Guardian Angel

Fallen Angel

"United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland!"

Britain gasped softly, scrambling to his small feet and clutching the bottom of his tunic. "United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, get down here this instant!" Another voice, male and authoritative, shouted from downstairs.

He bit the bottom of his lip to swallow down a whimper, frozen with fear but also feeling like he was brimming with energy, like a fawn at gunpoint of a hunter, able to run far away on its elegant long legs, but too petrified to move an inch. His parents weren't coming up, yet, he couldn't hear any footsteps yet, but they could at any moment-

We have to hide, that way they can't find us. Hide in the closet.

The voice came out of nowhere, it whispered in his ear quietly. Britain didn't have time to think it too thoroughly, not that his 10 year old brain could fully comprehend it when he was so terrified anyway, but he listened to the instruction, padding over to his big closet and pulling the door open before stepping inside.

His breaths echoed around him in the darkness, small slivers of light coming from the edges of the doorframe, like a golden box. Britain sat down in a corner, curled into a little ball by wrapping his small arms around his knees and pressed them as close as possible to his chest, breathing softly, in and out and in again, listening for footsteps, more voices, anything.

We'll be safer here, if they can't find us they can't hurt us.

"Who are you?" Britain whispered in, now that he was safe, hiding from his parents. He reached up a small hand to tuck a lock of his white hair behind his right ear, looking around the dark closet. There was another presence there, the whisper of a voice that hung around him like a warm winter coat.

My name is England.

Britain exhaled, cyan eyes dimming slightly in the darkness of the closet as the winter coat felt like it sunk deeper into his small, thin body, warming him to the bone. "My name is Britain." He piped up, his voice sounding a bit childish compared to that deeper, bolder voice. A soft humming started up, more motherly and caring, coaxing him to relax.

I'm here to protect you, you'll be safe here. The voice said again, like another presence in the closet floor, sitting beside him and keeping watch over him. "Protect me?" Britain asked, fighting off the sudden sleepiness. "But I'm not anyone important, like Father." 

You are important, to me. That's what I'm here for, to make sure you are safe.

"From what?" He asked, slightly anxiously. Because Father had guards and watch dogs that were always by him, to protect him from enemies, who want to kill him. Was someone going to kill him too?

From everything. Anything that might want to hurt you. Even the small things.

"...promise?" Britain whispered, because he could think of a few things. Like how scared he always felt when he was by his parents, when they- punished him, to make him learn. 

Promise. The voice said with such reassurance that he immediately felt a little braver to face the world. If he had someone to protect him, maybe he didn't have to feel so much hurt or pain anymore. Maybe that voice- England, could stand up to his parents, even though he was sure no one could possibly Ever stand up to his parents. With that thought, he gave in to the soft humming, closing his eyes to take a little nap, because he felt so tired, and the presence of that protective warm winter coat made him sleep a little easier.

England watched that little boy slowly nod off, sitting besides him cross-legged in the closet. He was so small, his tunic hung around him like a huge tapestry, or a freshly weaved cloth for the tables, like someone had pityingly laid it over a poor starving orphan by the market road. Yet, he was the son of someone so important. Surely he should be decked out in riches.