Hello! This is my first published fan fiction so I apologize in advance for any major mistakes. Constructive criticism in encouraged, and please enjoy!

I do not own Hetalia or the character's used.

Love Lost...France: May 30th 1431

A girl walked gracefully down a cobbled street. She wore a simple white dress that gently halted at the ground. Her hair was short and a beautiful shade of blonde. Her head was held high.

In the distance, church bells tolled...

Behind her, were two men dressed in religious robes. On either side walked armed guards. In front, leading the procession, was a blonde man with green eyes and bushy eyebrows. Her hands were tied together with a rope, which was cutting into her wrists; leaving angry scratches.

The church bells tolled...

The group arrived at a large crowd, surrounding a pyre. They climbed on top and the guards started to tie the young girl to the stake.

"Joan!" a males voice called. The man with bushy eyebrows turned and saw a blonde man with blue eyes push through the crowd. "Please, Britain don't do this!"

"Secure her to the stake." the man ordered.

The bells rang louder...

"Fr Martin Ladvenu, Fr Isambart de la Pierre," Joan said as they tightened the ropes, "Please 'old a crucifix before me as I prepare to meet God."

"Of course."

A little girl also placed one at her feet. France pushed against the large crowed. He could save her, if he was fast enough, he could save her from the flames.

"May God forgive you for your sins." the executioner said as the bells tolled again. "Any last words?"

"Yes," her eyes found France struggling to get to her. "one life is all we have and we live it as we believe in living it. But to sacrifice what you are and live without belief that is a fate more terrible than dying."

With that, the executioner set the bonfire ablaze.

"NO!" France cried, "Britain please!"

"I'm sorry, but it is out of my hands." he shrugged.

"It's okay France," she coughed. "I'm finally able to meet God." the smoke-filled her lungs and she slowly suffocated. France watched in painful horror as the light faded from her eyes.

The orange flames licked her body and slowly engulfed her. Like they were savoring every bite of human flesh that they consumed. When the fire died, finally satisfied, Britain ordered that they rack back the coals to prove that Joan had not escaped.

France gauged at the sight. His beautiful Joan scorched black like Britain's cooking. Her short blonde hair now charred. The hands that comforted him not so long ago, were unrecognizable.

The church bells tolled...

"Burn the ashes." England commanded. His orders were quickly obeyed and Joan's remains were thrown back to the mercy of the flames. Smoke traveled to where France stood horror-struck. He could feel his heart breaking, falling into the empty abyss that was his chest. The orange monster greedily taking it, the orange monster with green eyes.

"STOP IT, SHE'S DEAD!" France begged England. This time the gentlemen country ignored the other's cry, and let himself be captivated by the flames.

When they were silenced a second time, England ordered for the executioner to relight the pyre.

"Sir, there's no way she survived that." he said.

"That's a direct order." England's face was cold. He knew everyone was staring at him. Everyone but France. England knew that France's eyes rested on the pyre, world shattered; heart-broken.

The flames were reawakened for the last time. France's pain clawed at him, he'd been too late. She was with God, in a place he'd never be.

The church bells were silent.