Mi Inglaterra Prologue [1/2]
anonymous
November 4 2009, 21:09:13 UTC
England looked pale, Spain noticed as he traced his finger down the curve of England’s jaw, feeling the smaller nation shiver.
“Aren’t you happy?” he asked “Your Queen Mary is to have a child with Phillip. The heretic Elizabeth is going to be killed, as she deserves.”
England nodded, but his eyes… His eyes didn’t seem so sure.
“I-it’s just, just.” The island nation looked down “The Protestants she’s burning. It still hurts me.” He looked up, meeting Spain’s eyes. “I know that they refused God but, they’re still my people Spain.”
England looked like he was going to cry. Spain’s finger travelled down to England’s chin, lifted it so that Spain could plant a chaste kiss on his lips.
“Of course they hurt, Inglaterra, because their pain is what sets them free. You remember that burning a heretic cleanses their soul, so they may go to Paradise. You are their country; you share in their sins and heresies. It is only right that you share in their pain too.”
England was gnawing on his bottom lip. “Spain?”
Spain smiled, leaned into England, his breath feathering along England’s cheek, blushed a pale pink. “Sí, mi Inglaterra?”
England swallowed thickly. “Spain, do you feel the pain of your heretics too?” Spain whispered into England’s ear, “Every single one. And I rejoice with the knowledge that they are saved.”
Spain drew back, glad that his pale England’s cheeks were now pink. England smiled at him shyly.
With a sense of regret that he could not place, Spain turned away from him. “Come, we must meet with the King, he is expecting us.”
Without waiting for an answer he started to walk, England’s light footfalls on the stone floors following him.
“Aren’t you happy?” he asked “Your Queen Mary is to have a child with Phillip. The heretic Elizabeth is going to be killed, as she deserves.”
England nodded, but his eyes… His eyes didn’t seem so sure.
“I-it’s just, just.” The island nation looked down “The Protestants she’s burning. It still hurts me.” He looked up, meeting Spain’s eyes. “I know that they refused God but, they’re still my people Spain.”
England looked like he was going to cry. Spain’s finger travelled down to England’s chin, lifted it so that Spain could plant a chaste kiss on his lips.
“Of course they hurt, Inglaterra, because their pain is what sets them free. You remember that burning a heretic cleanses their soul, so they may go to Paradise. You are their country; you share in their sins and heresies. It is only right that you share in their pain too.”
England was gnawing on his bottom lip. “Spain?”
Spain smiled, leaned into England, his breath feathering along England’s cheek, blushed a pale pink. “Sí, mi Inglaterra?”
England swallowed thickly. “Spain, do you feel the pain of your heretics too?”
Spain whispered into England’s ear, “Every single one. And I rejoice with the knowledge that they are saved.”
Spain drew back, glad that his pale England’s cheeks were now pink. England smiled at him shyly.
With a sense of regret that he could not place, Spain turned away from him. “Come, we must meet with the King, he is expecting us.”
Without waiting for an answer he started to walk, England’s light footfalls on the stone floors following him.
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