9 Crimes

Leave me out with the waste
This is not what I do
It's the wrong kind of place
To be thinking of you
It's the wrong time
For somebody new
It's a small crime
And I've got no excuse

Tears streamed down Elizabeta's rosy cheeks as she buried her face in her hands, alone in the bedroom save for the presence of a single candle flickering at the bedside. Her long, unbound chestnut hair tumbled down her back, brushing the bottom of her spine like wisps of cobwebs. Cast down at her feet was a ring, a simple gold wedding band. "Why me?" She breathed through tears. "What did I do, God?" It had been so long since she had prayed, but in this loveless marriage bed, she found herself begging, pleading to anyone for a way out of this broken life. She had sacrificed her happiness for her country.

Is that alright?
Give my gun away when it's loaded
Is that alright?
If you don't shoot it how am I supposed to hold it
Is that alright?
Give my gun away when it's loaded
Is that alright
Is that alright with you?

Long fingers brushed the keys of the piano, coaxing a memory from them. The man behind the instrument made it seem as effortless as breathing. His wife was in the bedroom, probably preparing for sleep, but that did not cross his mind as he played. Only the faint, antebellum memories of two young emerald eyes and hair like sunbeams occupied his thoughts. Roderich was playing to the open window, serenading the night air as the gossamer curtains fluttered like the ghosts of two innocent children driving his song. He had sacrificed his best friend for his country.

Leave me out with the waste
This is not what I do
It's the wrong kind of place
To be cheating on you
It's the wrong time
But she's pulling me through
It's a small crime
And I've got no excuse

The sound of mournful, timeless music drew Basch from restless sleep on the couch. The emotion with which the piece was played made its composer unmistakable, and it stirred something deep within him that had not fluttered since he had said goodbye to his best friend all those years ago and greeted war with open arms. There was an unwelcome prickling feeling behind his eyes as he took a case from by the door and crept out onto the lawn, finding his place beneath the window as he took the violin from the case and brought it to his chin, closing his eyes and drawing the bow across it to harmonize with the piano, the only harmony he had made with Roderich for years. He had sacrificed his feelings for his country.

Is that alright?
Give my gun away when it's loaded
Is that alright?
If you don't shoot it how am I supposed to hold it

Gilbert could hear her crying. He leaned against the white painted door with his knees drawn to his chest and listened with an aching chest, feeling sick to his stomach as he heard the raw sobs from Elizabeta's throat. She was so strong. She had been so strong, but since she had married that douchebag of an Austrian, he had watched the light slowly fade from her luminous tourmaline eyes. Roderich was chaining her down in the way Gilbert had learned never to do. All the Prussian wanted to do was to gather her up and comfort her, to wipe her tears away and tell her it would be okay, all pride aside. He had sacrificed compassion for his country.

Is that alright?
Give my gun away when it's loaded
Is that alright
Is that alright with you?

Lili couldn't sleep. The dark was creeping, like her past, like her present, like her future. She was surrounded by the fear. She had gotten so lucky with Basch finding her and taking her in. She easily could have died that night and been brushed out of history like so many before her. But a gruff, green eyed angel had scooped her up from the throes of poverty and starvation and saved her, and she adored him for it, the big brother she had never gotten. It was very clear that he loved her too, doting on her and treating her like a little sister. But she was afraid. She was afraid that he would grow sick of caring for her and leave her on the streets just as he had found her. She had sacrificed her certainty for her country.

Is that alright?
Is that alright?

Ludwig gazed out the open window at the web of stars forming the night sky, tracing shapes in his mind as he counted the falling stars. The crisp night breeze caressed his surprisingly messy hair from his face, and his blue eyes closed against it, only for a second. Long lost memory struggled somewhere in the back of his mind, trying to get out. The feeling of night air and starlight evoked recollection of a warmth next to him, a small, girlish giggle, a warm hand in his, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember who the girl beside him was, where they were, or when the memory had even been made. It was lost to history, lost to time, lost to his ever-stubborn mind. He had sacrificed love for his country.

Is that alright with you?
Is that alright?

Feliciano tossed and turned under the blankets in the big four-poster bed. He wasn't used to sleeping without the warm presence of someone else beside him, and much to the Italian's confusion, Ludwig had refused to share a bed with him while they visited Austria and Hungary. Without the protective presence of another being to ward away night terrors, he was plagued by memories of his past, of sitting on a hilltop and waiting for his blond haired, blue eyed love to come home from a war. Feliciano waited and waited, and he would have waited for a hundred thousand years, but his duty as a nation pulled him away from the hill, and away from a love that would never return. He had sacrificed hope for his country.

Is that alright?
Is that alright with you?

Kugelmugel was kept lucid by the burden of a stress no child should experience. He was sitting up in bed, small form silhouetted against the pillows as he tried desperately to sleep. He was so tired he could barely keep his violet eyes open, but sleep would not come. He was worried about his artist, in jail, about the tiny spherical house that had brought him into existence, about Austria, who held his entire fate in his hands. His very life was hanging in the balance, and he wasn't even a century old yet. He didn't think it was fair at all, but the universe didn't play on the terms of humanity's values. He had learned that much very early on, and with it came the yoke of responsibility. He had sacrificed his childhood for his country.

No...

Happiness, friendship, emotions, compassion, certainty, love, hope, and a childhood were all dear prices to pay to stay on the map. Oftentimes, they wondered if they had payed too much, if they would ever again be happy in the world. But that deprecating thought was crushed when they looked to the world in the fresh, dewy daylight, and saw the fruits of their labor, with people bustling through the streets, blissfully ignorant of the sacrifices made for their lives.