Yet another prompt from a lovely prompt generator.

Write for 30 minutes,
A mythical creature or idea
Childhood memories.

What Hetalia fan doesn't hear England all over that prompt?

The True Meaning of Magic

England strolled through the gardens, looking sadly at the dying flowers. That's the way it is. He thought bitterly. Everything good must come to an end.

Like his friends, Tinkerbell, Uni the unicorn, Captain Hook. And how could anyone forget the charming Flying Mint Bunny. It had been well over three years since he had seen any of them, the longest it had ever been. Perhaps they were just the musings of a lonely child, doomed never to grace this world with their presence. Arthur would sometimes see them as an adult as well, and now he questioned his sanity.

They had been through so much together, thick and thin, best and worst.

Of course, everyone else disregarded them completely. England could still remember a teenage France's teasing when he had been introduced to the sweet little sprites. America had ever so rudely recommend England get some help, to which the proud island had replied with an angry "Bugger off!"

How often had he kept conversation with them, to be insulted for it when others heard him.

Hell, even his own people thought he was going mad.

Even now, the mocking laughter of his older brothers still haunted him, though they didn't fool him. England knew full well that they each had their own share of mythical creatures and legends.

Maybe, just maybe, the fact that Arthur believed was enough. Even if England didn't completely, the person could help make up for what the country as a whole couldn't.

Glancing through the plants that lined the walkway, he could see a favorite tree stump of his. It was once the tree he would sit under, have enthralling conversations with magical beings. Tea parties with the fairies, planning pranks with leprechauns.

A delightfully talented young poet named Will[1] had once sat against that tree, proud to be able to meet his very nation, ask personal questions about the long departed.

Young Arthur had been all too happy to tell about the tempers of a few nobles all named Henry[2], to the slight displeasure of her majesty. However, she enjoyed what came of it.

But more than anything else, England told Will of fairies. Winged people who loved mischief and human emotions. Will was a good companion. But, alas, humans never do last long. Of course, the mortal lived on through his writings, which became famous around the world, but his life was shorter than a younger Arthur had been able to cope with.

He had cried when his human friend died, seeking comfort from the only ones who had known Will like he had: the fairies.

Yes, that was right. It was all coming back now. William had been friends with the fairies and unicorns as well. Conversed with them. Unlike everyone else, he didn't need Arthur to constantly relay information.

Then there was that shining woman, Joanne, that reintroduced true magic to the world[3]. She too, had sat with the country. She too, had spoken to them comfortably.

Allowing a small smile to pass over his face, he turned from the site the tree had once stood on.

Of course, how could he have thought such things? No matter how old it got, magic would never cease to exist. It could falter, fade from beliefs and be passed off as the foolish superstition of primitive peoples, but the countries knew.

Countries would survive until destroyed. And until that day come, Arthur would protect magic from doubters. He would keep it alive, just as he always had.

He owed them that much.

And he owed his friends even more, for all they had done for him. Whether they visited him anymore or not, he could be content knowing they were real. A tangible memory from his earliest days, that had followed him his entire life. Visible to him, even when others lost the ability to see.

For what was England, what was all of Britain, if not magic? A rainy, miserable little spit of land in the sea, constantly pushed around as a child, when he grew up better than any of them could. He became great. Greater than Spain, greater than France, greater than all of them.

Magic would never end, so long as Arthur Kirkland was breathing.

But then again, nothing really ever ends, does it?

[1] William Shakespeare, widely regarded as the finest poet and playwright in all of England.

[2] Henry IV, a play by William Shakespeare interpreting major events involving four men named Henry (King Henry IV, Prince Hal, Henry Percy, and Hotspur.)

[3] Joanne Rowling, a.k.a. J.K. Rowling, brilliant author of the Harry Potter series about a young orphan boy who finds out that he's a wizard and the number one target of the evil wizard who killed his parents. Is super amazing.

Thanks for reading. Reviews are appreciated.