So I'm not dead. Errrr... That is, if anyone who reads this happened to switch fandoms with me. Haha, I seem to have abandoned my previous fandoms completely. Many profuse apologies, but I probably won't be going back. *scratches back of head sheepishly*
Anyway, I went to this arts camp called Interlochen this summer, and took a writing course. We had regular writing assignments every day (as would be expected), so what better to write about than Hetalia? Haha, I had way too much time on my hands. Anyway, some of the programs were for three weeks, some were for two, some were for four, and others (music included) were six weeks. Inspiration (read: plot bunny) struck when I heard someone practicing repeatedly in the practice hut outside my cabin for a couple of days in a row. I wondered what would happen if something like this were to take place, and... voila.
Please excuse any suckish language mistakes. Except for English. Because that would be unforgiveable. (Is anyone still reading this...?)
Matthew Williams looked down at his watch for the fourth time in the last two minutes, impatiently counting the seconds left until class ended.
When the teacher finally dismissed them, he shot up in his seat, hastily shoving his supplies into his bag.
"You sure are in a hurry," Alfred laughed good-naturedly from beside him, taking his sweet time. "Where are you going?"
Matthew, already halfway out the door, didn't bother to explain. "It's almost one," he worried to himself as he trotted down the long road to the boys' cabins. "I'm going to be late!"
For the last few weeks, at exactly five minutes past one, the melodic sound of a violin had been emanating forth from the practice hut that was located right beside his cabin. Sometimes the music was calm and soothing; other times it was wild and unrestrained.
Of course there was the occasional mistake—the player was practicing, after all. However, Matthew liked to listen to him (or her) slowly improve, tweaking the notes until the tune was just right.
Whenever he heard the familiar strains of Beethoven or Debussy, a blush spread across his face. He felt almost as if he was intruding on something private, something intimate; but it was too beautiful to give up, and he figured that as long as the musician didn't find out, it was okay.
He had gotten back in time. As he kicked his shoes off and clambered into his bunk, the now-familiar sound of a violin being carefully tuned reached his ears. He turned toward the window and peered out of it. The door to the practice room was wide open, but the player stayed out of view. Somehow, no matter how hard Matthew tried, someone always interrupted before he could identify the mystery figure. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to know their identity.
It was his one guilty pleasure during the duration of this long camp, so far away from home. He hummed quietly as he closed his eyes and let the music wrap itself around his brain.
Today's piece was the Mozart that the symphonic orchestra had been rehearsing—he'd heard it on his way to class that morning. Played with the whole group, the piece was majestic; performed by a lone violin, it was hauntingly ethereal.
Normally I hate it when prologue/first chapters are ridiculously short and the author promises to make following chapters longer, but this can't be helped. You see, there are two endings for this story. With too much time on my hands, I sort of branched off in two directions. Therefore, you have a few choices: if you wish Prussia was still in existence, you may take yourself to chapter 2. If you fancy a violin-wielding Frenchman, you may skip over to chapter 3. Or, if you also find yourself with lots of extra time, you can read chapter 2, come back and reread the last few paragraphs of this chapter, and then read chapter 3. It's your choice.
I'd offer you two different coloured pills, but that would be silly.