England's Pov:

This mornings meeting seemed to drag on as worry flooded my thoughts. I have to admit it was Francis who was on my mind; not that I was caring about him he was just missing from the world meeting which was unusual for him and the room certainly felt dulled down without his flamboyant and obnoxious behavior. 

I stood infront of his apartment door but to no avail. No one had answered the door peculiarly and it was still unlocked. Fearing the worse I stepped inside only to be greeted to the stench of alcohol and the burning sensation it brought upon my nostrels. My eyes glazed over in a panic as I looked over at the chaotic, turned-over room. Lying sprawled out on the kitchen tile was a vulgar sight. Francis' hair was unkempt as it lay on the flooring; curving slightly around the Frenchie's face. His cheeks were flushed and his skin, paled as his limp body curled into it's self for warmth. France's usually fashionable outfit was mostly thrown off and ragged as his shirt was open along the buttons revealing his chest partially hidden by his arms.

I fled to my childhood friend's side to check if he was alright. Pressing two fingers to his kneck and observing the impressive amount of empty bottles surrounding him I came to the sure conclusion that he had got drunk and passed out but something caught me eye which was less expected than the rest.

Tears rolled down his face like beads and a small chocked moan came from his throat. Francis shot up suddenly as he awakened; I steadied him in my arms as he regained his senses. When his eyes met mine along with seeing recognition I saw fury and pain? 

His fists were flying as an assault of words spilt from his lips; tears flew with his golden locks as he shook his head violently and grasped at it with rough, tensed hands. He shuffled back by kicking his feet out infront of him until his shoulders met with the kitchen counters. He gasped for breath as he calmed down to my words. It was a distressing scene to watch as thus person I have known all my life broke down at the sight of me and I honestly couldn't tell you why. The first words I could understand out of his mouth that morning was 'tueur' which although I refused to speak in the tougue of the frogs and many people believed me to not know it (admitably I am perfectly fluent in it ), I knew that it meant killer. Sure we have had our fair share of battles but nothing so extreme that he might still wish for revenge unto this very day. That is when it came to me. "J...Jeanne?".

His eyes lit up but not with joy; with enragement. His vouce rose as he spoke, "Do not say her name it is wasted on the venom on your toungue just like the flesh on her bones you tear it way peice by piece with fire". He was shrieking by this point almost choking on his words. My own hitched in my voice. It was pointless to speak anyway,What was I to say?

Sobs over came me racking my body as it echoed through my bones. I don't usually cry and am not typically a man of many emotions but some wave of grief and regret came over me. All those years ago I killed that young girl on the stake abd eveb held the torch to light it with no second thought after that I pushed the morals and memories out the way; reverting to taking out my frustration and pent up feelings on Francis. I gasped as I remembered a time where we had captured him recently after her death and used it to mock him, to try and conceal that I felt any sense if amorality towards her... Or towards Francis.

-Slice- Memories of steel on flesh flashed past my blurred vision. Carefully I lifted my quaking arm to his chest only faultering as he shuffled and to push the concealing fabric of his shirt out of the way. Faded red was etched across his kneck... Faded but still prominent. Her name was unmissably painful and clearly arose thoughts from hundreds of years ago. France was never allowed to truly forget whereas I forced my self to and still felt pity. My arms were uncharacteristically thrown over Francis's shoulders as I begged him for forgiveness and wailed into the crook of his kneck still running one hand over the exposed skin. I will never gorget his soft voice and caring words as I crashed and burned after releasing the tidal wave of emotions consuming my subconscious onto him the man who was in love with that young gem, who screamed his name in her final pleas for help, for him to make the pain go away and... He forgave me?

-*~(₪Г₪)~*-

Bongiorno bambinos,

Just putting it out there I am suuuuuper proud of this chapter plot wise. Of course none of my stories made at 10-11 o'clock at night are my best but hey ho!

I was kinda tempted to make England slap himself (hehe sorry iggybrows) but his bootifull face is safe for now woohoo.

Later guys, see you next chapter which hopefully will be less depressing and more a "likely to die from cuteness overload" sorta thing. Well you never know with me how things will turn out.

Adios amigos/as xxx