It's mah birthday, oh yeah, I'm thirteen! WOOH! Thought I'd treat you something when I entered my teens! And technically, this account goes on my mom's email, and she's fifty-four, so it's her account. But that email address is going to change, TODAY! 'Cause I'm thirteen, thirteen... :)

Taeras: Thank you! I love it when people have favorite chapters, 'cause that means something is special and stands out.

ZoethezanyIII: Course I am! Hetalia/Anime is my LIFE! It's the best thing EVER! *otaku*

Animefangurl345: Yes, I know. It's just because some people call them by different names, so I believe that Holland and Netherlands are two separate entities, Holland being a year older.

So, let's get to it. Just so you know, this is NOT a slash. I love PruAus so much, I can't ship either of them with ANYONE else.

Of Aristocrats & Austrian Girls

A Random Supermarket In Austria In 1982

"Um, sir...?"

Austria turned in annoyance at the young girl who was bothering him. "What?"

She pointed at his cello case. "I noticed you play the cello. How long have you been playing?"

Austria ran his fingers through his hair. Since it was invented. "Twenty-one years."

She blinked in surprise, dark chocolate eyes awed. "Wow! I've been playing for only eight years..."

"What's your name?" asked Austria, actually impressed that a twelve-year-old had been playing for that long. "My name is Roderich Edelstein."

"My name is Maike Chaczko," she smiled at him, brushing dark hazel hair behind her ear. "And I'd like to hear you play."

Austria smiled at that, genuinely happy with the fact that this girl of the new generation showed an interest in classical music, or "classical shit" as Prussia put it, though Austria knew that Prussia secretly enjoyed his playing.

"Let's have tea."

They were sitting in Austria's sunroom, Maike sipping tea as she watched Austria play the sixth Bach suite, then the Haydn Cello Concerto in C, and then some more with shining eyes. The end of her braid was sitting in her cake, but she was too enthralled by the music to care.

After he was done, she quickly asked for a demonstration on the piano. He was more than happy to comply, starting with Chopin's Nocturne in C# Minor, and ending with Shostakovich.

"Why did you agree to come see me?" asked Austria.

Maike bit her lip. "My teacher left. I'm looking for a new one. May I be your pupil?"

"I would need to speak to your mother," said Austria, but nodding his head. Maike's face lit up, and she practically shoved the flip phone in Austria's face, who was surprised by her enthusiasm.

He talked to her mother for a solid fifteen minutes, and Maike waited anxiously, chewing on her fingers.

Austria hung up, and nodded in Maike's direction. "She said yes."

Maike squealed happily, and danced around the room. In all honesty, the gesture made Austria kind of sad. It reminded him of when Italy was young and used to dance to his piano playing.

It was settled.

Maike would study with him.

For the next three years, Maike showed up every Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday at six-o-clock in the evening, and left at nine-o-clock. Then, she suddenly stopped coming. All that was left was a note.

Dear Mister Roderich Edelstein

Thank you for your time.

Thank you for teaching me and everything I know. I couldn't have gotten this great opportunity in America without your help.

I have been chosen to attend a pre-college course in Indiana String Academy.

I wonder if you know the teacher I'm going to be working with. Susan Moses-Bloom?

She's great. She'll be teaching me there. Mother has already packed and everything.

I couldn't tell you about this in person. I was just too scared about how you would react.

I love you as a teacher, and as a friend.

Yet I come you don't seem to be getting older? In the three years you have taught me, you never seem to age.

Perhaps it is just because of some cream.

I hope you and I get to meet again.

Though it probably won't happen,

Though, who knows. Inexplicable things happen all the time.

Good-bye, though hopefully not forever.


Maike Chaczko

Austria, 1992

Austria had heard things about the supposedly "amazing" new concert cellist in his Viennese hall, so he'd bought tickets to the show.

It was tonight.

He had seated himself in the middle, the best place to watch a performance. Not too close, and not too far.

The cellist came out, and he froze.

It was her.

She caught his eye as she played. She winked.

She sounded amazing.

At the end, in the dressing rooms, he walked straight towards her, only to be enveloped in a warm hug. She was affectionate as ever. And now she was twenty-two. Her form had matured a lot, and her large dark chocolate eyes were now framed with wavy strands of dark hazel hair.

"Mr. Edelstein!"


"You don't look a day older than when we met," Maike said fondly, gaze traveling up and down him. "And that was ten years ago."

Austria smiled at her. "You are an amazing cellist."

"I learned it from you. Susan only had to touch up on a few things."

"Don't flatter me. It's going to get you nowhere."

"Blunt as always, Mr. Edelstein."

"You may call me Roderich, as we are no longer student and teacher, but colleagues."

They shared stories over tea and cakes in Austria's sunroom.

Maike waved her hand around as she animatedly explained her journey fighting against sexism as some young men in her school thought that women could not perform. It was a journey made in a day. Literally.

She beat them up for it.

Feminism at its finest.

Austria winced.

Maike then explained about her performances around the country, and her meeting with Yo Yo Ma, and how she thought that Austria was better than he was. But finally, she stopped, and rested her gaze on his face.

"Why did you not age?"


"You heard me."

Austria stood up, putting his cup down.

"Maike, I think you should sleep. You've had a tiring day, and it must be exhausting for you."

Maike agreed, and no more was said that day.

It was 1995, three years later when he told her that he was the nation of Austria.

She took it in a stride, and said, "That's why you're fantastical at every instrument you lay your hands on, even the crappily made ones. You are Austria, and Austria is music."

It was 1999, four years later when she told him she was engaged, and he was invited to the wedding.

The wedding was a few months later, and he watched, and clapped the loudest as she kissed the groom, a beautiful young woman with dark skin and even darker hair, curly and long.

Maike introduced Phoenix Chaczko-Lowe to him.

"Pleasure to meet you," he said to her. Phoenix smiled.

"Nice meeting you too."

Maike grinned and took Phoenix by the hand, leading her to the dance floor.

Austria stared at the picture of Maike at her wedding.

It was 2015, and she was dead.

The car accident that had killed Phoenix and Solo, their daughter, had killed Maike as well.

The drunk driver was in rehab now, and everyone who knew them was in mourning.

Phoenix, barely forty-five, was gone, never to grace the earth with her presence again.

Solo, their twelve-year-old daughter, the remnants of their lineage, was dead. Died, hands holding Phoenix's and Maike's.

And Maike...the forty-six-year-old cellist was dead. Six feet under, her music, as beautiful as it was, ripped away from her in an instant, from the stupidity of a drunk driver.

Austria wished he wasn't immortal, and wished he would stop getting attached to humans, no matter how beautiful their music was, or how much they loved it.

A tear fell onto the framed photograph in his hand.

Austria roughly shoved it to the back of the shelf, where all his other painful and unwanted memories were kept.

He stormed roughly out of the room, leaving it to collect dust, not to be looked at for years.


That ending was lovely. I intended to kill her from the start.