Prologue

England carried the bundle with a heavy heart. He felt the soft material against his chest and he could feel the warmth from the bundle that he held. His emerald green eyes were solemn and dark as he felt the soft breathing of the infant across his chest. England caught himself before he looked at the child. He couldn't. If he did, he couldn't allow himself to let her go. England was aware of the quiet sobs behind him. France was crushed. His characteristics of being a Frenchman – flirtation, rose-obsessed, and speaking in his bloody language all the time – were now nonexistent as the taller nation continued to sob. He hurts…as I do. England forced himself to not look at France. It would be too painful. Instead, England looked at the child in his arms, allowing him to succumb to his desires.

Her blond hair was hidden from the blanket wrapped around her. England had noted that she was small for a child, noting of how small she was compared to the infants he had seen. The blanket was white complete with a red cross. England allowed himself a small smile, remembering France's reaction at the sight of the blanket when he had started knitting it, so long ago it seemed. Then his smile faltered. She would not be with them anymore. England began to look at the neighborhood around him. The set of houses were placed apart, and neither were alike. England could see the neatly trimmed grass and noted the multiple walkways and the flowers protruding from the ground. It took only him a moment to know which house.

The house was small. It was white and the roof was black. It was dark inside the windows. What caused England to turn was the fact that opposed to a flower bed or a fountain, there were two rose bushes, both bearing the majestic national flower. England smiled, noting of the dark beautiful red color. Only good English would have care for rose bushes. He turned and started walking to the door with France walking hurriedly behind him.

"Angleterre!" he hissed. "Angleterre!" England didn't answer him. The island nation was about to lower the child onto the doorstep when he felt France's tight grip on his left forearm.

England didn't move as France started to speak, his voice heavy with regret. "Are you sure you're ready to do this…mon amour?" England didn't look up at the sound of the endearment France had started giving him years before.

"I have to." England's voice was calm and collected. "It's the only way to keep her safe."

France swallowed. England could almost imagine his hands white and shaking.

"But…Angleterre…what if –"

"She could be targeted." England hissed. He fought to keep his voice controlled and not betray the heartbreak he was feeling. "She could be killed for the simple reason that she lives." He clutched the child to his chest. "I will not let that happen." England felt his heavy breathing echo through the night. He felt France's hand take his own for a moment, softly caressing the child's hair before pulling away. England crouched to the ground, softly lying the infant on the doormat, careful not to wake her. He stared at the child, forcing himself to look at her one last time before his hands gripped an old pocket watch. Carved in the pocket watch were the initials A.K. Slowly, he lowered the pocket watch into the child's blankets. She appeared to move, clutching the pocket watch in her hands.

"Goodbye," England stated with a heavy breath. The child didn't hear him. "Goodbye…Alice."

Her turned away and walked with France under the shadow of the clouds.