Hetalia Oneshots

France - The Saint Of The Alley

"Truly, truly, tis a shame. Humans were created out of love, made to love, yet all they do is hate. Tis nothing but a shame,"

The angelic voice of a man rung sweet in your ears. You felt your body being gently carried up in a pair of strong arms. In your half-conscious state, the man before you appeared to have a pair of large, pure white wings like a swan. His eyes were bluer than the ocean; his hair, golden like the sun.

You looked at him in awe. He was so beautiful; never in your life have you laid eyes on such beauty.

"Who...are you?" you mumbled a question, squinting your eyes.

"I am the saint of the alley,"

Suddenly, you woke up and found yourself on the cold floor of the kitchen in your dingy little cottage in the city. Before you could sit up, you stared at the ceiling, wondering about this dream you just had.

"Saint of the alley?" you mumbled as you sat up, "Where have I heard it before?"

You stood up and washed your face. Looking outside the window, you saw that the roads were empty, as it was very early in the morning.

It was quite surprising that you even got sleep last night. Your father came home drunk last night, and he thrashed you like usual. He never gave you a decent place to sleep and made you sleep on the cold kitchen floor.

You straightened out your soiled blouse and skirt, grabbed your headscarf, tied it on your head, and took a little basket along with you on your way out. After popping a piece of stale bread in your mouth for breakfast, you walked out of the house as quietly as possible, so that you wouldn't arouse your sleeping father.

After the obstacle had been cleared, you made a beeline to the nearby forest. You'd go there everyday to pick flowers. That forest was your favorite place; the peace and tranquility you felt there was like no other.

After you collected a basket full of flowers,
you happily skipped to the city. Although last night was terrifying like the previous ones, the atmosphere of the forest was a blessing and it had uplifted your mood.

You walked the streets, wearing a big smile like always, asking people if they wanted flowers. Although you enjoyed this job, sometimes, it disheartened you. Your father would spend all the money on alcohol instead of working, and made you work in his stead so that he could enjoy wasting away. It was a long, vicious, never ending cycle.

You looked at the puffs of smoke rising from the towering chimneys in the distance. London, lately, had been bustling with excitement. The rich, prim and proper Englishmen who you often saw walking around dubbed the phenomenon as "The Industrial Revolution". Textiles were being produced in large quantities thanks to machines, and it strengthened English economy.

While you pondered, someone absentmindedly bumped into you. Startled, you immediately squeaked an apology even though it wasn't your fault.

At first glance, this person looked like those wealthy Englishmen with his fine navy blue tail coat. He had wavy blond hair and blue eyes, exactly like the beautiful angel you saw in your dream.

"Excuse me, are you alright?" asked the young man, who hardly sounded English. He sounded more French.

"Y-yes, I'm alright, thank you," you nodded, "My apologies for being away with the fairies,"

"Oh no, I should be the one to apologise," the man insisted and then took notice of the contents in your basket, "are you selling those?"

"Yes, I am," you said eagerly, expecting a sale.

"Will you sell me everything you have in that basket?"

"Of course, please have it all," you held out your basket, "That will be-"