Do you know what's worth fighting for,
When it's not worth dying for?
Switzerland stared. The war had been lost, flags stabbed into the blood soaked ground. Bandages covered most of his body, his gun clutched tightly in his red fingers, dyed by blood.
Does it take your breath away,
And you feel yourself suffocating?
He just stared. Disbelieving, shocked. Gasping for air as more blood ran down the side of his face. Nevertheless, it was beautiful. Beautiful in a sadistic, sick, twisted way. Corpses littered the battlefield, Switzerland falling to his knees as he finally understood. He fought, he suffered, he lost. Well, He thought. There is always, only one winner.
Does the pain weigh out the pride?
And you look for a place to hide?
"No!" He struggled against his bonds as they tortured Liechtenstein right in front of him. "No!" He yelled, half sobbing. His pride completely forgotten as he watched with horror, the things they did to his sister to get information. Pain wrenched at his heart as Liechtenstein spat blood right into their face, glaring at them resolutely. "Never." She hissed, Switzerland attempted closing his eyes, looking away from the horrible scene before him.
Did someone break your heart inside?
You're in ruins.
He returned to his memory filled home, his unconscious sister carried gently in his arms. The small girl he raised into a woman ran outside, her now long brown hair carelessly put into a messy braid. Her eyes turned mint green as she sprinted over to them, tears filling her eyes as she caught sight of blood stained Liechtenstein. Their eyes met meaningfully, Switzerland shaking his head. The female understood, taking Liechtenstein from him and hurrying back into the mansion. Just before she entered, Switzerland called out behind her. "I'm sorry, Kyraxa." She turned back, smiling sadly, shaking her head like he did just moments ago.
One, twenty one guns,
Lay down your arms.
Give up the fight.
He trained everyday, dreaming of the day he could take revenge for his sister. And Kyraxa. She had only been alive for 30 years, one of the youngest micro-nations he knew. Yet she had been bandaging up his wounds, had soaked her hands with blood an uncountable amount of times. Handled a needle like an expert nurse, or even doctor. She could fight, like Italy. Nobody knew how the two artists clicked, excluding Switzerland. Both could fight, though neither of them liked it. Both hated the painful cries of agony that would ring through the air, even if it was an enemy. Both would cringe at the battlecries, but would throw themselves into battle if called for it. Switzerland had seen Kyraxa, along with the two Italy brothers, attack. After most of the invaders had been defeated, all had turned to see a furiously angry Kyraxa, gunpoint set to the lead attacker's throat. He chuckled nervously, attempting to hide his fear, raising a hand to try and push away the gun. "Now, little girl, I'm sure you don't need to do thi-" BANG!
One, twenty one guns,
Throw up your arms into the sky,
You and I...
Yet again... Kyraxa sat next to the injured and unconscious Switzerland, wrapping his arm in fresh bandages. He shifted slightly, frowning. She sighed, attempting to scrub his arm free of blood without disturbing him. He gasped in pain as she ran the wet cloth over the bloodstain, Kyraxa frowning. She cleaned around that area, before realizing he had a large cut, hidden by the dried blood. She took a deep breath, before leaning down to examine the wound. Kyraxa sighed in relief as there wasn't an infection, cleaning it carefully. It was a rather messy cut, as she could see. She finished up, breathing out, and pressing three fingers to her lips then to his chest. As she exited the room, she didn't notice the small smile on his face.
