Vyshivanka

“Romania, don’t do anything you might regret.” “I have no idea what you’re going on about, brother dearest.” “Stop playing around. I heard the conversation with Bessarabia.” Romania froze. So far he had been smiling, yet now he wore a poker face. His posture had been relaxed, yet now it was rigid. And his eyes had been unreadable, yet now they showed a bit of surprise. He stared at one of his younger brothers, Moldavia to be exact, and his brother stared back. Moldavia was taller than Romania, well built and with red hair, with only a bit of brown in it, and blue eyes which appeared to have an i