Little Red-Haired Angel 2

       Bent over the silver-coloured toilet bowl, the red-haired girl heaved again with a sickening gag as anything left in her system was deposited in a thick, disgusting bile that trailed down her chin and lightly stuck to the ends of hair that had fallen over her shoulders and into the liquid. Ireland, pale-white and shuddering, pulled her head back from the bowl and flushed the contents away. She staggered to her feet and turned on the water in the sink a mere foot away, downing at the least five glasses of water and then rinsing her hair in the soft flow of warm moisture.
      "Ireland, are you alright?" England questioned, wandering into the room and frowning at seeing his daughter so unhealthy. "Come, you need rest," he stated at once guiding her without a protest to the ocean-blue bed in the center of the large room. The young nation crawled under the plush covers and buried her face in one of the many pillows, whimpering softly and shivering with fever.
      "Stay here," England was already halfway out the door, "I will have Hungary watch over you while Austria and I discuss things." Ignoring the words, the girl burrowed herself further down into the comforter and let out a tiny moan of pain. Her insides churned; she was back to the toilet releasing dry heaves in a matter of seconds.

      "Miss Ireland,"  Hungary coaxed, rubbing the girl's shuddering and jolting shoulders with soft circles as she heaved up the little amount of food she had eaten just minutes ago. Clammy white skin became dotted with perspiration once again and she downed the water that the woman before her offered so graciously.
      "T-Thank you, Hungary. . ." Ireland murmured softly as she was helped back to the bed and tried to eat some more of the soup the Hungarian girl had made for her. Hungary only nodded and sat on the side of the bed, pulling those long red locks dripping with fresh water over the teenager's shoulders. Her delicate hands worked the hair into a forest-green ribbon so it would stay out of her face from now on. It would be a long day.

      Hungary smiled softly at the girl on the bed before her, whose sides rose and fell with the slow content rhythm of slumber. The clock on the table at her bedside read 6:28 in the afternoon; it was time for her and Mister Austria to be heading home. Glancing back at the angelic red-haired female, Hungary smiled gently to herself once more and then shut the ebony-wooded door behind her as she left to descend the flight of stairs and be on her way.
      
    Laying on the silver table, a blinding light shone in Ireland's eyes. She went to raise her hand to cover the sea blue-green orbs, only to find it confined to the table by rough leather straps. The same went for her other arm, and her ankles, trapping the girl to the icy surface beneath her.
      "--!" Unable to speak from a binding over her mouth, the girl tried desperately to scream; with no reward. All except multiple shadowed figures leaning over her. Two emerald-green eyes stares into hers, and Ireland felt her pulse speed up tenfold and tears blur her vision. Papa? No! How could he! She thought with a twist of her head. His laughter and a few simple words, "Relax, poppet- this will be over in a minute," were nothing to prepare her for the sickening squelching sounds of something ripping through the fabric of a hospital gown she was wearing, and into the pale stomach beneath the fabric.
      Tears streaked pale flesh and Ireland threw her head back, shrieking against the bind and pulling against her restraints with all of the strength she had. With a dark chuckle, the man who certainly resembled England began moving different tools through her insides, stepping aside so another blond- the cold look in the eyes signaled it was Germany, but to her amazement it was America's blue eyes that reflected so evilly -could as well mutilate her insides. The pain was absolutely unbearable, and she continued to shriek and struggle- but those became faint as the blood and life drained from her body.
      "Ireland. . ." The voices, hazy and fading, purred darkly.
      "Ireland. . ." They cut deeper. She had gone numb.
      "Ireland. . ."
      "Ireland. . ."
  "Ireland!" England's voice jerked her from her spasms. The man was over her, one knee on the bed as he shook her into consciousness. Light seeped through the windows- it was morning? She looked up into her papa's worried green eyes, and flashes of her dream came back to her.
     "No!" She cried out, sitting up abruptly and ending up falling from the edge of the bed; landing with a painful thunk on the floor. Then, as her shirt snagged on the carpet and revealed her midriff.
     
     And the scar that ran in a jagged line across her stomach, just beneath her ribs. . .
     That was still fresh from last night's nightmare.