literature

Cross My Palm With Silver (EnglandxReader)

Deviation Actions

PrincessAutumnArcher's avatar
Published:
8K Views

Literature Text

      The Englishman didn’t want to be here. That much was obvious to you; the way his nervous eyes constantly flicked from place to place, the careful positioning of his body, and the agitated tapping of his fingers all clued you in to his reluctance. His friend had dragged him here, the American man with sandy blond hair and curious blue eyes. That one was grinning and excitedly fidgeting in place; he had been lured in of his own free will.

    A small, lofty smile curved your lips as you adjusted the brightly dyed scarf wrapped around your hair and tucked a few of the locks that peeked out back under the cloth’s shelter, wishing you could escape the merciless corset threatening to crush your internal organs. Holding up two slender fingers, you nodded to Lovino, who parted the thick burgundy curtains separating you from your clients’ sight and called, “Are there any two who wish to have their fortunes told by the mystical mistress of fate?”

    Immediately, the two men you had been observing reacted; the American jumped up and tugged at his companion’s arm insistently, his mouth forming words that you couldn’t hear through the crystal offering you your sight (although, judging from the brief snippet you had caught as he and his friend had walked in earlier, it was something involving the word ‘dude’). However, the Englishman shook his head fervently, staying in his seat despite the other man’s pleading. You watched with one eyebrow raised; these two were proving to be rather interesting. You did hope they would come in for a reading. As if he had heard your thoughts, the Englishman finally surrendered to the American’s persistent pulling and rose from his seat. The two blond men walked over to Lovi, who waved them in with a well-practiced mysterious half-grin; the dark curtains parted and you let the wavering scene in the crystal orb before you swirl away into a maze of refracted depths. Not all of your tricks were sleight-of-hand, you reminded yourself with a hushed giggle.

    You greeted the two men with your own alluring smile, charming the American instantly. You repressed a small frown at the lack of reaction from the Englishman; you could appreciate a challenge now and then.

    Passing a hand over your crystal ball beguilingly, you said invitingly, coating your voice with an unidentifiable (and perhaps not completely genuine) lilting accent, “Good day, gentlemen. Cross my palm with silver and I’ll reveal what fate is weaving on its loom for you.”

    As you finished speaking, you held out your crossed arms, palms open, to the pair of men sitting before you. The American grinned boyishly at you and dug in his pockets before drawing out the exact amount the sign advertising your talents had stated and placing the money in your palm almost reverently; you winked at him and closed your fingers slowly over the money, earning yourself a brighter smile from his lips.

    Your gaze transferred to the still-sceptical man sitting on your right; he sat with his arms folded, obviously unwilling to give you anything, let alone money. The American nudged him and he sighed, rolling his brilliant eyes. Without taking his flat gaze away from your face, he took out half your requested fee and dropped it in your palm unceremoniously; at your unamused stare, he simply raised one of his thick eyebrows and kept his arms crossed staunchly. You were tempted to hold his gaze until he gave you your full payment, but the American’s fidgeting was beginning to get on your nerves, so you folded your right palm in acceptance, glaring at the Brit the entire time.

    Flashing an ethereal smile at the men (and once again drawing a dreamy grin from the American), you withdrew your hands and let the money pour into the chest you had at your feet before saying sultrily, “Now, before we start, I’ll need your names.”

    Without any further prompting, the American announced proudly, “I’m Alfred F. Jones, of the U.S. of A!” Winking rather forwardly at you, he added, “You can call me Al, and the ‘F’ can stand for whatever you want, gorgeous.”

    Before you could do anything, the Englishman scoffed, “What does America have to do with it?” He gestured to you and continued scathingly, “She asked for your name, not a cheap pickup line.” Surprisingly, the American—Al—just laughed it off, hitting the Brit’s shoulder in a brotherly fashion. Said European muttered something about horrible manners before fixing you with his forest-green gaze and saying primly,

    “I’m Arthur Kirkland. Pleasure to meet you.”

    He finished his introduction with a pointed glance at Al, as if to prove his point. You simply smiled and said, “Thank you, Al, Arthur. Of course, you already know that I am _____, reader of destiny. Let’s get started, shall we?”

    You turned to Alfred and reached for his palm; you rolled his fingers between yours gently before setting his hand on the surface of your crystal orb. Well aware of both Alfred and Arthur watching your every move, you closed your eyes and began to sway, keeping both your hands atop Alfred’s as you intoned Latin-esque nonsense in a low voice.

    This was all for show; your customers were usually sucked in by the combination of your mirrors and smoke display, the purposeful dim lighting, and the thick incense-swathed air, but you got the feeling that Arthur wasn’t fooled at all. How curious.

    Your chanting grew in intensity and you suddenly stopped, your eyes snapping open wide as you directed your gaze to a point just above Alfred’s head. Slowly, you brought your eyes back down to meet his expectant baby blue gaze; breathing heavily, you let your hands drop from his, exposing the gleaming surface of your crystal ball.

    Now came the easy part; you had always been a good storyteller.

    Holding your fingertips just above the curved walls of the orb, you watched as a vague image appeared in the centre, brought up from the depths by the heat of the man’s hand. The smudgy blob looked close enough to a pen, you decided.

    “I see a decision in your future,” you began, ignoring the quiet sneer on your right. “Something that will make you seek advice, perhaps by writing to a trusted friend.”

    The rest of Alfred’s reading went quickly and you hit the usual subjects: near future, love life, and wealth prospects. You took in a shaky breath, as if improvising his reading had seriously taken a huge amount of energy from you; as you turned to Arthur, you whipped a piece of silk over your crystal ball a few times, clearing any ‘residual energy’ from it. In reality, you were simply cooling off the crystal; the ink secreted at the bottom of the ball required a certain temperature threshold to create the illusion of a reading—and besides, it was rather uncomfortable to touch something warmed by human body heat for a prolonged period of time.

    Smiling slyly, you took Arthur’s hand and laid it on the orb before repeating what you had done with Alfred. This time, before going into your usual chanting and swaying bit, you decided to see just how hard it was to convince the man.

    With your hands still on Arthur’s, you closed your eyes as if preparing to begin your incantation, but then allowed your eyelids to fly up as if you had received an electrical shock, even drawing your hands back slightly from Arthur’s. You looked at him with wide eyes and slightly parted lips, your breathing gradually slowing from its sharp, jagged gasps.

    “There is a strong aura about you,” you breathed, your voice no more than a strained whisper. Arthur simply regarded you coolly, almost smugly.

    “Is that so?” he remarked disinterestedly, as if he were simply idling away the time until he could leave. You gritted your teeth and nodded your head in confirmation, adding,

    “You have such energy; I…I feel the presence of many souls, over so many…lifetimes,” you finished slowly, a true sense of confusion coming over you, for you really did sense the humming of thousands of minds within the soul of this Arthur Kirkland, as if he were only an empty vessel for all these individual identities.

    To your surprise, Arthur’s eyes widened and his fingers curled up under yours, his previously unreadable mask completely vanished. His eyes flicked quickly to Alfred’s before traveling back again to you; seeming to compose himself, Arthur asked evenly,

    “Well, mistress of fate? What do you see in my future, hm?”

    His voice hadn’t been mocking in the least, but you still felt rather indignant as you answered, squinting at the clouds of ink as they unfurled themselves through the interior facets of the crystal orb, “There are many tragic losses in your life, am I right?” Barely glancing at Arthur, you continued, “They haunt you every day. I sense that you are coming to a crossroads soon. You will have to let go, or be dragged down a different path.”

    Arthur suddenly cut you off and stood up, his blustering anger not quite hiding the fear colouring his voice. “This is utter rubbish! Bloody succubus, you scum, feeding us lies for our money!”

    He turned to leave, but Lovino stood in his way, his own olive eyes glinting in the dim light like the glint of the gun in his hand. Arthur stood absolutely still, his eyes fixed on the weapon, which was pointed directly at his chest. Alfred stood up, knocking his chair over, and held his hands out in a calming gesture, trying to master his own panic as he stuttered in protest.

    “I suggest you return to your seat, sir,” Lovino said smoothly, his voice dangerously low. “An incomplete reading could turn out very badly indeed.”

    You shot all three men a brilliant smile and said calmly, “Yes, thank you, Lovino. Please, Mr Kirkland, sit back down. I’m not quite finished with you yet.”

    Arthur’s eye twitched as he yanked his chair back up and sat, muttering “Sit back down, you bloody fool” to Alfred. The American obliged, sitting cautiously, his aqua eyes nervously surveying you and Lovino.

    Taking Arthur’s hand in your own again, you spread his fingers over the orb, diffusing the heat of the man’s palm into the crystal. The ink swirled up into a surprisingly clear shape: the silhouettes of a man and a woman, walking together. Suddenly, an invisible wind swept through the ink picture, whisking the woman’s figure away. As the man melted back into crystal, you asked Arthur,

    “Tell me, are you recently single?”

    He replied through gritted teeth, “Perhaps. Why does that concern you, witch?”

    Brushing off the insult, you smiled darkly and responded, “I see that you miss her. It’s eating away at you.” A small blob resembling a fleur-de-lis caught your eye and you added nonchalantly, “French, was she?”

    Arthur blanched and tried to pull his hand away, but your slender fingers held him fast. You tutted and shook your head.

    “My, my, Arthur. So much sadness inside your heart.” You peered into the depths of the crystal and nearly cried out when you realized that the ink was billowing up too fast to have been activated by the heat; there was another force at work here, something outside of your control.

    Swallowing and minimizing your uneasiness the best you could, you spoke, the words slipping from your lips as if from some other source; your improvisation was long over. This was a true reading, something that could not be faked.

    “Your future is rare,” you proclaimed, your voice not quite your own; somehow terribly beautiful and yet horribly twisted, it spilt out like poisoned honey from your lips. “You have the curse of choosing your own fate; no chains bind you. Fate has no red thread for you to follow, Arthur Kirkland. It was not always like this; you were once scripted like the rest of us. Now…now when you make your decisions, it is your own hand that moves the pen across the paper. You are not guided by a hidden hand.”

    Your eyes locked with Arthur’s as you finished, “I’m sorry, Mr Kirkland, but I cannot read your future. I could tell you your entire past, but you are the only one who can tell me about what lies ahead.”

    His face was almost vulnerable; the mask he had worn before was completely gone, and in its place was raw emotion. In his eyes churned a mixture of curiosity, doubt, and a trace of fear. 

    He jerked his hand away and you let him, your own fingers slipping from his like watered silk. The ink melted fluidly back into the hidden chamber at the base of the orb, leaving the translucent crystal slightly illuminated in the dim, flickering lighting. You kept your eyes down, trying to make sense of what had happened. The two men got up silently, muttering under their breaths; Lovino showed them out, his eyes hard as he watched them go.

    Once the drape fell again, Lovino rushed over to you; he had always been a bit overprotective of his little sister, even if he hated showing it in public. Kneeling, he asked,

    “What happened? Are you okay, mia sorella?”

    When you remained unresponsive, Lovino swore bitterly; his hands found your shoulders and started shaking you back and forth—not too hard, but none too gently either. “Did the bastardi do this? I’ll hunt them down—” Lovino broke off, spewing a storm of curses into the air, adding a few obscene hand gestures for good measure.

    Before Lovino could get any more creative, you looked up and shook your head slowly, putting your hand over his; he calmed somewhat and asked again, “What happened, ______?”

    Pushing the scarf on your head back up and out of your eyes, you shook your head again and glanced at Lovino as you answered truthfully, “I don’t know.” You took a deep breath before resolutely looking at Lovino and holding up a single finger. The family couldn’t afford to lose any paying customers.

    He hesitated and began to ask, “Are you su—”

    You cut him off curtly, keeping your eyes fixed on the thin line where the curtains met. “Send one in. I can handle the rest of them, just one at a time.”

    He stared at you for a moment before sighing and parting the curtains, letting his rich, accented voice lure in another customer. A beguiling smile touched your lips and you went through your usual routine, sending the woman out after a successful fake.

    The rest of the day’s clients went by quickly and you found yourself packing up before night had fallen. Eager to be going home with Lovino soon, you left him socializing with the rest of your family about the day’s earnings. Working the local festivals was fun, but you much preferred the little shop your family owned, where you could pop out for a quick snack during a lull and not worry about losing customers.

    Your thoughts drifted to the Englishman and his friend. Arthur Kirkland and Alfred F. Jones. You undid the scarf around your head, letting cool air rush to your scalp and relieve your flushed cheeks. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you slipped out the back way and walked around the slowly disappearing festival grounds, the light of the setting sun casting a ruddy sheen on your face.

    You paused by the Ferris wheel, leaning on the short fence that created the path of the line for the ride. The sky was such a pretty colour, like a watercolour painting with its streaky blend of blues, purples, and pinks smoothing into oranges and reds from the setting sun. Distracted as you were by the sight, you didn’t notice someone coming up to you until said person cleared his throat.

    You turned towards the sound; as soon as your eyes fell upon a very familiar pair of forest-green eyes hooded by thick eyebrows, you turned tail and ran despite the pain your corset was shooting through your body. Ignoring Arthur’s shouts as he chased after you, you tore through the abandoned trails, your skirt tangling around your legs, scarf snapping behind you in your clenched hand.

    A stitch began to form in your side as you skidded around a corner and behind the building that housed most of the props and assorted hardware for the festival’s shows; unfortunately, a chain-link fence nearly twice your height and capped with barbed wire blocked your escape. You stumbled to a halt, panting, and desperately tried to think of a way to escape.

    Before any brilliant idea came to save you, Arthur Kirkland rounded the corner. In a rush, you tried to simply run past him, but he caught you by the wrist, snagging your scarf in his grip as well.

    You jerked to a stop, your momentum nearly causing you to fall before you steadied yourself and fixed Arthur with a glare that could have frozen the sun.

    “Let go of me.”

    Your voice was hard and steely, something that had taken you years of practice to perfect. His eyes bored into yours as he replied, his voice equally smooth and unyielding,

    “Or what?”

    You hesitated; actually hurting him would bring chaos on your family from both the police and within, not to mention driving away any customers that heard of the incident. Frantic, you suddenly swung your other fist at Arthur, only meaning to distract him so that you could run away, but his free hand snapped out and caught your fist in mid-air, leaving you out of ideas.

    “I’m not going to hurt you,” Arthur stated calmly. “I just want to talk to you.” The suspicion that you were regarding him with didn’t decrease in the slightest, but you allowed your tense muscles to relax as he continued, “I’ll let go of you if you promise you won’t run away.”

    Afraid that your voice would betray you, you simply nodded; Arthur shook his head and insisted, “Promise me.”

    “Fine. I promise,” you finally said reluctantly, hating how your voice cracked from the fear bubbling in your throat.

    Arthur exhaled heavily and released your hands; as you shook them out, you realized that you had actually rather liked the warmth of his hands on yours. Shaking your head fiercely, you reminded yourself that he was just a troublesome customer.

    A hand on your elbow brought you out of your thoughts; Arthur was gently guiding you to one of the benches by the building. Without thinking, you let him escort you to the bench; as you sat down, you asked, “Why do you want to talk to me?”

    Arthur’s expression was unreadable as he replied, “Because I want to know a few things.”

    You stayed silent as he sat next to you and asked in a low voice, his eyes burning into yours, “First of all, tell me whether or not you faked my reading.” When you remained silent, he burst out, “Tell me, woman!”

    Surprised by the fury in his voice, you said loftily, determined not to be like the delicate women Arthur was probably accustomed to dealing with, “I have a gift, sir. You can choose whether or not you believe in it.”

    Arthur swore violently, reminding you of Lovino, and sprang up from his seat, looking quite mad. “Don’t give me that bloody drivel!” He drew close to you, his face centimetres from yours, and hissed, “I will get answers from you, _____, one way or another. I can promise that much.”

    Refusing to back down, you said coolly, a thin smile still on your lips, “I’m afraid I’ll have to get back to you on that, Mr Kirkland.” With that, you rose from your seat, your bangles jangling, and walked away, only a bit surprised that he didn’t follow you.

    Once you got back to the small camp your family had set up for the duration of the festival, you found Lovino and Feliciano waiting for you.

    “Ve, sorella, where have you been?” Feli questioned, his perpetual smile still present.

    You smiled in return and answered vaguely, “Just taking a walk around.”

    Feliciano hummed happily in response, but Lovino stayed silent, his olive eyes unsettled as he kept his gaze on you.

    “_____,” he asked suddenly, “why is your scarf ripped?” He extended two fingers, spreading the folds of the fabric and exposing a long, jagged tear in the filmy cloth. Your blood froze as you tried to think of an excuse; the scarf must have torn when Arthur caught you, but what could you tell Lovi?

    “Oh, it must have gotten caught on something when I was walking around,” you said nonchalantly, hoping that your brothers couldn’t hear the frenzied beating of your heart.

    Lovino made a small, unconvinced sound, but let it go; however, you could see from the wary look in his eye that he didn’t buy a single bit of your story.

    “Well, I’m pretty tired. It’s been a long day,” you said with a light laugh. “I think I’ll go and rest in my room. Don’t you dare wake me up!” You directed this last part mostly at Lovi, who was prone to coming in and dumping cold water over you when he wanted you for something, regardless of the hour or even whether or not you were actually needed for the task.

    You entered your ‘room’, which was really one of the tents that composed the circle of matching shelters that the rest of your family was staying in. Letting out a sigh, you tied the entry flaps shut and kicked your shoes off. The entire incident with Arthur Kirkland had tired you more than you wanted to admit, and the corset currently suffocating you wasn’t helping matters.

    A groan escaped your lips as you reached behind your body and fumbled for the laces in an attempt to undo the corset’s fastenings. After two more fruitless attempts, you gave up and leant on the side of your mirror, the only non-portable piece of furniture in the tent, gasping for breath, angry rhetorical questions puffing from your lips.

    A sudden touch on your shoulder make you jump, coupled with a smooth, low voice: “Need some help, love?”

    You opened your mouth to scream as you whipped around, but a strong hand slapped over your mouth and its partner wrapped firmly around your waist, keeping you rigidly in place. You squirmed and fought against your unseen assailant, but to no avail; a sudden tightening of the arm around you crushed your already-compressed torso, squeezing the air from your lungs forcibly. A high-pitched whimper forced its way out of your lips at the painful pressure; the man’s arm loosened enough to let you breathe, and you focused on drawing sweet oxygen back into your lungs.

    Once you could see straight again, you suddenly lunged your head forward, trying to bite the hand gagging you; once again, stars blinded you as the air flew out of your lungs.

    “Are you going to stop being such an idiot and let me help you now?” the man asked exasperatedly; recognizing the voice, you aimed a kick backwards, nodding at the same time. Arthur dodged your leg easily; with a laugh, he slid his hands to your shoulders, holding you still but allowing you the freedom of speech.

    “I never did like these things. They hurt a woman more than a piece of fabric and some steel have the right to,” Arthur remarked as he began undoing the decorative knot that lay at the small of your back. As the ribbon came undone in his hands, you realized that you weren’t even wearing your usual thin blouse under the corset; holding back an alarmed cry, you snatched up a wide rag you had been meaning to patch your jacket with and stuffed it in Arthur’s face.

    Ignoring his confused questions, you ordered, your hand trembling, “Put it on.” He stared at you bemusedly. “Use it as a blindfold, you fool!” you insisted, wishing that your cheeks weren’t such fiery traitors.

    Arthur slowly took the rag from you, an amused smile coming over his face. “As if a gentleman would take advantage,” he teased as he tied the strip over his eyes.

    You snorted and retorted, “As if you’re a gentleman.”

    Arthur chuckled and a second later, you nearly lost consciousness when he planted his knee on your back and yanked the now-loose laces of your corset much tighter than he should have.

    When you recovered, you muttered, “Sadist.”

    “I’m sorry, what was that?” A gentle tug strained at the sides of your ribs and you hastily shook your head, not trusting Arthur not to pull the laces just as you were about to speak.

    Arthur laughed again as he deftly undid the rest of the lacing, his fingers moving nimbly; you smiled unconsciously, enjoying the sound of his laughter. When you realized what you were smiling at, a frown wiped the smile away. What about this odd Englishman had you so entranced?

    Arthur’s voice broke into your thoughts: “I’ve finished.”

    His words were punctuated by the rustle of the thick fabric of your corset dropping away from your body; you caught it and turned around to set it on your bed, temporarily forgetting about Arthur’s presence. When your eyes fell on him, your surprise at his appearance was minimal. What was more unexpected was the fact that Arthur had coiled up the lace and was holding it out on his palm for you, the blindfold securely over his eyes; a bit startled, you took the ribbon and set it and the corset on your bed. As you slipped the old tunic lying on your bed over your head, you muttered your thanks.

    Arthur smiled and replied cordially as you walked over and tugged the blindfold from his eyes; he blinked a few times before taking your hand and bending to gently brush his lips to the back of your hand. “Do you mind answering my questions now, ______?” he asked.

    Your smile turned into an annoyed scowl as you snatched your hand away and turned to the mirror, disregarding both the hurt look on Arthur’s face and the electric tingles now rushing up your arm. How stupid of you, for deluding yourself into thinking that Arthur could want anything other than information from you. And how idiotic of you to fool yourself into thinking that maybe the reason that fate had tampered with your crystal was the one that you had dreamt of.

    “Love.”

    The word slipped from your lips like a wisp of mist, but you didn’t realize you had spoken aloud until Arthur bent over your shoulder and whispered, “Pardon?”

    His breath tickled the shell of your ear, his voice lush like the finest of velvets as it twined around your ear and into your mind.

    Averting your gaze, you said quietly, “Nothing.”

    Arthur’s voice seemed to soften, although it was probably just your imagination, as he placed his hands on your shoulders and said, “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean it when I called you scum…or a witch…or succubus.”

    Your eyebrows furrowed as the Englishman rested his head atop yours. You weren’t objecting to his sudden compassion, but such a drastic change couldn’t be innocent. Growing up surrounded by a family that thrived on dangerous word games had given you a keen mind and a tongue sharper than one of your cousin Luciano’s knives.

    Keeping your eyes on Arthur’s reflection, you asked sharply, “So what did you want to ask me?”

    “Hmm?” Arthur raised his head, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “A few things.” His voice adopted a business-like tone as he asked, “Did you fake my reading?” His cadmium eyes bored into yours with an unparalleled intensity. “I need to know.”

    You took a deep breath before answering, the merciless weight of Arthur’s hands on your shoulders suddenly feeling like lead.

    “No.”

    You wished your voice wouldn’t waver so; more firmly, you repeated, “No.” Shaking your head for further emphasis, you told Arthur, “I did at first, just a little. I wasn’t completely sure about the tragic losses.”

    His eyes hardened and a low growl escaped his throat. His words were steely as he prompted, “And the woman?”

    You felt his fingers tighten on your skin as you answered, “That was all real. I didn’t weave you a story.”

    Arthur’s fingers clenched on your skin painfully as he let out a choked, keening wail; he crumpled against you, his hands clutching your arms desperately.

    “Her name was Françoise. French, horribly so, and outrageously beautiful. But she was mine.” Arthur’s voice took on an air of almost nostalgic pain as he continued, “Oh God, I loved that woman. Every day, we’d walk together…”

    As he began to trail off, you impatiently pressed, “But what happened?”

    Arthur’s face twisted as he answered bitterly, “We made mistakes. Everything fell apart. One day, I came home and found a note. She had left for Paris earlier that morning.”

    The flat tone that Arthur delivered his words with hinted at his misery, but you were distracted from his distress by a fleeting glimpse of something large and mint-green. You squinted at the thing as it fluttered by Arthur’s head again, offering you a better view.

    “Is that…a flying rabbit?” you asked in disbelief.

    Arthur glanced up and waved his hand dismissively. “That’s just Flying Mint Bunny. He’s been following me for days now—wait, you can see him?!”

    Suddenly alert, Arthur gripped you tightly, a new hope kindling in his eyes.

    “It’s you,” he whispered, seemingly to himself. “It’s you!” You simply stared at him, confused beyond belief.

    The man was nearly jumping up and down now, beside himself with delight. Catching your gaze, he explained excitedly, “After Françoise…left, I went to a pub, just to have a drink or two. At the pub, I met this mysterious fellow in a hooded cloak. We got to talking and after a bit, the man goes and tells me that I’ll meet someone like me, someone who can see all the layers of the world—Flying Mint Bunny and the fairies and the unicorns and the like, you see! He told me that this person would be my new heart, my new love! And if you can see Flying Mint Bunny, then that means that I’ve found you!”

    Arthur’s enthusiasm was infectious, you had to admit, but this was one of the most far-fetched ideas you’d ever heard. Besides, how were you to know the entire thing was just a drunken hallucination conjured up in Arthur’s mind?

    “So you met a sketchy man in a pub,” you summarized slowly, “and he told you that the next person you’d love would be someone who can see magical creatures.” You looked up at Arthur doubtfully. “And you think that I’m your new Françoise.”

    Arthur shook his head furiously. “No, I’m not saying that you’re a replacement, I’m saying that I’m in love with you, you bloody idiot!”

    Again, you just stared in shock. Finally, you managed to stammer, “W-what?”

    Arthur’s face took on the colouration of the sunset you had been admiring earlier as he attempted to explain, “I-I don’t mean to say that you’re just someone I’m using to get over her. Of course, she’s very special—but you’re very special as well! When you took my hand and put on that ridiculous show earlier, I felt something, this absolutely brilliant sensation, rise up inside me.”

    His expression softened and his voice took on a dreamy rhythm as he continued, “The way you hold yourself, the spirit you have…it’s like watching a star come shooting down to earth. I’m a man of reason, _____, but you make me forget every single thing but you when I see you. You’re more stunning than a summer’s rose, with a spirit that could convince the tides to disobey the moon, and your smile could thaw an English winter. It’s absolutely preposterous, but I’m in love with you.”

    Speechless, you searched his face for any sign of disparagement, but found none. Still, you protested, “You don’t know me! We just met today!”

    Arthur let his hands slide up to your cheeks, framing your face as he put his own next to yours, both your eyes watching each other in the mirror.

    “That’s just another reason for me to get to know you better. You fascinate me, _____, like Hamlet fascinated Ophelia, like the heavens fascinate mankind! Don’t make me drown in this love I have for you,” he pleaded, the heat of his cheek seeping into yours. Still you hesitated; how could you trust in the words of this man?  

    Arthur, as if reading your thoughts, continued fervently, “I know you have no reason to believe me, but I really do love you!” He gestured to himself, looking almost confused for a moment. “This feeling…I’ve never felt this way around anyone; as if I could fly when you smile! Your voice is the music of heaven, _____, and the stars themselves weep because they cannot rival your eyes!”

    You narrowed your eyes and turned your face away, averting your eyes—only to get Arthur’s hands off of your cheeks, you told yourself firmly, and not because of the heated blush rising to your cheeks.  No, it definitely wasn’t his presence that was causing this storm of fluttering nerves within your stomach—it must be the heat. Yes, the heat was going to your head, that was it.

    You took a deep breath and made the mistake of looking up; instantly, Arthur’s pleading gaze met yours and your breath hitched against your will. “I can’t—” you started, but a rustle at the curtains that functioned as a door to the tent stopped you.

    “You have to go!” you hissed urgently, but Arthur had already slipped out the back of your tent, his head seeming to float in the midst of the fabric. His cadmium gaze bored into yours as he told you,

    “You said that you’d tell me my future if I crossed your palm with silver, but I already know my fate. I saw you in my future, ______, the moment your hands touched mine. You said that I have the ability to choose my future, and I choose you.”

    You stared at Arthur disbelievingly, your mouth working as you struggled to answer. Before you could say anything, the curtain was pushed aside and Arthur disappeared, leaving you standing alone in your tent.

    Lovino stuck his head in and asked suspiciously, “Who else is in here?”

    You turned around and answered a bit too quickly, “Nobody. I’m alone.”

    Your brother walked in, his olive eyes distrustful and his hand ready on his beloved pistol. “I heard voices, ______.” His voice was firm. You swallowed and shrugged in what you hoped was a nonchalant manner. You had never lied to Lovino before—successfully, anyway.

    “I was talking to myself.” You rolled your eyes and continued, “I need to practice more. My stories are all getting old.” Lovino narrowed his eyes and asked, his voice low and deliberate,

    “And since when, sorella, do you have a man’s voice with a British accent?”

    Your eyes widened and you stammered incoherently, desperately attempting to formulate a reply. Lovino watched you struggle for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. “I’m not Nonno, and I won’t try to be. Do what you think is right, _____, but remember this,” he told you with a dismissive flick of his hand before leaning down so that you were forced to look directly into his solemn gaze, “if that Arthur Kirkland bastardo hurts you in any way or ever makes you cry, I will hunt him down and show him hell.”

    You bit your lip and nodded solemnly, realizing for the first time how much Lovino really cared. You smiled softly and told him quietly, “Thank you, Lovi. I…I think I love him.” Suddenly, you pulled your oldest brother into a hug, burying your head in his familiar embrace.

    He patted your head awkwardly before pushing you off, muttering, “Yeah, yeah, whatever…don’t do anything stupid, idiota.” With that, he exited your tent, yelling something to Feli about not bothering you. You grinned; even if he was a bit of a rude jerk sometimes, you loved your brother.

    Cautiously, you poked your head out the back of your tent and called uncertainly, “Arthur? Are you there?” You looked around, but the Englishman was nowhere to be found. Your brows lowered in confusion and a bit of fear that you had just made a huge mistake. You returned to the inside of your room and stopped short when your eyes fell on your bed.

    A delicately worked rose crafted of polished silver plates and a meticulously engraved stem lay in the folds of your sheets, the metal gleaming in the light. Slowly, you took the silver rose into your hands, rolling it between your fingers.

    A small smile touched your lips as you lifted the flower to your face and whispered, “Cross my palm with silver and I’ll show you your future, sir.” You closed your eyes and finished, “Arthur Kirkland, I see you and me, clear as day.”

    Outside, a certain British gentleman grinned to himself as he saw your silhouetted figure from the bushes. “Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, towards Phoebus’ lodging: such a wagoner as Phaethon would whip you to the west, and bring in cloudy night immediately,” he recited softly as the setting sun illuminated his wispy hair, his lips curving up into a rare, sweet smile as he watched you twirl around with his rose.

    “I’ve paid my fee, love,” he whispered happily. “But I’ll gladly cross your palm with another piece if it makes you smile.” And in his hand shone a ring of silver and diamond.

I did it! It's finally done!
You guys didn't know it, dear readers, but this monster has been sitting on my computer for almost a month! I threw out over five plot lines before settling on this one, but I'm satisfied (for now). I hope you enjoyed it! I imagined Reader-chan as belonging to a sort of gypsy type family that wasn't quite Mafia-esque, but had very strong loyalty complexes and a bit of dabbling on the other side of the law, just to clarify. :) No translations this time, but that last quote of Arthur's ("Gallop apace...") is from a pretty famous work from a pretty famous Englishman. I'll give you a cookie if you guess correctly!

Story (c) :iconprincessautumnarcher:
Hetalia (c) :iconhimaruyaplz:
You (c) :iconsexyengland-plz:
© 2014 - 2024 PrincessAutumnArcher
Comments76
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
TheRealKayThxBai's avatar
so wait, was she a fake or was she real????