"Cell 467. Knock once if you want out, twice if she tries to kill you."

I thank the man cordially as he steps to the side. He continues to chuckle what I found to be a rather poor attempt at humor. But I notice he watches the door warily, arms tense and his stance wide. His eyes performing a ceaseless dance across the steel door that I find myself before. I would like to say I'm unaffected by this Neanderthal's apprehension, but that would be a lie.

For those of you that are unfamiliar with myself or my works, I am Laban Nakal. A historian and writer. Most of the text books and works about the history of Remnant found in schools and libraries are creations of my hands. In finding these works I have braved ancient ruins crawling with Grimm, bandits and thugs that mire every road to the wilderness, and the worst jails and prisons the inside of which no sane person should ever have to see. Considering the many dangers which I have braved, consider my next words to be highly remarkable.

I. Am. Terrified.

I slide a small shutter upon the door open and peer inside. It's dark. A single lamp dangles from overhead, highlighting a perfect circle upon the floor. Illuminated is a single chair. Upon that chair sits a woman dressed in a white jump-suit. Gloves cover her hands in their entirety, no skin on her hands or arms was visible. Pale, naked feet are displayed with one leg crossed elegantly over the other. She sits proudly. Patiently. Her face is obscured in shadow, remaining just outside of the elucidating beams of the light above.

I nod to the man, whose name I have all but forgotten, and he swipes a small card against a reader. With a beep and whirring machinery, the thick steel door begins to gape open. As soon as it opens, , the man swipes again the door begins to shut, like a carniferous maw closing on its meal. I quickly step inside. Alone with the one known as the White Grimm.

It takes several moments for my eyes to adjust to the enveloping darkness. As they do, more comes into focus; a worn wooden desk with a small collection of books, an immaculately made bed, and most drawing, the woman herself. At last I can see a dim outline of her face, the glimmer of her eyes, the shape of her jaw. I find myself staring intently in vain to garner a clear picture of this infamous woman. I forgot entirely that she was staring right back.

"Laban Nakal. This is a pleasure." Her words are cold and icy, spoken with perfect diction and poise.

"You know me?" My voice cracks as I speak.

I catch a glimpse of a light-bereft smile, "Obviously. Remnant's most auspicious historian. I consider your works to be very enjoyable to read." She turns her head, glancing about her cell. "As you can imagine, I now have a great deal of time to do so." For being among world's most well-known and brutal killers, her humor was unexpected. She waves one of her gloved hands in the air flippantly, "The real question is why you are here."

I clear my throat, determined to be the fearless historian and journalist I am renowned to be. "I am here for your story."

She stands suddenly. So suddenly that I take an involuntary step back in reaction. My body is tense, ready to defend myself, yet she makes no movement towards me. On the contrary, she turns her back to me and strides to her desk and turns on a small lamp, brightening the room significantly. She turns back to me and steps closer and again, my body tenses in expected attack. She stops short a pace or so away and more about her is made clear.

I had always heard tales that she was a giant of a woman. Brutish, cruel, yet unspeakably beautiful. Thus far, only one of these I have found to be true. She was in fact, rather short. I stood a full head and shoulders over her roughly five-foot frame. As far as beauty… Yes, this is an accurate description. I could now see a finely angled jaw and pale as snow skin. Thin lips are drawn in a tight line while white hair drifts about her shoulders in straight streams. Although, how she managed to care for her hair in such circumstances is a question all of its own. But I digress. After all, most striking were her icy-blue eyes. Her left eye was marred by a scar which ran superficially down from her eyebrow to her cheekbone.

Her head is cocked quizzically to the side. "Why?"

I pause before answering. After all, my response had three outcomes. I leave with nothing, I leave dead or I leave with perhaps the most compelling story of our time. Only one of these is acceptable. "You… You are a mystery. The world only knows one story." I raise my arm and gesture above to the outside world. "That one story is of a gang of murderers and seditionists that butcher Hunters and Grimm alike. I believe there is more to this story. I think the world wants… is ready, to know who you really are."

She stares at me as I finish, her expression unreadable. Her observation makes me feel rather uncomfortable. It seems as if, for the first time, she is really seeing me. "And if I refuse?"

I scoff, putting far more confidence into my mockery than I felt. "We both know your sentence for your crimes. That noose isn't going to wait forever." Her eyes drop ever so slightly at my words, "Aren't you ready to step into the light?"

She crosses her arms and cocks her hip out. Her lips purse in what appears to be… frustration? Perhaps it is acceptance. I find her difficult to read.

Finally, she nods, eyes rising to meet my own, "Very well. But I have a few requirements if this is to happen." My heart nearly skips a beat in my joy. I had hoped, but not believed she would agree. Even more shocking was the ease of which she agreed.

"First," She holds up a single gloved finger. "Get me some food. I mean real food."

A second digit follows, "I want some warm boots. With socks." I nod, still trying to keep my burgeoning smile in check.

She drops her arm down and smiles. It's a humorless, dark smile. "Lastly, you will call me Weiss."

The room is significantly brighter. Several other lights had burnt out and despite several requests by her for the wardens to correct this, they had never done so. My single request had done more than her previous dozen.

We sit together at a small table now pushed to the center of her cell. I sit across from her and wait patiently with scroll and keypad at the ready. Several dishes sit, cleaned of their contents entirely as she wipes her hands on a small cloth. She reaches forward to the one remaining dish holding several lustrously-red apples. She takes one and casually rolls it about in her hands, "So, Mr. Nakal-"

I interrupt, wanting to be on more familiar ground. "Please. Call me Laban."

"My apologies… Laban." Her icy eyes are thin slits as she appraises me. It isn't a pleasant stare. Note to self: try not to interrupt her. "What do you know of the Amaranths?"

"Surprisingly little." I answer honestly, trust is easily broken after all. "Four women, no names, always masked. I can guess you were all Huntresses at some point, but no registry recognizes anyone like you. You appeared like ghosts a decade ago, sending Atlas into anarchy and killing Hunters across all of Remnant." I shrug as I speak further, "At least, until you were cornered at the Schnee Family mansion a few months ago and finally brought down, taking the entire Schnee mansion with you." I look up at her tentatively, like a student expecting a berating from an irate teacher. "You were the only survivor."

Recall how I said that she was difficult to read, but If I didn't know any better, I would say she looked rather pleased. Her following words however, served only to discredit that notion.

"Very good Mr. Nakal, you've done your research. But if I may be so bold to say, but you know nothing at all." I wince, but her words are relatively accurate. "Very well. We will start at the very beginning." She brings the apple up to her mouth and takes a satisfying bite. She takes a minute to enjoy the flavor before pressing a hand to her chest. "We will begin with my story."

Weiss Schnee. Twelve years of age, daughter and heiress to the Schnee fortune and a life of royalty and luxury. Well-mannered, educated and beautiful. Star pupil and prodigy of both learning and combat.

Vagabond.

She had nothing save what she carried in a small tan backpack. Food, water, a change of clothes and several Dust cartridges. She wore a thick, virescent overcoat and scarf atop a white skirt and leggings. Thickly soled black boots covered her feet and calves. The boots were mud stained and scuffed from the speed of her flight. Myrtenaster was in her left hand, gripped so tightly that her knuckles were colorless.

She had been running for hours, trying her best to ignore the burning in her heart and lungs. Her legs complained against their continued abuse. But she couldn't stop. She could still hear them. Distantly, the sound of bullheads drifts overhead. Beams of light elucidate the forest in the distance. She refused to go back. To be taken back. Not after what…

Blood pooled around her feet, spilling from the young boy whose body lay sprawled on the floor. The blood seemed never ending, spreading and threatening to maroon her toes in crimson waters. He was dead because of her. Her first and only friend.

She had only kissed his cheek…

"Father!" She shrieked, horrified at the scene before her.

His response was immediate, hard knuckles cracking against her face and lip. She stumbled to the floor, holding her cheek in her hand, eyes wide and flicking from side to side like a cornered doe.

Her father was standing over her, flexing his knuckles lightly before pulling a white cloth from his shirt and wiping the dripping blood from Myrtenaster. "I hope you learn something from this, dear daughter. You are a Schnee. Not some common whore."

"You're a monster!" She screamed at him, "I hate you!"

Faster than she could see, Myrtenaster flicked forth and burning pain blossomed across her face…

Her vision blurred at the memories and she subconsciously flicked her tongue out to rub against her split lip, tasting the coppery flavor of blood. Her left eye refused to open fully, a clean and painful gash ran across it, delivered by the same weapon she now carried. A weapon she stole.

Shaking her head to clear the memories, she pressed onward, chest heaving and throat raw from her exertions. She didn't go far before a wayward root clawed towards her, catching her feet and throwing her to the ground. She groaned aloud as her muscles cramped after receiving an unexpected rest. She remained where she had fallen, moaning in pain and beginning to whimper. Whimpering turned to tears as she struggled to push herself to her feet, but found not the strength.

The lights were getting closer.

In panic, she looked about for anywhere that she can hide. As if in answer to an unsaid prayer, the same root that had so blatantly caused her fall, led to her salvation. The root was tied to a massive tree which was nestled atop a deep overhang, a place to hide from the lights far above. It is so close, a few feet away at most. But it seemed to the tired heiress a scorched plane of knives and sharp stones. But she had get there. Fingers dug into the frosty soil as she pulled herself forwards inch by inch, crawling in the mud and dirt more like a worm than heiress. Then, at last, she lay underneath the shelter. Safe. Or so she hoped.

She watched and listened, powerless to even lift her head as the bullheads passed overhead. She heard men in the distance, yelling and calling her name. She refused to answer, instead willing herself deeper into the darkness given underneath her tent of earth and roots. Men entered her sight. They held weapons, both blade and bullet, and swept the area before them. Weiss held her breath as they passed a scant few feet from her. She prayed to whatever powers there may be in the universe that they would pass by. That they wouldn't see her.

Oblivious to the dark hole she resided in, they continued on. Until, after what seemed to be hours of terror and apprehension, they passed. Darkness and silence took the place of men and machine. She was alone. Weiss had done it. She had escaped.

Muscles uncoiled from their hours long vigilance and struggled to respond to commands. She scraped together just enough energy to pull a canteen from her pack and swallow a few mouthfuls. The blissful cooling liquid calmed her sandpaper throat. It was all she could do to not drink the contents entirely.

She returned the canteen to its place and continued to stare into the night. She fought sleep, knowing that it's not only men she must be wary of. Despite her best efforts, her eyes began to droop, slowly and inexorably shutting, leaving her to the darkness of sleep.

The grumbling of her stomach awakened her. She lay there for several minutes, hungry and wondering why her bed is so cold. She rolled over, seeking a pillow and clenched about for it but jerked her hand back as it discovered only a freezing blanket. She opened her eyes to see her hand covered in white powdery snow. The sun was cresting the distant horizon, shimmering between the evergreen boughs above and harassing her tired eyes.

Squinting, she recalled where she was. She can't resist as her eyes water once more and deep sobs rack her troubled frame. She stayed there for many minutes, curled into a small ball of misery and loneliness. Her stomach cared not for her woes as it grumbled once more, angry at its neglect. She bit back tearful hiccups as she obeyed, reaching for her pack and pulling out what little food she had. A granola bar and a sip of water was her breakfast, nothing more.

Pulling out a small map and compass, she laid them out upon the ground and tried to make sense of where she was. She had left her scroll behind, not wanting them to track it to her. Geography was never her best subject however, and she was soon just as lost as when she started looking. All she knew is she needed to go south. Away from Atlas. Away from the cold. One or the other would claim her soon otherwise.

Painfully, she stretched her sore legs and, with the help of several jutting roots, pulled herself to her feet. She had no other option than to start walking, setting the compass south and following the direction chosen. She continued warily at first as every shadow was an enemy, every noise was a predator in wait. But after several hours of nothing, she was lulled into security.

At the sun reached its zenith, she came to a small creek. It bubbled on, looking clear and refreshing. Finding a chance to both rest and refill her canteen, she stopped. Dipping her hands into the welcoming water and found it bitingly cold. She still accepted it gratefully, washing her hands of the dirt which clung to her fingers. Finished, she sat against a fallen tree trunk in the sun, pulling her coat around her tightly.

In this security, she realized just how pleasant the world outside her manor was. In spite of the chill in the air and the snow on the ground, the sun was warm on her face. The world was a lush green, coated in the slowly melting snow. Birds native to Atlas chirped and hummed, oblivious to the cold and oblivious to Wiess. Once more, she fell into the blissful oblivion that is sleep.

When she awoke, the sun had begun its slow descent to the horizon. She stood immediately and quickly scanned around her, afraid of what may have approached her. Upon finding nothing, she relaxed, "Come on Weiss. It's just you. You can do this." Thus so self-inspired, she continued on.

On and on she continued. The day turned into night. Then several days and nights. Ever she plodded on. Only once, she saw another Bullhead, far in the distance. Never did she see another being. Never did she find more sustenance. She grew ever colder and hungrier. Weaker and more frail. Until, on her fourth night, she gave up.

On her knees, she clawed at the ground weakly, leaving shallow furrows in the dirt. "Why did I leave home? I… I…" Whimpering as her stomach growled at her, she remained there, her journey over far before its intended end. "I'm sorry." She whispered to the darkness and to herself. "I can't do it."

This time, something was listening. Something that found her fear and despair intoxicating. With a growl, it made its presence known. Weiss stiffened and, with a slowness found in dread hesitation, she looked up to see a pair of crimson eyes scintillating in the darkness.

Grimm. More specifically, Weiss recognized it as a boarbatusk. It was a rather small creature for its kind. Its tusks were yet to curve upwards with adulthood. But for a twelve-year-old seeing her first live Grimm, it was a massive beast.

With a gasp and growl that occurred simultaneously, both moved in unison. The blackened creature leapt forward as Weiss pushed herself to her feet. Adrenaline gave her strength as she pulled up to meet the beast.

The Grimm plowed forward towards the sharpened blade where its hardened plates deflected the point with a clear cling of metal on bone. Weiss was too tossed aside as the boarbatusk impacted with her. Her small frame sent spinning into the air with a shriek.

She collided with a thick tree trunk several feet above the ground, cutting both her shriek and her breath short. She managed to hold on to her weapon as gravity took hold once more and she fell to the ground.

The Grimm was bringing itself around, its hooves failing to find purchase in the frozen soil. It bought Weiss the few seconds she needed to shake her head clear and pull herself up against the tree, setting her back against the wood as she turned back to her foe.

They stared at each other once more. One in fear, the other in hunger. "Come on!" She screamed, bracing Myrtenaster against the tree behind her. She was ready to fight. Ready for the terror to end, one or way or another.

It happily obliged with a momentous roll. It few towards Weiss at speed before uncoiling, tusks to the fore. Weiss screamed and shut her eyes, gripping her rapier with all her feeble might. She felt the impact of the Grimm against her. The rapier met resistance and the grunting of the boarbatusk cut short.

She opened her eyes to see the boarbatusk vanishing away in a cloud of blackened ash, Myrtenaster down to its hilt into where the monster's skull had been.

With relief, she exhaled and leaned against the tree. She inhaled once, twice, three times and made to push herself forwards when she found her legs to be stiff and immovable. She looked down, to see red liquid staining her abdomen. Curious, she reached down to touch it. It was warm, so warm on her cold fingers that it burned. She probed further until she found a hole in her coat.

With growing horror, she felt further until she found a hole in her skin, just below her right ribs. The hole was the perfect size of the Grimm's tusks, but how deep she didn't wish to find out. Then, like touching it made it the injury real, the pain hit. With numbed legs, she slid down the tree, holding her side tightly as still more blood seeped forth between her fingers, warm and sticky. She shoved her sleeve into her mouth and screamed, eyes shut tight in agony.

Dizzy and going into shock, she tried to think of what to do. With effort, she pulled her arm from her mouth and pulled her backpack in front of her, searching for anything that may help her.

Nothing.

Gasping, she unwrapped the scarf from around her neck and tugged off her coat. With shaking hands, she examined about the wound, gagging at the sight of the maw into her abdomen. It was large enough that she could fit her thumb inside with room to spare.

She pulled her coat back on and pressed her scarf to her wound, hissing as the rough material rubbed against her exposed flesh. The feeling reminded her of rubbing a papercut the wrong way.

She sat there, back pressed against the bark of the tree, weeping with pain and fear, losing hope as quickly as she was blood. But she knew that to stay was to die. She had no choice but to move. Maybe, just maybe, the bullheads would find her. Better go back than die…. Maybe.

She moved to stand, but flexing her punctured abdomen was agony, forcing her legs to move was torture. With minuscule steps, she began moving, thinking only of placing one foot in front of the other. Seconds became minutes. Minutes became hours. As the night steeped deeper into darkness, so too did the remaining strength of the Heiress dissipate.

She had been staring intently at her feet. Unknowing of where she was going when a rock slipped from beneath her foot. She stumbled, falling heavily onto her uninjured side. She didn't moan or cry, she merely turned and stared at the moon blankly. The world began to darken around her until all she saw was the shattered moon far above.

Its pale, fractured face was the last thing she saw as the world drifted into darkness.

…..

…..

Her eyes opened blearily. The sky had brightened with the kaleidescope of dawn, allowing her to see the world around her, but she found that she could not move. Even turning her head was an impossibility. She was simply too weak. She could not feel anything save the draining weakness that emptied her body.

Her eyes closed.

…..

A growl brought her to semi-consciousness. She saw in the distance a dark shape that was canine in form. It paused its prowling and sniffed the air. With unnerving speed its head flicked towards her.

…

Something jostled her arm, pressing at the wound in her side. She opened her eyes to see the creature sniffing the seeping blood. It was black and white. A Beowulf.

She gasped and the Grimm jerked back, turning its head to meet hers. Growling, it snapped its head forward, sharp teeth reaching for her neck. Weiss shut her eyes tightly against the end. A flash of white light illuminated her eyelids. The wet tearing of flesh followed.

….

….

….