❝november, december, and all through the winter ; i’m alive❞
Title: I'm Alive
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Words: ~250
Characters: Belarus ; Ukraine
Rating: G
Warnings: n/a
Summary: Written for grammaticide's birthday. Sometimes Natalya feels as though she's made of ice; not even human.
I'm Alive
The snow falls gently, and Natalya raises her hands to sky, catching snowflakes in her bare hands. Her skin is so pale that the flakes are barely discernible against her palms; as they melt against the heat of her hands, she glances at wet areas quizzically.
“What is it, Nata?” Yekaterina asks, head knocked to one side.
She glances up, as though in a trance, and into her elder sister’s eyes. “I was just thinking…it’s strange.”
“What is?” Yekaterina laughs-a warm sound. Warmth is something Natalya has always associated with her sister-freshly-baked cookies and a familiar embrace, hot tears of joy and contagious laughter.
“The snow melts, on my hands,” Natalya murmurs. “And yet sometimes I feel like I’m made of ice, even colder than snow.” If Yekaterina is warmth, Natalya is the opposite-icey blue eyes, cold pale skin, and emotions locked away under centuries of snow.
“You’re not,” her elder sister insists softly, placing one hand on Natalya’s thin shoulder. “You’re human, Nata, no matter what else you are. You’re flesh and blood and bone-you’re warmth, you’re life.”
“Sometimes, it doesn’t feel like it,” Natalya responds stubbornly. Sometimes, it’s easier to deny her emotions, to pretend that she really is a snow girl, an ice queen. Then, it doesn’t hurt as much. She would rather give up joy in order to not feel pain, rather not feel anything at all.
She’s horrified to find tears falling down her cheeks.
And, what’s this? They’re warm.
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Words: ~250
Characters: Belarus ; Ukraine
Rating: G
Warnings: n/a
Summary: Written for grammaticide's birthday. Sometimes Natalya feels as though she's made of ice; not even human.
I'm Alive
The snow falls gently, and Natalya raises her hands to sky, catching snowflakes in her bare hands. Her skin is so pale that the flakes are barely discernible against her palms; as they melt against the heat of her hands, she glances at wet areas quizzically.
“What is it, Nata?” Yekaterina asks, head knocked to one side.
She glances up, as though in a trance, and into her elder sister’s eyes. “I was just thinking…it’s strange.”
“What is?” Yekaterina laughs-a warm sound. Warmth is something Natalya has always associated with her sister-freshly-baked cookies and a familiar embrace, hot tears of joy and contagious laughter.
“The snow melts, on my hands,” Natalya murmurs. “And yet sometimes I feel like I’m made of ice, even colder than snow.” If Yekaterina is warmth, Natalya is the opposite-icey blue eyes, cold pale skin, and emotions locked away under centuries of snow.
“You’re not,” her elder sister insists softly, placing one hand on Natalya’s thin shoulder. “You’re human, Nata, no matter what else you are. You’re flesh and blood and bone-you’re warmth, you’re life.”
“Sometimes, it doesn’t feel like it,” Natalya responds stubbornly. Sometimes, it’s easier to deny her emotions, to pretend that she really is a snow girl, an ice queen. Then, it doesn’t hurt as much. She would rather give up joy in order to not feel pain, rather not feel anything at all.
She’s horrified to find tears falling down her cheeks.
And, what’s this? They’re warm.