Facades [Hetalia AU]

f i v e

Belarus.

Natalya Arlovskaya.

The insane sociopath we all know. That one lady obsessively pursuing and chasing after her very own brother tenaciously, with a borderline "tsundere" attitude. Every country in that very room would avoid her and her row of blades, maintaining a 2-meter radius, fearing her very own encounter like the bubonic plague that had terrified and shooked their adolescence. Every single meeting, she could also hear the not-so-quiet whispers always on the topic of how she was a personification on the first place; on how mother nature must have screwed up so severely that she is appointed as a delegate instead of being locked up in some kind mental institute in the middle of the unknowns. They would quiet down when she got nearer, but it still hurt so much.

As a result, she would stand in the corner, still pacing behind Ivan's shadows, but as a misanthrope, as a figure nobody wanted to exist. Anyone she attempts to talk to would bolt away quickly as they have seen death themselves, who was probably ready to collect their deaths. Scratch that, she knew some of them awaited death after centuries of service and never-ending exertion. Regardless, such treatment gave her a sense of security even though it means she had to bite into the baits of pain, willingly.

She had expected this. After all, throughout her life, she was relatively a stranger to kindness. Ever since she was a youngling, her world has always been a harsh and terrible one. She was exposed to a desolate and freezing terra, where she simply learned that her presence was unwanted only to the exception of her brother. He was the only light of her life, a warm presence that she never knew she wanted but needed. From the beautiful bow adorning her blonde tresses, giving a slight personality to her hollow skeleton, to the time they spent at the crushing snow, throwing tiny spheres of ice at each other blissfully and building tall, intricate snow forts that they would probably ruin in the next few hours. It was a winter wonderland, all over again.

She wished time could have frozen all over; she could have savored each precious and tinkling moment as slowly as possible as if it's her last remnants of their relationship. Ukraine would sometimes give her a stink-eye, telling her that she should be stronger and perhaps, be a more independent woman. She always knew that she didn't enjoy her proximity, that she didn't like her specialized attachment with Ivan. He was her adorable and charming older brother, thank you very much.

However, those events were nothing compared to what had transpired during the cold war. In the beginning, it looked normal. Ivan was still a caring brother who showered her with love and affection, even through the layers of his grey coat. Then he started looking fearful and paranoid as if someone were watching over each of their interactions. Even when hugging her, his gaze couldn't stay in one place. It flickered at the top-right ceiling, at the old, soon to be replaced a door, at the cold wooden floor, at the lavender pillow laying gracefully at the sofa and many others. The hug was short and less warm. It started to be stiffer, causing the small girl to shiver uncontrollably. He started contacting her less and less, with every encounter soon growing awkward or standoffish, filled with dreadful and awful silence. She had stared at his purple orbs, which usually twinkled with innocent joy and laughter that captivated her, motivating her even through the worse days where she had utterly flipped off. They were now void with glacial bitterness that she hates so, so much. The stark difference threw her off, and she wished with all her might for her brother to come back to her, to return to his usual self.

That particular wish went unfulfilled till several decades, unfortunately.

Her last encounter with him featured Ivan stumbling over his words. She remembered the pile of soft, delicate snow in his strands of hair. His coat was unbuttoned, and some of it was stained blood red. His eyes were weary and tired, desperately desiring for a good rest. With careful precision, he handed her a passport and instructed her to hide and leave the country immediately, in a small, barely discernible voice. He told her that she had been wiped from the system and was reinstated with a brand new identity that showed that she was just an average human, not a personification.

"This is for your own good, сестра," he stated, worry imminent in the lines of his pale face, "Don't let them know of your identity. If possible, escape to America and find a man named Alfred. Stay low, please, even if that means that we won't meet again. Do not meet me again. I won't be the same, please. It's for your own safety."

"What do you mean my own safety? I miss-"

"It's a matter of life and death, сестра. Please. You can stay in this cottage behind the hills."

That was the last time Natalya saw him. She had followed his instructions, proceeding to stay at a small, still cozy, wooden cottage in the middle of a dense forest where trees grow taller than giants. She cut all contact she had, and the only way she stayed updated of the events happening in the outside world was a rickety tv, that occasionally, no, most of the times glitched. Wrapped in a cocoon of blankets of warm colors, a reminder of him, she could only watch painfully as Ivan stood next to Joseph Stalin, face blank and expressionless. Even a smile of his grew to be a distant memory

and she missed that.  

a/n:

the timeline of this fic is really messy, but it'll come together, hopefully. here's a back story of Belarus which is definitively not complete. :-0

thanks for reading this fic. it's probably written really badly, i'm 13, cut me some slack lmao. so, if you have any kind of constructive criticism, please comment uwu. 

i love y'all. please vote and comment since it encourages me to write more!!

*wink wink*

i'll try to publish the next chapter next week. (coughs miserably). so await for it guys!!!