There was a whiff of something faintly floral and sweet before England's hair tickled her face, the pale locks of her fringe brushing against Prussia's forehead. She felt the roughened fingertips sink into her legs, before the rest of England's weight followed.

It was her own hand on the cloth robed arm of England, pulling her closer, firmly, Was it to keep the other from changing her mind as her Prussia's lips met hers? The scent became slightly sharper, intensified by the wetness of England's hair and skin. She braced herself for the upcoming shove, but for the moment, her lips seared against England's, hard.