Chapter 7

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  Dark. That's all. No light, no windows, not even a crack of light under the door that was at the top of the stairs. The only thing that seem to be keeping you sane was the creaking of floorboards above your head.

  There were other people with you, but you never got a good look as to who. None of them spoke. Just stayed to themselves. The sound of them breathing was the only reassurance that they weren't dead.

  You had tried to speak to them. Tried to get them to speak. But no response came. Only stomping upstairs with a yell to be quiet, even though you had hardly been loud enough for a whisper.

  Suddenly the door creaked open, and light filled the room. You blinked rapidly, trying to get your eyes to adjust. But as soon as the light came it was gone. The sound of something, someone, tumbling down the stairs. Your eyes widened and you quickly went over to help. Or as quickly as you could while feeling your way over.

  "Are you alright?" You asked crouching next to the person who had just been thrown down the stairs. You helped them sit up slowly, doing your best to check them over. But you couldn't do much without light.

  "I'm fine." They said shoving you off. They had a deep voice, that sounded masculine. Your eyebrows furled. You were sure you had heard that accent somewhere before.

  Racking your brain, you tried to come up with where you had heard them before. Then it hit you. Your eyes widened and you fell back in shock. "Liam?"

  "(Y/N)?" He asked, sounding just as shocked as you were. Here was Hungary's scar holder. You had met a couple of times, not a lot, but enough to start to consider each other friends.

  "Yes," You said, not being able to stop the smile from making its way into your face. "How are you here? Is Hungary okay?"

  Some of the other people in the room seem to gasp upon hearing you refer to Hungary as if she was a person. Which she was. You had met her a few times with Gilbert.

  "Wait, you guys know?" A harsh whisper came from somewhere in the back of the room. "Are you scar holders as well?"

  There was a series of mutters and hums, that yes, we were. It seemed as if everyone in the room was a scar holder. But why? What did the people want with us? And how?

  "Say the name of the country you hold scars for." Liam said before starting off. "Hungary."

  "Germany."

  "England."

  "Austria."

  "Latvia."

  "Sweden."

  "America."

  And lastly, "Prussia."

  "Quiet down there!" Someone yelled from above. They stomped on the floor above you and dust rained down. You blinked rapidly, having looked up as they jumped. Which you really needed to stop doing.

  "Is Sweden even apart of the war?" The voice that had said Austria asked.

  "No." The other voice replied. It took a moment but you realized what they were getting at. It wasn't just scar holders that's country was apart of the war, getting captured. It seemed as if it was everyone. There was no real pattern. Or at least not one that was obvious.

  "We need to get out of here." Liam said. His voice filled with determination. He wanted to get back to Hungary. You knew he did. There was no doubt that you all just wanted to go home.

  "Then we need a plan."

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