Feathers (RusChiAme)

Chapter 6:

"Huh?"
"I asked if you were okay?"
"Oh, I'm fine. Thanks."
"I'm Vietnam, that's my sister, Vietcong and that's my brother, South Vietnam."
"Oh, thanks a lot anyway."
"It's fine."
America didn't know why but something was telling him to stay away from Vietnam, almost as if he would ambush him from the trees... How strange...

"America, you're okay!"
America's eyes widened as someone barrelled into him. New Zealand.
"Kiwi? Are you doing okay?"
"I'm fine! What about you? If EU didn't put up that barrier, you could have been taken! Or worse, died!"
"As you can see, I'm perfectly alright. No need to worry."
"But... But..."
"I'm fine, swear."

Canada walks over, feathers ruffled.
"Hey, you aren't about to die on me, eh? And sorry for not being there..."
America shook his head before telling him that there's no point feeling guilty about him nearly dying to the person with a rectangle for a head.

America looked at the scenery outside the forcefield that EU had thrown up. A thick viscous black liquid coated just about every tree in the vicinity. Feathers of every colour in the visible light spectrum were scattered in the sea of black. His eyes then land on a lone figure sitting cross-legged on the floor with an easel in front of her.

She had long black hair tied into a bun at the base of his head and an ornate hair pin stuck into it. The hair pin was golden and shaped into the Sun, long thin gold spikes sticking out of the bun and catching the sunlight. Her pair of wings was pure white before fading to a deep red at the tips and were folded neatly on her back, the white colour contrasting to the deep black kimono she was wearing. From where America was standing, he could see golden embroidery on the sleeves and back of the kimono, the thread detailing stories of the sea, the Sun and the Moon. The patterns swirled around in a delicate tapestry of images, beckoning him to learn more. The female turned around, allowing America to see the paintbrush dipped in black ink in her hands. White bandages were wrapped tightly up to her palms, nearly blending completely into her pale skin. Then he saw it, the white silk fabric wrapped around her eyes with a singular red dot in the middle of where her eyes would be if they weren't covered by the silk.

The blind one shall finally see,
Heavy the price will be.