Lady Liberty

Chapter 12

If there was such a thing as a soul, America was sure that hers was on fire that day.

A slow and blistering heat spread across the land, being fed by tears and ashes as the charred scent of soot fluttered around her. Dole and dismal, it followed her to her brownstone townhouse, filtering in through the windows as she pulled the curtains to a close and sat in the darkness. She didn't dare to look outside again, fearing the rows of candles and posters mish-mashed amongst the disorder of a stupefied and frozen city.

Canada had been the first one to come knocking on her door, waiting on the stoop for hours and pleading with her to let him in. When he'd tired, he offered what little help and reassurances he could give to the people collected along the streets, brushing the debris off of their shoulders and kneeling beside them as some prayed.

Next came France, depositing a bouquet of white lilies by her door and sharing a quiet conversation with Canada before joining him in his campaign on the street. They cleared away the worst of the rubble and pieces of burnt paper rolling along with the evening breeze, helpless and frightened themselves as the sound of stifled sobs greeted them on every corner.
From what she could gather, Germany and Prussia arrived at some point as well, but they didn't linger and only left further letters of condolences and blooming flowers by the front steps.
Regardless, she ignored them all-not because she didn't appreciate their gestures, but because she couldn't move, think, or breathe as she buried herself in what miniscule comfort her bed could offer.
Eventually, the room was illuminated by the candles and flickering lampposts outside, leaving everything slightly softer around the edges like a protective cocoon.
And then came England with more flowers in his hands, though he needn't have bothered. He rang the doorbell once, then twice, and let out a ragged sigh while his eyes roamed over the solemn street. What else was there to do?

"America," he whispered as she watched him from the window. He seemed to be aware of her nearby presence, laying a hand on the door with such gentleness that it brought tears to her eyes. "Open the door, darling."
She stayed rooted to her bed as England tried knocking instead, using slow and precise movements that carried the sound through the house like a soothing tune or lullaby.
"Amelia, sweet dear," he cooed with the patience of a saint. "I'll stay, don't you worry... I can wait."
She knew he had the capacity to sit on the sidewalk until morning; it wouldn't have been the first time.
After a long moment, she stalked to the door and turned the lock, surprised to find that her fingers still seemed to work. However, before the intrusive guest could get a good look at her, she returned to bed wordlessly, face pressed into her pillows.
England allowed himself in without making a sound, tiptoeing into her bedroom with another tiny sigh. He circled the bed and seated himself on the edge, terse and slouched with grief. They remained in that position for a while, until England settled a hand on her back and rubbed her rigid muscles.
"I care for you very much," he reminded, casting away the dust on America's shirt with the fretfulness of a mother. "I'm sorry for not being here sooner."

The warm caress on her back exposed more tears, and she sat up to catch England in a loose embrace, wracked by intense sobs as her mangled voice echoed through the room. How could he be so nice to her?
"Hahgh... Didn't do enough... My fault."
The elder nation wasted no time in returning the affectionate squeeze, swallowing around the morose lump in his throat. He supported both of their weights, guiding America's head to rest on his shoulder with quivering hands.
"Shhh..."

Dewy tears seeped into the fabric of England's shirt, and America yearned for the security that'd been her shield many years ago.
"I-I couldn't-"
"It's all right. Don't speak."
Feathery touches coaxed her back to bed once more, and England pushed the hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. She drew her knees up to her chest and trembled with anxiety, unable to bear the idea of living in such a decaying world. The horror imprinted on her insipid irises refused to disintegrate.
"Close your eyes. Focus on your breath."
"Couldn't stop it. Watched them die."
"Shh," England repeated like a melody, stroking away the goose-bumps on her arm.