Sov Gott

"Hey Prussia, can I ask you something?" Iceland inquired as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, leaning against the counter of Sweden's kitchen as they waited for last minute preparations to be made. Finland had arrived early, much to the disappointment of every tired person in the home. Having only just gone to bed, Iceland was among those who were the most upset with the doorbell going off in what seemed like only seconds before he was about to fall asleep.

"Depends," the Prussian responded as he sharpened a knife. A slight hiss trickled through the air as the blade ran up and down the sharpening stone, echoing softly against the wooden cabinets and stone surfaces. Donned completely in black, the chalkiness of Prussia's skin was further accented. His eyes were haunting as they watched the knife, their scarlet hue reflecting in the metallic surface. Iceland had dressed himself in black as well, although none of his attire was exactly suitable for the tasks that lay ahead of him for the day.

"How are you still alive?"

"Good morning to you too."

"I mean it, how are you still around?"

Prussia sighed. Avoiding Iceland's gaze for as long as possible, his crimson eyes glued themselves to the knife as he slowly twirled it in the air, watching as the light bounced off the surfaces and onto the walls. After a reasonable amount of time, he set the knife down and took a seat at the table. "I'm not quite sure. There are plenty of theories on the topic," he began with a snicker, picking up the knife again and testing its sharpness against his thumb; "all of them are equally plausible, yet completely different."

A spark of energy shot through Iceland's veins as he listened, the answer waking him up more efficiently than an alarm. Iceland ran his thumb over the ring on his finger, feeling the strange warmth that emanated from the metal, as if it were distantly alive. "Such as?"

Another sigh tumbled from the Prussian's lips. "Some think I'm around because my brother holds on to my memory too much. Which, to be fair, is an understandable assumption. Germany may look tough, but he's got a soft heart.

"Another theory is that I survived because I took on the name of the Democratic Republic of Germany after the war and that, because parts of the wall still remain, I won't die. Some think it's because there are still people alive who were born Prussian," Prussia explained, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning back in his chair, twirling the knife in his hand.

"You're holding something back," Iceland pointed out, examining his fingernails and discovering that yes, they had grown far too long recently. While pulling at drawers in search of a nail clipper, he let his gaze flicker up to his fellow albino before turning his full attention to the contents of the drawers. "I'm not going to stop asking until I have an answer," Iceland reminded him,

"Iceland, I hate to break it to you, but the only thing I know on the subject and am keeping from you is that I. Don't. Know. Don't get me wrong—I wasn't a fan of Denmark for quite some time, but if I knew the secret to immortality, I'd tell you. It's not his time to retire, and he doesn't deserve to be separated from his human form. You want to find out how we maintain and gain our immortality as much as I do, because let me tell you, I have no desire to die. Not yet. If I had any idea how this worked, I'd tell you."

Iceland paused in rummaging through the drawers despite having already discovered the nail clipper he had been searching for. Yes, when the body had been abused so thoroughly, the spirit took on the form of the ring. For the spirit of the nation had not yet passed—merely the ability for it to manifest as a complete personification. What steps were necessary to reverse that process? And where did the line separating "harmless" from "life-threatening" injuries fall? How much was too much? How did it work?