Yellow.

They say it's the colour of hope.

Bright golden petals littered the floor. A platinum-blond haired girl stood in the midst of the yellow sea, wearing an elegant, long-sleeved, blue dress and a neat white ribbon in her hair. She carried a silver knife in her right hand and in her left hung a bouquet of cleanly severed stems.

What hope? It's brought nothing beneficial.

She glared at her feet, clutching the knife with such ferocity that the knuckles under her black gloves were turning white. A layer of petals obscured the darkness of her shoes – sunflower petals, to be exact.

Such a sickening colour . . . disgusting . . .

She hurled the already-abused stalks at the wall with tremendous force – only for them to end up on the ground. She clutched her dress, breathing heavily. Her dark sapphire-coloured eyes held intense resentment at the now-mutilated flowers. She kicked the petals of her shoes and proceeded to stomp on the pieces nearest to her, crushing them further.

Evil little things.

She abruptly collapsed, kneeling on the yellow-strewn ground. Her expression hardened even more. She clenched her teeth, staring at the loathsome colour that surrounded her.

Absolutely horrid things, these sunflowers are.

She tried to convince herself, but she couldn't – her brother loved them far too much for them to be anything but good. She curled up her free hand into a fist and pounded it on the pieces of sun. Her expression softened into one of sorrow as she released the weapon from her other hand. Tears filled her eyes, clouding her navy blue irises. She grabbed a handful of the petals and brought them up in front of her chest. She gazed at them for a moment, her eyes still watering, before slowly bowing her head to sniff them. She shut her eyes, taking in their scent, and she lifted her head once more.

The flowers smell like they've been drenched in sunlight and bear such a resemblance – even its name says so: Sunflowers. Is that why brother loves them?

She was reminded that her brother had been deprived of warmth ever since he was born. In the heart of Russia, he had had to endure the merciless pounding of winter, the bitter taste of the roaring wind, and the roughness of the unforgiving snow. Not only that, but there was also the history he had to go through. Something suddenly struck her.

Is that why brother despises me so? Do I remind him of the snowy wrath he could never evade?

She clenched her fist over the petals. She gently opened it again, examining the damage to the flowers. The rays of sunshine lay in the palm of her hand, crumpled and bruised - just like her brother. Had she caused him that much trouble? If she did, then there was only one way for her to go. . .

She reached for the gleaming silver knife she had relinquished earlier, picking it up. After gazing at it for a few moments, she began to slide the blade across her fingers, pondering on the pain it may give her. But the thought didn't disturb her - she deserved it after all. She began stabbing the skirt of her dress, tearing and ripping it here and there. She paused every now and then, thinking of whether she had done enough damage.

Her once lovely dress was in ruins when she had deemed it adequate enough. She then proceeded to dancing the blade on her darkness palm, cutting into her skin. It stung quite a bit - but she didn't mind. It was nothing compared to what she had caused. She forced the knife in deeper, making her palm bleed. After a while, she lifted the weapon, surveying the glinting mix of silver and hemoglobin. She raised it up a few feet from her face, twirling it so that the tip faced her. She placed her profusely bleeding left over her heart, feeling the continuous thump of the organ. Its pace quickened slightly, expecting what may come next.

She smirked, thinking of how easy humans made it seem. But for a nation like her, it would take more than just a few stabs to finish her off. It would be difficult, even with a gun.

Well, humans have proved themselves creative when desperate. I can't let myself be beaten by mere mortals. It should be just as easy as scaring the others off.

A faint memory suddenly came to mind - one of her brother.

' Белоруссия,' Her brother had called for her, seating himself on a velvet armchair by the snow-trodden window and gazing out at the barely visible frozen landscape. He had just returned from a visit to his newly opened island neighbour: Japan. She rushed to his side, 'Да, старший брат?' He merely motioned for her to sit down, not bothering to avert his eyes from the scenery - or lack thereof. She sat down at his feet, 'your journey was fine, Да?' Ivan disregarded her inquiry and spoke, 'Hey, Natalia, do you know what they do in Japan?' He smiled, his purple irises still reflecting the snow outside. 'What, brother?' She asked in reply, hanging on to her sibling's every word. 'They kill themselves for honour!' He chuckled as if it were the lightest subject in the world, 'Aren't they amusing, Natalia?' He clapped. The golden-haired maiden nodded, 'Why yes, brother!' She agreed. She agreed with everything her brother said - unless it was something about her behaviour. 'It's such a silly thing to fuss about! What would seppuku do for them?' He shrugged indifferently with a smile still etched on his pale face.

Amusing. . . Silly . . .

His words rang in her ears; it was as if someone had begun playing the memory over and over. If she proceeded with her action, then her brother would think nothing of it. He would think it amusing and entertaining; he would be happy. Wasn't that what she wanted for him? A thorn would be removed from her brother's side - no, she wouldn't just be removed, her action would constitute a form of entertainment for him.

She shut her eyes, allowing the tears to flow down - letting any doubts and hesitation ebb away along with it. She gradually lifted her crimson-stained hand as she opened her eyes and placed it over her left hand, holding the blade steady. As the blade hovered over her so-called heart, she bowed her head, her hair falling creating a veil that obscured her face. She inched the lustrous metal sheet away, pausing for a moment, before she began to swing it towards her chest. She slowly closed her eyes as she anticipated the pain it was supposed to bring, but it never came. Instead, she heard a series of thuds, followed immediately by the sound of heavy footfalls and a familiar voice.

'Natalia!'

The voice cried and approached her quickly. The owner was in front of her in no time, grabbing her wrists and halting the tip of the blade just millimeters away from her torso. The voice was indeed not alien to her, but she wasn't certain who it was. 'W-w-what are you doing, c-сестра?' The voice trembled in its inquiry. Finally recognizing the asker, she mustered enough strength to open her eyes and look up. The first image she saw was of a tall pale, light-haired man who surveyed her with lilac-coloured eyes tainted with anxiety. 'B-Bro-brother?' She dropped the knife, the clattering sound reverberating off the walls. She placed her hands over her face, obscuring the new stream of tears that flowed from it. 'I-I,' she stammered, 'why? Why did you stop me?' 'Why shouldn't I - ' The worried elder brother began, only to be interrupted by Natalia. 'Don't you h-h-hate me?' She murmured, dropping her right hand and clutching her sleeve.

The Russian was taken aback. He examined the damage on her sister: the torn pieces of navy blue cloth, the effusive blood flow from her hand, and the crimson remnants on her bosom. 'Why would you think that?' He asked, his voice low and serious. He had not spoken to her like that in what felt like forever. 'I-I'm cold-hearted and inconsiderate of you. I remind you of the snow, don't I?' She sobbed, tightening her grip on her sleeve. She suddenly felt a certain warmth trying to pry her fingers away from her arm. 'Don't I?' She repeated, revealing her tear-stricken face.

'Yes, you do, Natalia.' She heard him say. She bowed her head, 'then why did you -'

'Because underneath all that snow, there is the warm hope that is the earth.' This time, it was Ivan who interrupted her. She looked up at him. There was a sincere smile present upon the face that often wore fear around her. He pulled her into an embrace, 'Please don't think that I despise you, сестра.'

She returned his hug, 'Да, старший брат.'

'But I apologize, for I will never love you more than as a sister.' He said calmly, 'but I know there's someone else out there who does.'

But it didn't matter to her who it was.

For hatred and resentment was not what her brother felt towards her.

I see Belarus and Russia nothing more than siblings.

That is my first statement because people may believe this story to be something of romance.

In canon, Belarus is a rough-tongued, aggressive, and irrational girl. But I believe that she, too, has a softer side.

At the end, the 'someone else' Ivan's referring to, in my belief, would be Lithuania. [I partially support him with Belarus.]

I hope you guys like it. :D