[ he thought too quickly for how slow both his bodies lurched, but there had been a moment, a split moment when her sword had raised and her thoughts came through, that he stops his struggle. whatever was being pulled and dangled of him, he lets it be. he doesn’t hold the mostly intact wing and claw that he still had to defend himself. there had been a creeping acceptance of what would happen next, and it wasn’t a matter of giving up or not. he hadn’t given up on her, but he knew the end of his line when he saw it. a struggle beyond it would lead to unnecessary and greater pain for anna, he imagines. he couldn’t change anything, now. he couldn’t stop her. he tried, to the last moment that he could. he cared enough to. what was left for him to do now was handling it afterward, how he would from the point of his reincarnation going onward (if he returned from the sea, that is).
the icy splay of fear in his chest creeps everywhere. what of levi, and erwin? what of confetti? what of anna? what of sharon, and rose, what of ange, and of peter? what of paul? what if he didn’t have his chance to say good bye to anyone? he was going to be alone by the time it happened. what would happen after that? it was stifling. the tears in his eyes swell, and behind the titan’s mask it is nothing but the wetness of rain. ]
Miss Anna, [ he could only hope in his fear, and swallow, staring back at the grand raven’s vengeance as her sword swung. he wished he could’ve gotten to her, he wished he could’ve done something. for what it’s worth, he’s not angry. he didn’t have the full details, but he still understood the emotions involved: loss. hurt. betrayal. anger. revenge. he understood beyond his years. this is why he does not struggle, he does not condemn her, and instead, reaches with sympathy: ] I’m sor—
[ he does not finish when his entire connection is sliced from nape to the other side of his shoulder. the storm brews with the smell of acrid blooms. the titan’s head is thrown clean to sea, and the body plummets.
no subject
the icy splay of fear in his chest creeps everywhere. what of levi, and erwin? what of confetti? what of anna? what of sharon, and rose, what of ange, and of peter? what of paul? what if he didn’t have his chance to say good bye to anyone? he was going to be alone by the time it happened. what would happen after that? it was stifling. the tears in his eyes swell, and behind the titan’s mask it is nothing but the wetness of rain. ]
Miss Anna, [ he could only hope in his fear, and swallow, staring back at the grand raven’s vengeance as her sword swung. he wished he could’ve gotten to her, he wished he could’ve done something. for what it’s worth, he’s not angry. he didn’t have the full details, but he still understood the emotions involved: loss. hurt. betrayal. anger. revenge. he understood beyond his years. this is why he does not struggle, he does not condemn her, and instead, reaches with sympathy: ] I’m sor—
[ he does not finish when his entire connection is sliced from nape to the other side of his shoulder. the storm brews with the smell of acrid blooms. the titan’s head is thrown clean to sea, and the body plummets.
the amaranth is free to go. ]