Reincarnation (Hetalia England x OC) SEE DEAR FRANCIS,

Departure

She stood in the airport, having just made her way through the metal detectors. Slung over her shoulder was a black drawstring bag with a few odds and ends, such as her journal, some pens, and a small pack of sour candy she was not allowed to bring on board. Her dark, rusty red hair was thrown into a long, messy braid tied with a thin black ribbon, and she was wearing a comfortable, long sleeved, black dress that reached mid thigh with over knee black socks, black knee high combat boots, and a cream, slightly frilled scarf that reached below the bend in her knees.

She looked around, searching for where her class was waiting. Just as she turned, her best friend, Valentina Rodin, stumbled through the crowd and into view, wearing her normal, sleeveless sundress, yellow overcoat, and light pink scarf, her light blonde hair in a high bun with a light pink flower headband holding it in place. She jumped from her spot, quickly hastening through the crowd to get to her. 

Once close enough, she grabbed onto the girl's pale arm, although not as pale as her own, making the oblivious, somewhat taller girl squeal. "Wh-Who's there?" she squeaked out in a soft, whisper like voice. She took a step closer to stand next to her.

"It's just me, Valentine," Adrian answered, using the other girl's nickname. 

She sighed. "Oh. Don't scare me like that, Adrian," she said in her same soft voice, holding her other hand to her heart while turning her eyes, the colour of fallen snow, to look down in Adrian's direction. 

"Well, consider yourself lucky I found you before the plane left without you," Adrian said in her usual monotonous voice, beginning to lead the blind girl to where she had seen their classes waiting. They walked in silence until Valentina spoke up.

"Are-Are you r-really going thr-through with it, Adrian?" she asked, although she already knew the answer.

"Yes. If I have to come back, then I'll never understand my mind. I'll keep faking and hiding emotions until one day I slip over the edge," Adrian answered back. "And, if I'm going to be living in Europe, England is the place I want to be. Besides, I'll write to you. You'll just have to hide the letters." The blind girl nodded, and they finally came to a stop, a few feet away from the huddle that was every single AP foreign language class in our school, including their own. That is, French and Russian.

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She sat in her seat on the plane, gay to be  seated next to Valentina, although she had switched seats with her so the popular boy on her other side wouldn't try anything. As of now, Valentina and the boy were asleep, and, luckily, only Valentina had fallen asleep on her shoulder. She had her journal in her lap, a black hardcover one that she had spent her own money on, and a pen in hand, the journal opened to the first blank page. It could be seen that many other pages had been torn out at various times, little bits of paper falling into her lap.

Finally, after thinking for about five minutes, pen hit paper and a letter began.

Dear Francis, 

                           As I write this, I am sitting on the plane to Angleterre. Although I am incapable of showing it, as you know, I am actually quite excited. Finally, I shall be going home. Although, not literally. Just to my home country from long ago. Personally, twenty three years of living in America, even if the first eight years it was called New England, is much too long a time. 

Know that, after I get there, you may not hear from me for a while. I shall need some time, although I am unsure of how long, to sort through any tiffs that may occur. Also, the next letter you shall receive will most likely be under the name of Virginia, although I do not have a last name determined quite yet. Don't be surprised if, in the first few letters, I use your last name. 

Thirdly, onto the exhilarating part of my hajj. I hope to see many sites, although mainly older ones. Specifically, Windsor Castle and Hatfield, although I'm leaning toward Hatfield, having spent much better memories there. And, trust me, Eight is quite glad about getting away from the States, although the weather in London, England will most definitely remind her of her time alive. At least, this time around, she shall be able to see the glittering snow for the first time and the rainfalls she continues to love. I am excited about seeing the snow myself, as well. 

Finally, I will write my regular entry. How I would prefer riding a coach to Hatfield as of this moment rather than sitting on this dreadful, back aching plane. I still wonder why it was thought to be such a good invention, although I suppose it's better and much speedier than sitting on a no doubt mouse infested boat where there is a good possibility that you will either die from hunger, pirates, disease, or pairings of the aforementioned. Hence why I prefer staying on dry land, although short boat trips can be calming and make you feel quite gay. And, no, I most certainly do not mean it the way you are thinking, my beloved Frenchman. I mean happy. Now, as I was saying, I'm sure, by now, you know of how I see my memories in third person, but I suppose I should still write to you a little bit of my carriage rides to Hatfield...