him. "So…" I begin, "what brings you here?"

"You were the ghost in the mirror. And it's… is it you, or is it a ghost inside you inside the mirror? Ohmigod, you're dead. When did it happen? Did you curse me? Am I gonna start bleeding out weird places or… do… do I have to let you possess me now? How do you even do that? Do you go down my throat, er…"

"I'm not a ghost, kid."

"If you possess me, do I slowly transform into you? 'Cause that would be pretty epic, but also terrifying. Aw man, does it hurt? Am I gonna feel my bones crunching and all that? You got those long fingers, too. Those suckers have to hurt, especially if you force me into the changes."

"Do you want me to possess you, or no?"

"Not really. I just won some unlimited gelato."

"Good. Except for your hand, you're going to be fine."

"My hand… oh, it's bleeding. W'll, that'll heal in a few minutes. But seriously! What the hell, man!?"

I take a deep breath in. Poor kid. No one will believe him, even Italy. So I place my hands on his shoulders, stare into those sky-blue eyes, and make the confession.

"America, I'm an all-powerful extra-dimensional being."

"So… you're like an alien?"

"Yeah. Sure."

His face lights up like a thousand rockets in the night, and I know I'm gonna be stuck with him.

~N~

Another nation joins in on the antics!

Now I love the idea that each nation's EP aura is a different color. Germany's is gold, first to symbolize succession, but now his ongoing quest for what's new and genius. Italy's is scarlet for his connection to Rome and an ancient artistic passion. America's is sunset orange for his obsession with perseverance, exploration, and imagination.

Updated by Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net May 22nd, 2020. Reposters cursed.