Just like children sleeping

[Coming out into the hallway, Poland catches sight of the messages his mirror has been leaving him. His eyes scan over them briefly, and then he calmly goes into his room again. A few moments later, he's back, with a quill and inkwell in hand. He goes to the mirror that's being written on at that moment, sets the ink and quill down next to it, straightens up...]

[And puts his fist into the mirror. He's a nation, it's not like his hand won't heal.]

[Leaning down, he picks up his writing supplies, and scrawls on one of the larger fragments of the mirror:

[Just because you're broken doesn't mean I ever will be. Get lost.]

[Point delivered. That said... Man, his hand is going to be regretting that.]

[The camera catches Poland standing by the broken pieces of his mirror, staring at them in shock. There are faint sounds coming from the shards--fire and cannon blasts, gunshots and the clash of steel, the roar of something distinctly inhuman.]

[That's not what's got Poland's attention, though. What he's focused on is the red pooling underneath the broken glass, on the top of his vanity. ]

...Maybe someone's like, finally turned on her...

[Still not noticing that he's being recorded, the boy drops to his knees and takes his crucifix from around his neck, beginning to whisper in what a few people might recognize as Church!Latin. If the battle comes to this side, he wants to have asked God's favor beforehand.]