Um... What do I have to say — uh, this is pretty short? I'm sorry! I expect a longer (six-lined poem hehe) chapter up soon, so please lie patiently in wait before I get that up hehe!

To readers of this story, um, check out my new Hetalia oneshot? Surprisingly, I actually worked hard on that one lol. You can find it on my profile — it's called Crying.

And, uh, yeah! Don't forget to drop a review!

床前明月光

Beside my bed, a pool of light

Ash-brown strands fall over his face as he slowly lifts his head.

The window shades are parted only slightly, allowing a tiny sliver of moonlight to enter.

Yao Wang looks out, from his seat on the bed, the glowing orb of light reflecting in his sepia eyes. Slowly, his hand reaches out to push aside the curtain, letting a full glow form a puddle beside his bed, lighting up part of his face as the rest of the room stays completely silent and dark.

Dark, like how lost he is, like how in-the-middle-of-nowhere he is, like how much he'd love to but can't return to the right track and just live life like a normal person, or country, or whatever he has become now.

What has he become now?

Even Yao himself doesn't know.

疑是地上霜

Wondering, is it hoarfrost on the ground?

A slender film covers the earthy, barren land. The sky is as black as crows' feathers, with no stars, only one circular, glowing orb. There are spiny shadows of trees on the lawn, and somewhere in the distance, a wolf howls.

Yao watches as more flecks of white fall, silhouetted against the inky black sky, almost glowing.

There they join the frost on the ground and vanish.

The layer on the ground begins to slowly build up, starting at barely a centimeter and becoming almost two inches.

Cold.

He feels it, inside of him, iciness spreading from his chest to all of his body, until his fingers were almost frozen in place and his toes were almost stinging in pain, from the cold, cold, cold.

But most of all he feels it, on his iced-over heart, a thin layer of snow, like the frost on the ground. He feels it in his heart that has broken too many times to properly mend, and is now stone—brittle, hard stone. Ice.

What will it take, he wonders, to melt it?

举头望明月

Lift my eyes and see the moon

The moon.

It glowed, like a bright, almost pulsating circle, yellowish yet whitish, standing out brilliantly from the sky that was black as pitch.

A ray of hope.

Almost.

Yet, his world was so silent, and so even as he sat there, half in the light, half in the darkness, waiting for something to come along and teach him to love and live again.

Why...

He strained his ears to listen to the almost-deafening silence. He felt his heart beat listlessly, almost as if it—along with the rest of him—couldn't care anymore. He sits still.

Is he... too afraid..?

Too afraid.. to fall?

低头思故乡

Bow my head and think of home

Fall.

The world spins.

What was he expecting? For it to stop, for him? What is he worth, anyway? Is he worth, really, the whole world to stop, for him?

So it continues to spin.

Fall.

He looks down, to his hands. He looks back, back into his life, the life that he led, and he tried to think of something that there was still worth living for.

He tried to put his heart into something.

He couldn't—he didn't care about anything anymore.

He may try to think of home, but at home, there is nothing for him, either.

So he stays.

One single tear slides down his face, but he doesn't move to wipe it away. He is still as a statue, perhaps frozen in place.

Chocolate-brown eyes, dark with sorrow, reflect only one glowing circle. Under the pale moonlight, he is unmoving, silent.

It's like the world—no, not the world, never the whole world (because what care did the world give to him?)—his world—fell.

Somewhere in the distance, a bird calls, and Yao watches as slowly, the wind blows and a cloud moves over the moon.

The room is completely dark.

For a moment, he is afraid.

He has fallen again.

Into the darkness.

He gets up, moving to the window. He pushes aside the curtains, yet no light falls upon the room.

He is surrounded by blackness.

He takes a step back, and his foot slips on the polished-wood floor.

He falls.

OMFG WHAT WAS THAT? IT WAS MEANT TO BE A HAPPY FIC? WHY DO I DO THIS?

Well, I am better at writing sad fics than happy ones, so this probably turned out better than it would have if China-san and been given some sort of happy ending.

STILL THOUGH
everything I've posted so far in the Hetalia fandom has been depressing. The last chapter, the oneshot I posted this morning, and now THIS?! WHY?!

I find it easier to write depressing stuff, yes, but WHY DO I TORTURE THEM LIKE THIS?

Well, I hope you liked it anyway! Leave a review please!