England sat in the middle of a dark ballroom, velvet curtains were drawn and small candles randomly dotting around the elegant marble of the dancefloor. There in the middle, he sat, in a chair, one you'd find in a movie theater.

Sinking down into the cushions of the seat, England waited for something to happen. What was this, anyway? He didn't know what to expect and he couldn't hear anything. Not even the bustling action in the streets of London, outside. He remembered the story London said about her eye. Were they going to burn down the ballroom? Like how they accidentally burnt the Parliment? England couldn't help but imagine him accidentally tripping one of the candles and watch a domino effect burst this elegant place into flames.

He shuts down the idea instantly. He, as the personification of England, has already burned plenty of buildings for one lifetime, one that has damaged his own capital. Let's not add to the pile.

But what was going on?

England: "...Hello?"

He called out to the dark. His mind started running annoyingly and anxiously. He could be working right now instead of wasting time sitting in a dimly lit darkness. After waiting for a minute, he felt like he was going to leave.

*clack...clack*

A sound. Footfalls. Slow footfalls. Slow heeled...slow boot footfalls.

England froze in his seat. What was that? It came from the far side of the ballroom, the opposite side of the door. Didn't London say something about a stage being in here? It sounded like boots on a hollow stage. England didn't move. England couldn't move.

Another sound. Some striking sound. Followed by a tiny speck. A light? England's eyes did not leave the little light as it moved slowly across the stage. He saw the height, it was on the stage. Also the stage wasn't so far off. One-by-one the person holding the light, lowered it down. The light split in half, that half floating in one place where they placed it. He realized that the light was a flame from a candle and they were lighting up the stage. England didn't dare say anything

Once the person thought they lit enough candles in the front, they backed down. Another strike. Another light. The two little flames walked to the opposite sides of the stage and rose up. Suddenly a huge lamp was lit. Orange and yellow spilled from the stage and into the ballroom. England found himself looking around the room, taking in the sparkles and glimmers, from which the fire's light reflected off the crystals and gems of the chandeliers and designs.

His eyes returned to the stage and saw that all the lamps and candles had been lit. The entire stage was lit. Onstage were two people. One who he saw is a man, the other female. The fire reflected off their golden hair and their heads were down, hands behind their backs. England had to squint at them a little. The people onstage looked awfully familiar. They wore matching jeans, white t-shirts, and boots. Black combat boots. Like the ones England and other Personifieds wore.

The figures lifted their heads. Slowly, they opened their eyes, revealing inhuman, cerulean blue eyes. Eyes England is all too familiar with. But the woman made the picture much bigger. Much bigger. These people are United States of America and Washington District of Columbia. America and DC.

London: "Come to think of it, I don't think you've seen Washington face-to-face."

England: "...Washington?"

London: "Oh, bollocks, I keep forgetting that she doesn't...I meant Washington DC. She prefers to be called DC, but..."

That's why she said that.

He saw DC's face lit up with excitement for a split-second but watched her bury it with a sad sedimental smile. America did the same. He wondered why. Why did they look so forlorn? Why was everything candle lit? Why did they have London bring him here? Why...why did the atmosphere...when did the atmosphere feel so...so...

The two Americans bowed. Went back up. Opened their mouths. And...America started...singing.

America: "In the quiet, misty morning. When the moon has...gone to bed."

DC: "When the sparrows...stop their singing...and the sky is...clear and red."

America: "...When the summer's ceased its gleaming. When the corn is...past its prime."

DC: "When adventure's lost its meaning, I'll be homeward...bound in time."

America/DC: "Bind me not...to the pasture. Chain me not...to the plow. Come, set me free...to find my calling. And I'll return...to you somehow."

England couldn't help but feel shocked. There was something in the lyrics he couldn't place. It sounded old, definitely not something that America and DC would sing for the modern records. No, this was a story.

DC: "If you find that...it's me your missing. When you're hoping...that I'll return."

America: "To your thoughts, I'll...soon be listening. And in the road, I'll...stop and turn."

DC: "Then the wind will...set me racing. As my journey...nears its end..."

America: "And the path I'll be retracing...when I'm homeward bound, again."

England swears he can hear some music. A piano was quietly filling with their words. Their nostalgic and crushing words sinking with the ocean of the mellow keys' music.

America/DC: "Bind me not...to the pasture. Chain me not...to the plow. Come, set me free...to find my calling, and I'll return."

He could hear the piano more clearly when the Americans faded out from that line. It was just one note. England was too much into their performance to know which, but that's all he heard. Until America and DC took a small breath and sung quietly in a high and soft voice. The kind of voice you'd hear right after someone died and everything around you was gone. The kind of voice a mother would use in a lullaby. The kind of voice that if England were to breathe, he wouldn't be able to hear.

America/DC: "...In the quiet...misty morning...when the moon has...gone to bed. When the sparrows...stop...their...singing..."

Their eyes were closed. England's was wide open. He didn't know for how long, but they were open. The entire ballroom was quiet, the candles didn't flicker, there was no piano.

America/DC: "...I'll be homeward...bound..."

"...Again."

...There was no piano to accompany their last words. England could see it. He could see it all. It filled his mind like the floodgates decided to die right then and there. Memories. Memories of America when he was a colony and the memory of him and a woman standing side by side fighting. Now that he stopped and thought about it, there was a woman back with the army as his bayonet clashed with America's musket and he broke down.

And when they left.

A whooshing sound, soft and subtle, slowly pulled England out of his dazed state. Big, glorious wings spread from America and DC's backs. Arching them up, he watched them brace themselves as they basted a high gust of air throughout the ballroom, ceasing all light in the hall. 

It was all dark.

England was alone.

~~~~~

...yo.

I've been reading a lot of American Revolution lately and rewatching the scenes of the 'America's Storage Room Cleaning' episodes. They're just so sad. I'm gonna also cover up some things about DC's past and how she contributed to the Revolution...even though she wasn't a capital.

Bye-bye

...and God Bless America.

(oh, and kudos to anyone who knows this song and its meaning)