[ Cue the face blanching. All color is no longer visible in her face, until that flustered blush reappears seconds later. There's no easy way to describe World War I, really. ] It's 1916. We declared war on Serbia, and allied with Germany. Prussia's younger brother?

[ And now she's rushing toward him with her usual concern, frantically placing her hand upon his forehead. Nothing odd there, especially no fever. Hungary removes her hand, stepping back to allow a considerable amount of distance between them. ] ...Oh. You don't remember... [ She turns her back to him and paces toward her plant, a solemn expression etched onto her features. ]

You don't remember our compromise, I presume?