Die Ende (Hetalia)

"And as Francis stands in the shadows, watching the corpse lie lifeless, he wishes." My interpretation of HRE's death at the hands of France. Hetalia fanfiction.

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1. Die Ende von Wilhelm

 

The floor has been polished to a sheen, the marble almost iridescent in the sunlight. It sparkles, the squares of dark blue and white forming a pattern. Large windows stretch from the ceiling to the ground, casting long strips of light across the marble, where they intersect in the centre. In the place where the beams overlap, almost as though the scene is meant to be a work of art, lies a body. Small, fragile, and broken; the black cape the little boy wore is torn slightly, and his clothes saturated and sticky with blood. Blue eyes stare blankly at the wall, and a small mouth hangs open slightly, as if it had been calling out. Even now, when his tiny body has been drained of life, he seems to be shouting: ‘Help me!’.

Nobody will come.                     

There is a small movement in the shadows, a man dressed impeccably in a light blue coat, with golden edges and buttons. His yellow hair hangs in his eyes, and a bloodied sword gripped loosely in his hand. “Désolé… Wilhelm…” A part of him wishes that he would sit up again; that the boy would leap to his feet and “challenge” him once more, flailing his sword sloppily and yelling loudly. But the blood is impossible to ignore, spilling and spreading against a sea of white stone. It was fresh, still leaking from the wound like a burst pipe. Bright red: not yet dry. It is a hopeless wish.

Francis closes his eyes, and thinks of his little brother. Feliciano. Poor Feliciano. He killed his best friend. It was his duty, no doubt about it. The Holy Roman Empire had to be stopped, before something terrible happened: before it lived up to its name. The thought almost comforts him, before he opens his eyes once more to the terrible scene he has created. Such a small boy… so fragile… But so potentially dangerous. The Empire had to be crushed.

First he had picked off the smaller states, tossing their mangled corpses to Bavaria and Baden: those that were no threat. He had snapped them like twigs. Germany was being shaped, moulded to fit his needs, changed to suit France and the French.

Now is the last step: the formal announcement that the Holy Roman Empire – le Saint Empire Romain Germanique - no longer exists. And with its demise comes that of its personification. Today was the day chosen for Wilhelm Beilschmidt to die.

And as Francis stands in the shadows, watching the corpse lie lifeless, he wishes. 

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