Strong Weakling
by Lady Argon
"Sasha... do you always wanna live hiding behind a mask you put on for the sake of others? That's unbelievably stupid. You're you! And there's nothing wrong with that!"
The words resonated inside the young girl's mind as she lie awake that evening, staring blankly into the darkness. She listened to the rhythmic, intermingled breathing of the trainees she shared her quarters with, keenly aware that Ymir and Christa were among them, and fruitlessly attempted to make the two out individually.
Since their conversation earlier that day, Sasha's mind seldom strayed to anything else. It was the first time that someone called her out on her overly-respectful manner of speaking, reading into her character as if she was an open children's book. Stripping her bare and scrutinizing her. As if she was such a simpleton that one thorough look gave her away. And maybe she was.
Even so, she felt a strange gratitude in the two noticing. Because they accepted her for what she was, lies and all, and encouraged her (forced, really, on Ymir's part) to become comfortable with who she was, no matter how she spoke, so long as she spoke the words of her mind.
She smiled into the inky blackness. Was that what friends did? Kick your legs from under you to grab each one of your arms and lift you with their own support? Even with Ymir's crass vulgarity, Sasha appreciated it all the same. With them, in this place that she was forced to adapt to a life that was not her own, she could be still be Sasha.
She lifted her hand out in front of her, just able to make out the dark outline of her fingers. Who was she, anyway?
Was she the headstrong Scouting Legion trainee, courageous to kill Titans for the sake of humanity? The proud farmer with an improper dialect, unwilling to give up her sense of self? No, she was neither. Those were only pretty words she used to defend herself from who she really was: a coward. A simple-minded existence. A pathetic girl who was all talk, and no spirit. A contradiction in and of herself: a strong weakling.
She dropped her hand to her side. How was she to be herself if she was frustrated with who she really was? Isn't that why she initially ran away? To become a dream of herself, a divine goal, someone of worth. To attain an ameliorated Sasha. Was it so wrong to aspire for such an objective? Could she still strive, if she so desired?
No, she told herself. She would no longer continue lying to herself, nor to the people that believed in her. She'll endure; first in hesitation, and then with her head held high and her shoulders squared, letting her walls fall apart on their own accord, granting her strength and valiance along the way.
To become a self that she could be proud of.