The group disbanded and Sucellus turned to face him once again.
“Alright England, here is what we have decided. You are going to take care of France, and your tie to America is going to be severed. Aphroditê has agreed to not influence your feelings toward each other, so you know that what you feel is entirely of your own doing. Yuèlǎo has agreed to sever the tie on the contingency that Aphroditê keeps her half of the promise, and with the assurance that if France decides to let you help him, she gets to tie you two together. Freyja has decided that this is fair, though we are going to decide who America is going to be tied to instead.”
England listened to his speech, his heart pulsing against the tight thread around his finger.
“England, give Yuèlǎo your hand.”
England knew he had to, knew he didn't have a choice, knew they were right about America, but he still clutched his hand to his chest. The tears started streaming down his face.
Yuèlǎo stepped in front of him and held her hand out expectantly.
“Please, no,” he whispered, even as he held his hand out.
Yuèlǎo looked at him coldly and took the string in her hands. She pulled, and it snapped as if it was embroidery floss.
The effect was instantaneous. He felt as if his soul was torn from his body, ripped to pieces, hastily glued back together, shoved back inside his body, and then his entire body was stuck through a blender.
He fell to his knees, gasping. Everything hurt. Touching the ground hurt. Breathing hurt. But breathing was necessary when sobbing. The tears running down his cheeks hurt. He felt as if it was himself falling against the floor instead of his tears.
England forgot about the deities looking at him until he pulled himself together, and the air stopped burning on the way to his lungs.
“W-why?” England gasped.
“I'm sure France asked the same thing,” Sucellus said. “And I don't think he got an answer.”
The floor dissolved from under England and the next thing he knew, he was on his bed. He was hurt, alone, and crying. Just as France was on that fateful day...
[ Okay, so this isn't all I have written so far, but I wanted to get something up. I'm still messing around with how I want events to go and how I want to end this, so if anyone has anything they would like to say, (especially OP) then now would be the time to say so =] Thanks to any who read this, and I hope y'all enjoy <3
In Love and War [Part 4c/?]
“Alright England, here is what we have decided. You are going to take care of France, and your tie to America is going to be severed. Aphroditê has agreed to not influence your feelings toward each other, so you know that what you feel is entirely of your own doing. Yuèlǎo has agreed to sever the tie on the contingency that Aphroditê keeps her half of the promise, and with the assurance that if France decides to let you help him, she gets to tie you two together. Freyja has decided that this is fair, though we are going to decide who America is going to be tied to instead.”
England listened to his speech, his heart pulsing against the tight thread around his finger.
“England, give Yuèlǎo your hand.”
England knew he had to, knew he didn't have a choice, knew they were right about America, but he still clutched his hand to his chest. The tears started streaming down his face.
Yuèlǎo stepped in front of him and held her hand out expectantly.
“Please, no,” he whispered, even as he held his hand out.
Yuèlǎo looked at him coldly and took the string in her hands. She pulled, and it snapped as if it was embroidery floss.
The effect was instantaneous. He felt as if his soul was torn from his body, ripped to pieces, hastily glued back together, shoved back inside his body, and then his entire body was stuck through a blender.
He fell to his knees, gasping. Everything hurt. Touching the ground hurt. Breathing hurt. But breathing was necessary when sobbing. The tears running down his cheeks hurt. He felt as if it was himself falling against the floor instead of his tears.
England forgot about the deities looking at him until he pulled himself together, and the air stopped burning on the way to his lungs.
“W-why?” England gasped.
“I'm sure France asked the same thing,” Sucellus said. “And I don't think he got an answer.”
The floor dissolved from under England and the next thing he knew, he was on his bed. He was hurt, alone, and crying. Just as France was on that fateful day...
[ Okay, so this isn't all I have written so far, but I wanted to get something up. I'm still messing around with how I want events to go and how I want to end this, so if anyone has anything they would like to say, (especially OP) then now would be the time to say so =] Thanks to any who read this, and I hope y'all enjoy <3
reCAPTCHA: from nonsuie
^ Apparently, I am not anon, but nonsuie. ]