She had broken into his house more than once, and, when that direct method didn't work, she tried merely tacitly supporting him, like a good wife would. That was when she began to learn that the opposite of love was not hate, but apathy.
She tried seeking out better relations with the West, in hopes of getting him to notice her, but, as usual, he was more concerned about making Ukraine bend to him again. His eyes (oh, beautiful eyes) were always on the world, but never on his loving little sister.
She'd thought that this latest gambit would have drawn his attention, because he was always going after those who would deny him, but it didn't, and she was bring forced to admit...
No, she wasn't going to admit to anything. Her brother was strong and proud and awesome and beautiful and everything she'd ever wanted. And she'd been working so hard to make him proud of her, that it was impossible that he didn't see. He just trusted her, that's all. He'd never believe that she would turn to the West.
But then why wasn't he looking at her? Whenever she tried to visit him, he would be hiding, as if he didn't want to see her at all. No, that was impossible. Surely, he loved her.
'Yes, he loves me.'
So what was keeping him so far away? Ah, but of course. Russia had been hurt before, no? Again and again, even by those close to him, like those damned Baltics. Maybe he was just afraid of being hurt again? So her beloved brother was actually living in fear all this time?
It broke her heart, the heart that only thawed for one man, one nation. If only he would take her as his wife, she could share in his sorrows, but if he was already too damaged for that, then she would just have to sacrifice her maiden's dream and do what was right by him.
She doesn't break into his house this time, waiting instead at his office, sitting demurely in front of his table. When he returns, he has no choice but to see her.
"Belarus," he acknowledges, the ever-present edge of fear in his voice. How could she not have noticed sooner? "What do you want?"
"Brother," she replies, her expression unchanging. "I'm going to marry America."
And this, this brings out a reaction.
"You're going to WHAT! But why? What? How? When?"
Had it been anyone else, would he have reacted so seriously? He was always threatening people, even if it was in his olique manner, coated in smiles. But now, he's worried on her behalf and it's so sweet that she has to fight back a smile.
"I've already made the preparations," she tells him. "All I have to do now is to ask him if he would have me." And then she does smile, softly, sadly, the action making her cheeks hurt from the unfamiliarity of it. "Since you don't want me anymore."
She sees the wheels turning in his head, the fear and panic that crosses his face for all of one second, and she regrets having to resort to such tactics. But sometimes, you hurt the ones you love so that they do not get further injured. She'd learnt that from him, after all.
"I do want you," he tells her, taking her hands. She marvels at how small her gloved hands looked in his ungloved ones and tries to remember the last time he'd actually touched her.
"But I've already made the wedding preparations," she repeats, drawing her fingers away with great reluctance. 'Endure, Belarus, endure. For his sake.'
"Then I will..." he chokes on his words, looking as though he was fighting the urge to run away. He doesn't look her in the face, but it's ok. She knows why now. "I'll talk to my boss about it, and we can... get married. If you still want to."
"And what will you give me?" she asks, and he looks incredulous. "My dowry? What will you give to me?"
"What else do you want?" he asks in return, and she hears the edge of irritation, because he loves her and he doesn't believe in gifts, but she needs this.
He'd insisted on the wedding being conducted in Russia, which suited her just fine. After all, she'd put so much planning into this, there was no way it could go wrong.
In the mirror, her face appeared to glow, though she couldn't guess if it was because of the rouge or because what they said about weddings were true. Then she picked up her cellphone and phoned home.
---
The ceremony was a grand affair, though the other nations were conspicuously absent. It merely strengthened her resolve to go through this, to alleviate her brother's loneliness. They stood at the alter, and he smiled, gently, sadly. At her. He was smiling at her. She could barely remember to speak her vow, so he speaks for her.
"With this hand I will lift your sorrows."
She had been planning for months and months, doing things as distasteful as talking civilly to America. And the bomb, of course, the bomb was important.
"Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine."
His voice was like a song to her and she could listen to it forever. Except that they didn't have forever, so she listens closely and hangs on to every word.
"With this candle, I will light your way into darkness..."
She would free him from this miserable world, free him from the fear and sorrow, because by now, America was probably retaliating to the Russian warhead that she'd sent his way, after months and months of fear-mongering on her side. And then her beloved brother would be free, free, free...
---
The soft, regretful smile on his face doesn't change as America wipes Belarus off the map of the world. He catches her as she falls, her eyes wide in confusion, her lips reddened now by more than rouge.
"It's alright," he tells her, cradling her like a child, holding her closer than he'd ever held her before.
He'd known, and, as bad as his relationship had been with the US, all it took was a couple of phonecalls to convince them that a certain former-Soviet state had gone rogue and was plotting to destroy the world.
"It's alright," he coos to her as the life slips from her beautiful blue eyes. "What's left of you will be a part of me now. Isn't that what you'd always wanted?"
And she smiles, a real smile, a rare smile, a smile that would never be seen again in this world.
"F... fini...sh... it..." she rasps out.
He obliges.
"With this ring, I ask you to be mine."
As her eyes slide shut for the final time, he picks up her body and declares, with a smile on his face and a spring in his step and a tear in his eye,
She tried seeking out better relations with the West, in hopes of getting him to notice her, but, as usual, he was more concerned about making Ukraine bend to him again. His eyes (oh, beautiful eyes) were always on the world, but never on his loving little sister.
She'd thought that this latest gambit would have drawn his attention, because he was always going after those who would deny him, but it didn't, and she was bring forced to admit...
No, she wasn't going to admit to anything. Her brother was strong and proud and awesome and beautiful and everything she'd ever wanted. And she'd been working so hard to make him proud of her, that it was impossible that he didn't see. He just trusted her, that's all. He'd never believe that she would turn to the West.
But then why wasn't he looking at her? Whenever she tried to visit him, he would be hiding, as if he didn't want to see her at all. No, that was impossible. Surely, he loved her.
'Yes, he loves me.'
So what was keeping him so far away? Ah, but of course. Russia had been hurt before, no? Again and again, even by those close to him, like those damned Baltics. Maybe he was just afraid of being hurt again? So her beloved brother was actually living in fear all this time?
It broke her heart, the heart that only thawed for one man, one nation. If only he would take her as his wife, she could share in his sorrows, but if he was already too damaged for that, then she would just have to sacrifice her maiden's dream and do what was right by him.
So she began to plan the wedding.
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"Belarus," he acknowledges, the ever-present edge of fear in his voice. How could she not have noticed sooner? "What do you want?"
"Brother," she replies, her expression unchanging. "I'm going to marry America."
And this, this brings out a reaction.
"You're going to WHAT! But why? What? How? When?"
Had it been anyone else, would he have reacted so seriously? He was always threatening people, even if it was in his olique manner, coated in smiles. But now, he's worried on her behalf and it's so sweet that she has to fight back a smile.
"I've already made the preparations," she tells him. "All I have to do now is to ask him if he would have me." And then she does smile, softly, sadly, the action making her cheeks hurt from the unfamiliarity of it. "Since you don't want me anymore."
She sees the wheels turning in his head, the fear and panic that crosses his face for all of one second, and she regrets having to resort to such tactics. But sometimes, you hurt the ones you love so that they do not get further injured. She'd learnt that from him, after all.
"I do want you," he tells her, taking her hands. She marvels at how small her gloved hands looked in his ungloved ones and tries to remember the last time he'd actually touched her.
"But I've already made the wedding preparations," she repeats, drawing her fingers away with great reluctance. 'Endure, Belarus, endure. For his sake.'
"Then I will..." he chokes on his words, looking as though he was fighting the urge to run away. He doesn't look her in the face, but it's ok. She knows why now. "I'll talk to my boss about it, and we can... get married. If you still want to."
"And what will you give me?" she asks, and he looks incredulous. "My dowry? What will you give to me?"
"What else do you want?" he asks in return, and she hears the edge of irritation, because he loves her and he doesn't believe in gifts, but she needs this.
"A bomb."
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In the mirror, her face appeared to glow, though she couldn't guess if it was because of the rouge or because what they said about weddings were true. Then she picked up her cellphone and phoned home.
---
The ceremony was a grand affair, though the other nations were conspicuously absent. It merely strengthened her resolve to go through this, to alleviate her brother's loneliness. They stood at the alter, and he smiled, gently, sadly. At her. He was smiling at her. She could barely remember to speak her vow, so he speaks for her.
"With this hand I will lift your sorrows."
She had been planning for months and months, doing things as distasteful as talking civilly to America. And the bomb, of course, the bomb was important.
"Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine."
His voice was like a song to her and she could listen to it forever. Except that they didn't have forever, so she listens closely and hangs on to every word.
"With this candle, I will light your way into darkness..."
She would free him from this miserable world, free him from the fear and sorrow, because by now, America was probably retaliating to the Russian warhead that she'd sent his way, after months and months of fear-mongering on her side. And then her beloved brother would be free, free, free...
---
The soft, regretful smile on his face doesn't change as America wipes Belarus off the map of the world. He catches her as she falls, her eyes wide in confusion, her lips reddened now by more than rouge.
"It's alright," he tells her, cradling her like a child, holding her closer than he'd ever held her before.
He'd known, and, as bad as his relationship had been with the US, all it took was a couple of phonecalls to convince them that a certain former-Soviet state had gone rogue and was plotting to destroy the world.
"It's alright," he coos to her as the life slips from her beautiful blue eyes. "What's left of you will be a part of me now. Isn't that what you'd always wanted?"
And she smiles, a real smile, a rare smile, a smile that would never be seen again in this world.
"F... fini...sh... it..." she rasps out.
He obliges.
"With this ring, I ask you to be mine."
As her eyes slide shut for the final time, he picks up her body and declares, with a smile on his face and a spring in his step and a tear in his eye,
"There, we are wed."
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