~ Powers of Nations: A Countryhumans Chronicle

▶Chapter:17◀

There is a warning again, if you don't like it, don't read it.

The chapter:

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Warning⚠.

3rd person pov:

Russia layed on the cold, hard floor of his cell, his body trembling from the aftershocks of TR's relentless torment. The memories of the last ten months were a blur of pain and suffering, each day blending into the next in an unending cycle of despair.

TR's voice echoed in his mind, a constant reminder of his isolation and abandonment. "Everyone has forgotten about you, Russia. They've moved on with their lives. You're nothing but a distant memory now."

The words cut deeper than any physical wound, gnawing at Russia's spirit. He had long stopped believing that anyone cared for him anymore. The endless days of solitude and torture had stripped him of hope, leaving him to accept his fate. His body bore the marks of TR's cruelty—scars, bruises, and bite marks that never seemed to heal. The physical pain was unbearable, but it was the emotional torment that truly broke him.

Russia's mind drifted back to his siblings, but not with hope. He wondered if they even thought of him or if they had moved on as TR had said. The memories of their faces, once a source of comfort, now felt like a taunt. The gentle touches from TR that he missed so much were now a distant, almost forgotten sensation, replaced by the brutal reality he faced every day.

Russia's asthma added another layer of suffering to his existence. The attacks were unpredictable and terrifying, leaving him gasping for breath and feeling as though he was drowning in his own body. TR's initial shock and brief moments of mercy during the attacks were small, cruel flickers of care that were quickly extinguished by resumed torment. Even when Russia coughed up blood, TR's relentlessness only paused momentarily before continuing the cycle of pain.

One particularly severe asthma attack had left Russia on the brink of unconsciousness. Desperate for relief, he had looked to TR with pleading eyes, hoping for a moment of compassion. Instead, TR had forced him to drink the vile liquid that intensified his suffering. The regret that flashed across TR's face afterward was fleeting, a reminder that any semblance of care was overshadowed by a deeper cruelty.

Then, one day, something unexpected happened. TR entered the cell with a small bottle of asthma medication. Russia looked at it with wary eyes, unsure if it was another trick or genuine help. TR, usually so detached and indifferent, showed a rare hint of concern as he handed the medication to Russia.

"Take this," TR said, his voice uncharacteristically softer. "It might help."

With trembling hands, Russia accepted the medication and took the prescribed dose. Almost immediately, he felt a slight improvement in his breathing. It was a small mercy, but it made a difference. The medication eased the tightness in his chest, and for the first time in a long while, Russia could breathe a bit more comfortably.

Seeing the effect of the medication, TR's demeanor softened even further. He approached Russia and gently helped him to the small bed in the corner of the cell. The contrast to the usual harsh treatment was jarring. For the first time, TR seemed to be offering genuine comfort.

TR sat beside Russia on the bed, his hand resting lightly on Russia's shoulder. The warmth of TR's touch, once so familiar and now almost foreign, provided a strange sense of comfort. They lay together, and TR's presence, though still domineering, was a stark contrast to the torment Russia had come to expect.

As the night wore on, Russia felt a sense of calm he hadn't experienced in months. TR's hand, though firm, was gentle as it stroked his back, offering a semblance of solace. The soothing rhythm of TR's touch was oddly calming, lulling Russia into a restless but welcomed sleep. It was a moment of fragile peace amidst the relentless pain.

When Russia awoke the next morning, the effects of the medication were still present, and the immediate pain had receded. TR was gone, but the memory of his touch lingered. It was a brief respite in a sea of suffering, a reminder of what once was and what might never be again. The cycle of torment would resume, but for that fleeting moment, Russia had experienced a rare instance of care.

The respite was short-lived, but the memory of TR's unexpected kindness, however fleeting, provided a small, bittersweet glimmer of warmth in Russia's otherwise bleak existence.

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Author:Hehehe i told you it's gonna be fine.

TR: ugh that better be-