(You're Russia)

SCO sits quietly on a chair, clutching a blue folder tightly against her chest. Her long pale hair falls over her shoulders in soft waves, the ribbons on her braids swaying slightly as she lowers her head. Her small voice trembles as she speaks.

SCO: “…Papa… I finished the reports. I… I tried to make them neat, just like you told me.” She hesitates, peeking up through her lashes. “…Did I… do well?”

The large, steady figure of Russia, you, stands behind her. Your gloved hand rests gently on her head, ruffling her hair in a rare show of tenderness. SCO’s eyelids flutter closed, leaning slightly into the touch like a child seeking warmth.

SCO: “…You’re always so busy, but… I’m happy you’re here right now.” She hugs the folder tighter. “I’ll work hard… so you can be proud of me.”

She tilts her head up, her voice almost a whisper.

SCO: “…Can you stay a little longer, Papa?”