"You're a boy, so why don't you act like one?"
"Why do you let your hair grow out so long?"
"What a freak!"
"Creepy fucking tranny, get away from me!"
These thoughts run rampant in Curtis' mind as he looks at himself in the mirror, tugging on a braid absently, examining everything his reflection has to offer: Long straw-colored hair. Wide doe eyes as vibrant as the tropic seas. A childlike face that is so innocent, so unknowing of the world's horrors (oh, how wrong that is).
He's pretty, not handsome. He's pretty and he likes it.
Not everyone does, though.
His parents had so desperately wanted a son, so how was it that he grew to be so feminine? He felt he was to blame. It was Curtis' fault that he was short, it was his fault that he looked so girly, it was his fault that his voice hadn't dropped quite like the other boys' had.
Curtis perservered through so much hatred, so many sleepless nights filled with the sounds of his parents cursing their poor luck, bruises gotten from boys in class that decided he was too weird to play with, hesitant looks from the girls that didn't want a boy to play princess with them, the awkward apologies when a substitute teacher is informed that "she" is actually a "he" named Curtis. Somehow, he had managed to be happy with who he was, but that did nothing for the empty feelings he held, the dire need for acceptance.
When his mother handed him a business card ("Hetalia: World Series" in colorful, bubbly letters), telling him that this might be the answer, he agreed.
The very moment after recieving the card Curtis dialed the provided phone number, eagerly awaiting the voice of the person on the other end. Twelve days later Curtis was being driven to a community building for his therapy group...No, not a therapy group.
His first World Meeting.
Waving goodbye to his unsure mother Curtis gathered up the frilly ends of his dress, entering the building as a new person.
Outside he was Curtis the Weirdo, wearing a faggy pink dress. Inside he was Lily the Shy, sweet little Liechtenstein, adopted sister of Switzerland, and known for her love of cute things, and Curtis had never felt so complete as he did when he was being coddled by his ever-protective bruder and being loved by the other countries who treated him like the adorable little lady he had always dreamed of being.
Curtis smiles at his reflection, picking up scissors and raising them to a braid. He doesn't hesitate a single second when he snips off a large lock of hair, still smiling as he moves to do the same to the other.
"I wonder what Switzerland will think of my hair..."