The Turn Of A Century

Chapter Three: Moment Of Clarté

France is lost. He doesn't know where he is or how he got here. No... That's not completely true. The building's structure is unmistakable and can be identified as Paris. Home. Yet he still has no idea where he is. Walking through the winding dark paths, France walks out into a clearing. The stench of blood and corpses assault his nose. The sight before him is sickening. Mangled corpses lay in heaps across the clearing. Rats and flies skitter through the corpses. In the middle of the clearing, at the very center, glinting against the moonlight stands a guillotine.

A shiver runs down France's spine. His feet quiver and a lump forms in his throat. He tears his gaze from the guillotine and swiftly walks across the clearing. His heart pounds against his chest as he passes it. Just as France is about to enter another alley, he feels a spindly arm grab his ankle. He jerks to a halt and shakily glances behind his back. A dead corpse grips his foot and 'its' soulless eyes glare into France. "Where do you think you're going?" a gravely voice cracked out.

Fear spiking in his chest, France kicks the hand away, freeing his foot. Just as he's about to make a run for it, he feels another corpse grab his feet. Many more join in on holding him down as they all cry out.

"Don't leave me."

"I was so young."

"How can you just stand there."

"I trusted you."

"You promised."

"This is your fault."

"I didn't deserve this."

"I did nothing wrong."

Their cries and pleas become unintelligible. Overwhelmed, France falls to his knees. Curling in on himself, he mutters. "I know." Tears prick at his eyes as he harshly shuts them. The corpses all jump on him. Clawing at him. Pleading at him. The voices ring in his ears. Through it all, France keeps his eyes shut and covers his ears with his hands. Helpless, all France can do is endure.

Amidst all the chaos, somehow, Frace hears a silent buzz. Enthralled by the sound, France fails to notice that it had gone quiet and he's almost all alone. When he feels something small land on his lap, he opens his eyes. He finally notices that all the corpses and noise are gone. And on his lap lies a bee, every inch of it draped in gold. Mesmerized by its beauty, France lifts the bee onto his hand. Relief washes over as a sigh falls from him. France holds the golden bee to his heart and holds on. Golden Honey drips from his fingers to the ground. Onto Paris. On his Heart.

All of a sudden everything goes black. France is no longer in Paris, surrounded by corpses and it. Instead, He's now on a luscious green hill, surrounded by a battlefield. A few feet in front of him, the bee lies unmoving. France crawls towards it. Dread crawls across him as he sees the bee. The once golden bee is now a grey, dull, color.

A pair of booths appear in his line of sight. The figure kneels in front of him and lifts his chin with a bloodied gloved hand. France lifts his gaze to meet Britain. A sparkle glints in the Brit's eyes. He tightens his grip on France's chin and snarks. "Oh darling, look how far you've fallen."