A battlefield. Two flags waving proudly. The sickening chop of a bloody axe. Crimson stains everywhere. A single tear slowly trickling down a boy's cheek. He was blonde, with piercing blue eyes resembling the sea. He opened his mouth and spoke in a barely audible whisper.
"I'll always প্রণয় you..."
The axe, stained a deep crimson, went down one last time and--
Italy woke up with a start. It took him a few moments to sort out his dream from reality. Once he did, he tried to calm himself down. It was the dreams. They were happening again. He'd had them for a few days recently; they kept on recurring....
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