Prologue…

The girl before him drew a bated breath, fear and careless bravery glinting in her eyes. He had seen her before-a child in the streets, orphaned at the age of five. She had played in the park, imagining friends to keep away the terrible loneliness that came with not having parents.

Her cheek had been cleaved at by some unknown recent oppressor, the dark sticky liquid dripping down her pale face as she clutched a small bag and a bread bagel tightly to her chest.

"Go away."

The man, draped in official military attire, firmly placed his balled fists to his hips.

"Didn't you here me? Go away!" Her meek voice, demanding him to disappear from her sight, as if a thirteen year old thief could have so much power.

"You know I can't do that," he tried to be gentle. Caring for his own son gave him certain sympathy for children, even if Nema were much younger than she. The girl spat at his feet, a gross and bloody blot soaking into the dirt of the backstreet.

He had heard of her before, knew that her fierce recklessness drove her apart from the other children her age. Instead of searching for another home, she had abandoned the one she had been placed in hightailed, living on thievery and dining on trash for the past four or so years. Many saw her tattered clothes and caked face and shoo'ed their own children a long, not particular on letting such a little beast around to influence the actions of their more proper offspring. This latest report, another bag of cash stolen and a bread roll to confiscate, had driven home with many. No one knew what to do about the beastly young girl who couldn't seem to accept companionship.

This was were Olhine AuBoné had drawn the last straw, and today he was going to make a change in her life. She was thirteen, a runaway at nine. His intention was clear; take her in whether she liked it or not, and teach her.

"What's your name?"

The questioned seemed to catch her off guard. It was as if she had to ask herself the same thing-to see if she even remembered what people used to call her. She eyed him with a strange and someone hopeful distancing. "What will you do to me if I tell you?"

He gave her the best smile he could. "Give you a home."

"And If I don't want one?" her reply was immediate, as if she had expected what he was going to say, which could have been likely.

"I don't know. I didn't think that far ahead."

This response, however dull, seemed to satisfy her. She took an ever so careful, jumpy step forward. "Ill run away if I don't like it," she warned.

"I wouldn't expect any less of you."

This earned an appreciative half smile, and she inched little closer to him. "Lucille. My name is Lucille."

Satisfied, Olhine held his hand out to her. "Come along then, Lucy. Lets get you cleaned off."

She didn't take his hand, much to what he expected. But she stayed within three feet walking distance of him, and didn't seem to be immediately planning to scramble away, so he took this as a good sign.

A sign that eventually, he'd bring back her trust in humanity. Even when the monsters clawed for them outside of the very walls they stood against.

"Lucy! Lucy, come on!"

Groggily, I sat up in my bed, scratching the top of my head and yawning obnoxiously. "Nem-yaoooh. Stop beating my bed post, I'm up, I'm up."

The thirteen year old, blue eyed boy glared at me as he peeked up over my towering bedside. "You're really lazy, you know that?"

"And you're annoying," I playfully tousled his hair as he staggered back and gave my hand a mock look of disgust.

"Gross, Lucy. I don't know where your hands been!"

Rubbing the remaining sleep from my eyes, I gave him a glowering stare. "Says you. You look like you've been through a junk yard."

It was true; Nema AuBoné (who looked every bit like his father) was covered from the waist down in dirt and grim and grass stains. It seemed he had spent the morning wrestling bears and being over all exactly what he was-a young boy.

"Go wash up, and Ill start breakfast. Fathers coming home this afternoon, and we need to finish up your lessons by then."

The brunette gave me a cheeky grin before scattering off to do as I told him. I had been living in the AuBoné household for the last four years, and through those years I had grown close to the scampering child in the washroom. Our father, Olhine, had taken me in long ago and taught me anything I didn't already know and I was instructed to pass it along to Nema as a caretaker and tutor whilst he was away on his missions. It never really occurred to me to worry about him. It just so happened that even though he was always travelling beyond the wall, I didn't truly know what he was ever up against. So I had never feared it. I came to know later that it's dangerous to never fear a Titan.

I pulled back my hair in a half pony and got to work on the cleaning of the kitchen; sweeping and dusting, mopping and cooking. Olhine was a precise and orderly man, and his household never reflected any less than that-a rule I greatly abided. Minutes later, a blur ran passed me and to the dish bowls in the sink as Nema fished out a clean bowl, grinning back at me. Fridays were porridge days, and since he had become accustomed to my presence long ago, porridge appeared to be his favorite that I could serve.

Spooning his helping, I pushed away my own untouched bowl and dug through a cabinet of supplies, tossing him a stack of papers and a few pencils. "Get to work, Nema. Grammar is your weakest subject."-I raised an eyebrow at his protruding tongue in my direction. "And apparently, so are manners."

He shot me another cheeky grin as he pulled out the first sheet and began to write hastily, pulling sips of breakfast into his mouth at the same time. It wasn't the first time I had seen him so excited. It was like this every once or twice a month. We would wave Olhine goodbyes and Nema would push back tears. Then a few weeks later, he would come home, smiling and brandishing some new present for him to play with and offering me allowance and maybe a ribbon for my hair.

I respected Olhine for that gesture alone. If there was anything I loved more than my makeshift family, it would be money. Not in the egotistical, or greedy sense though. I saved every penny I was given, because to someone like me money was a scarce and beautiful thing. And truthfully, deep down in the back of my mind and heart, I feared I would wind up alone again. And if I did wind up that way, I would be ready. I would be prepared to take on the world again as I had before, those memorably wretched few years ago.

Nema had been about eight or nine when his father brought me home. It must have been strange to see, a sopping wet young teen girl standing in his living room, glaring at everything that made this very house a home. Olhine had sat down and explained to him, "Remember when I told you about the less fortunate?..Always do good things for people…yes…this girls name is Lucille, Nema. She's your new sister."

I had refused to speak to him for weeks, and when I was enrolled in school, I had started up more trouble than I was worth. Stealing, skipping lessons and getting into fights with boys twice my age and size were all apart of my resume. But Olhine never gave up on me. And Nema seemed to like me anyways. So I took on the role of big sister and obedient daughter, with some coaxing, and years later I had acquired a fair amount of respect. But there was always that possibility lurking in the back of my mind, like black whispers of smoke on a porcelain white chalkboard. The whispers of the cruel little demons who played with me in those foggy playgrounds in my nightmares and of the endless nights of trash digging and being beaten hairs away from death by strangers. The whispers that swore up and down that one day they would take me back and never let me go.

"Dad?"

A frightened young boy stood in his fathers study, clinging his little fists in tight balls at his sides.

"What is it, son?" His father had several books open on his desk, and the light peeking through windows spoke of an incredibly early morning time to rise. "You shouldn't be awake so early, so go on. What is it?"

"Why does she scream like that?" The boy seemed to say the words without thought, clutching his hand to his mouth, tears welling up in his eyes as though he had said something offensive and immediately regretted it.

The man gently set his parchment aside and eyed his son through thin rimmed spectacles. "A bold question for a young boy, but I suppose you deserve to know."

He beaconed his son to come closer, and he did, shivering as the cold morning chill passed through their cottage house.

"Do you know where she came from?" Olhine asked the young Nema gently.

"Not really," the boys eyebrows furrowed. "I've never asked."

He eyed the man with genuine concern. "I've always been too afraid to ask her. You know she isn't the easiest to get along with. Most everybody is afraid of her."

The man placed a warm hand on the boys head, giving him a comforting pat and a small smile. "She's like those children from the books you read, son. She was plucked from the shadows and ended up here with us. The shadows still try to hurt her though. They give her nightmares. She screams at night because though she'll never admit it, they scare her."

The boys frown deepened, understanding dawning on his face. "How sad…"

I had been watching through a crack in the door that night, and at fourteen I finally had something to name my inner demons and fears. They were simply shadows. They weren't, however, the only thing in life that should be feared.

Today would be my first realization of that.