[color=00a651][center][i][h1]Sarajevo[/h1][/i][/center][/color]

Bosnia was having a crisis, a crisis of identity, already he had been a patchwork of different tribes from long ago, but now he was under Austria's wing, and now that Osmani was their friend, he was starting to feel like he had no reason to be. His neighbors were all weak or... Hungary, Austria's husband. It was easy to lose himself in his confusion, obviously. When Austria entered, he was busy lying on the floor and staring at the crackling flame. When Austria entered, he shook and almost let out a yell before realizing who it was.

With a bead of sweat dripping from his forehead, he smiled and bowed slightly in greeting.

"Lady Austria! I wasn't expecting you, I was just thinking to myself, I haven't... been doing any homework," he admitted bashfully. "I've been... having some problems... it's hard to explain."

A horse whinny far in the distance eluded both of their ears, but a few moments later, Serbia approached the house. With a sad look, he absolved Bosnia of what he was about to do.

[i]You won't understand, but you're going to be free. I promise.[/i]

Serbia stared at the house a moment longer, pulling a locket from his pocket. A brown picture greeted him as he opened it, and immediately he felt a wave of emotions wash over him. It was their family. Byzantium, Greece, and Macedon in front, a proud father and his favorite sons, the happiness on Greece's face as he beamed towards the camera was enough to shoot a hole through Serbia's heart. To his right were the twins, Cappadocia and Pontus, Pontus visibly holding tightly onto his brother's neck as Cappadocia pulled on his hair. They deserved better than to die fighting Seljuk and his children. Behind them was Albania, who seemed disinterested. He always was, bastard didn't even come to Byzantium's funeral. Serbia swore to never forgive him, and yet he could barely stop his face from twisting into a crying gurn just from the thought of it. 

To Byzantium's right was Wallachia, always stalwart and dutiful, he'd always considered himself separate, Serbia was glad he had become free along with his Romanian brothers. Alongside him were Sicily and Granada, the first two to leave Byzantium, Serbia had never forgiven them either, but distance nullified his opinion. Judea and Africa were off on the wings, they were always ill, Serbia knew that they hadn't long, but cried when they died just the same. In the back were the four of them, Serbia himself, Bosnia, Montenegro and Bulgaria. They were smiling with arms wrapped around each-other. How things changed, Serbia thought grimly, staring once again at his own smile, completely content with his life. They were all happy, except for maybe Albania, and the fury that Serbia felt against those who had torn them apart for their own gain had driven him to drink, to swear off his religion and finally submit to the Ottoman witch. What else was he to do? It was only after he was again free that he noticed the cross, that hung from his father's neck in this very picture. He realized then that religion was all he had left, aside from Montenegro, and now that Greece would rather remain to himself and Bulgaria swear off all things Byzantine, Serbia was the eldest left who still believed in their family. He took back up the cross, swearing to fix this, if it was the last thing he did.

[i]For my family.[/i] He whispered, before climbing his way into a window.

He was hiding in a corner as Bosnia finished speaking, pulling a pistol from his belt and holding it up, prepared for that fateful shot. Finally, Bosnia moved out of the way, and Serbia pulled himself around the corner.

[color=0054a6]"Die, for all those who you hold imprisoned!"[/color]

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[b][h3]BANG[/h3][/b]

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