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Principality of Beloozero always retained the belief that there was beauty in all. Naturally, Belozersk would as well.
From the taigas and woods, and the steppes, to the tundras, with the deserts. All the differing things in nature that might be bland to some, still hold beauty to a man like himself.
The individual trees and their leaves, the life that finds itself sheltered; all of it. The cycle of life and death, and the way the sun and the moon rise and set.
But was there really any beauty to behold in Russia?
Well, the real thing has many to behold of. But of its Personification, its Zemstvo?
Hm.
What exactly was it that made him think that way? Even Principality of Beloozero still thought of her mother of something beautiful.
Ah, yes. Her mother wasn't Russia, her mother was Rus Land. There was a difference.
Maybe that's why Belozersk couldn't find anything beautiful in his view.
Russia was objectively beautiful, that in itself was a fact. But to Belozersk, that woman embodied the thought of how the devil would be.
So... deceiving. Like that epithet she had. What was it again? Ah, yes.
The Bloodless.
Maybe the first impression would be that, Russia was such a holy woman to have never spilled blood in any of her advances. But, alas, that wasn't what the title meant.
It talked of her clothing, how white they are, and on despite being surrounded by a sea of blood, those garments still remained pure, as if they had just come out fully cleaned, ignoring all the chaos which laid around, shrouding Russia in all the needless mystery.
No random outlier would understand what he was trying to say. Unless, of course, they were one of the few to escape alive as they faced that encounter as an adversary.
Belozersk shuddered at that thought.
To see Russia on what she actually was, meant that Belozersk had to rid himself of all his prejudice against her.
He couldn't do that.
He could do that for Valgerðr, but not Yelena.
Of course she would start staring at him now. That woman always had a knack of knowing whenever anyone had the thought of Rus Land. Or was it Garðaríki? Either, or, they were the same thing in the end.
"Yes?" Belozersk opened his mouth, his brow raised in a questioning look.
Russia stared into his eyes with her own mesmerising ones. They moved in a way that seemed unnatural, the luminance was soft around the gold. Yet they stared into him with an eerie sharpness to it. How did it remain so captivating? "I had a thought."
"Everyone had one at one point," Belozersk replied with a flat tone. "What kind of thought did you have? It's rather rare."
"Hm, yes I do file stuff away for later thinking most of the time," Russia admitted in a strange manner. "But still, rare? That's rather heartbreaking."
"Not quite..." The younger man sighed.
"You know how I objectify people in my head for simpler acquisition of information, right?" The albino asked with that permanent smile of hers.
"I do, why?"
"If anyone were to think of me as an object, what do you think they'd view me as?" She continued with a hum, shoulders slack.
"A very sharp rock, maybe." Belozersk's expression deadpanned.
"That's quite unexpected. Why?"
The man shrugged. It was obvious to the both of them that he spoke that not with much thought behind it. "What do you think of yourself as?"
"Hm." She let out a weird sound. Even the face she made looked rather odd. "The Moon." Her eyes lidded as that serene look stayed behind.
There were way too many things implied behind two words.
Belozersk was far from being enthusiastic.