As a child, Mikasa reveled in the stories her mother told. She sat wide-eyed as she listened to the things her mother described. Her mother talked about peace so common that people could go anywhere they wanted, there were more – a multitude – of their kind, and lands that stretched out endlessly, bordered only by the seas. These stories existed at a time long ended and were placed somewhere beyond the reach of the walls. Yet, when her mother spoke, the soothing lulls of her voice made those stories come to life.
One of Mikasa's favorite stories was about a beautiful dancer who moved so lightly that her feet would not even make a sound when she leaped. However, this dancer had a glaring weakness. Her arms were not strong enough to hold up the fans she used in her dance for too long. Her graceful movements would falter midway and she would stop, fists clenched at her sides.
The dancer's teacher, noticing her difficulty, tied heavy stones around her wrists. The pain from the added weight made tears run down her cheeks, but the dancer soldiered on. Hour after hour, she practiced until her arms were prickled with pain. When the stones were removed, the dancer found that could do her dance perfectly, the fans weightless in her hands.
"Mama, did the dancer have hair like mine?"
Mikasa thought about her mother's story as she lowered herself into a small pool of water that caught the spray from a large fountain. It was a secluded spot, at the border of the property that housed her squad temporarily. No one else knew about it for she had only accidentally found it during one of her afternoon walks.
"Fate," she whispered. She lightly touched the stone figure adorning the edge of the pool. It was a large winged dragon with a face looked up at her ferociously.
She stared at her jacket and her scarf, which were discarded haphazardly on the ground. The sight of those warming garments made the thinness of her blouse even more glaring. She was soaked. Between the cold water and the cold air, she felt like her skin was being ripped to shreds. Her body begged for warmth.
"Yes," she heard her mother's voice from long ago, while she shivered in the now.
"Yes, she did."
Mikasa hardened her jaw and clamped her hand over her mouth to stop her teeth from chattering.
An hour passed before Mikasa silently slipped out of the water. Not bothering to dry herself, she put on her clothes. She silently walked back to her quarters before anybody noticed her absence.
The next night, Mikasa stealthily followed the path back to the stone fountain as soon as she was sure that the whole house was asleep. Within minutes, she was half-submerged in the frigid waters. Her muscles were so taut that she found her entire body quaking, making tiny ripples in the water. Yet, she forced herself to stay where she was. She remained silent, steeling herself against a long-drawn battle. Slowly, she raised her hands to look at how they turned into a ghostly white from the cold.
A few paces back, a pair of eyes watched her. He saw how she easily discarded her jacket and gracefully lowered herself into the pool. When she lifted her hands, he saw how they moved without her usual control. He watched as she numbly stared at her hands before he turned away sharply to leave.