Your jacket is slightly out of place, bent a little too much to the right. Your uniform boots and slacks feel a bit too big, and it's a wonder how you can wear them. They seem more like your grandmother's clothing, far too big and fancy for you to actually wear, and really nothing but a costume. After all, who would really take you seriously in that?

You reach to your sides and find nothing. No weapons of any kind, and no 3D and vertical maneuvering gear to help get you into the sky. At best, if a Titan were to come, you would have sticks.

Perhaps you would at least get to die a martyr as you have always wished. Titans could rip you in half, pull you into their stomach and then spit you back out.

It is, after all, hypothesized that they have taste buds. They would realize you were not as sweet as you had first looked.

You walk forward, through the empty training grounds. Perhaps the others have gone to do something important, maybe even been assigned a mission.

Find the group and find weapons; that sounds simple enough, does it not? And perhaps a change of clothes would do you well. Something that would actually fit you.

"Hello?" you call.

The wind is your only response, running hair along your neck. A shiver runs up your spine as blond fingers touch your own neck's delicate nape.

"Is anyone here?"

You stop dead in your tracks, looking around. "Ymir? Sasha? Marco? Jean? Mikasa? Eren? Hannah? Armin? Franz?"

No one responds.

"Annie? Mina? Bertholdt? Reiner?"

Names, names, so many names and yet not a single reply.

Your legs race forward. "Someone? Anyone? Please, someone must be here!"

They always leave a few behind, if only to make sure no one breaks inside and steals something.

Then again, besides the food, what is there to steal? All the rest is just passed on to whatever ill fated kid comes next. You sleep in a dead woman's coy after all, snuggled up against a girl who will surely die as well.

"Please!" Tears begin to leak from your eyes. It seems as though only moments have passed while you ran around the training grounds, with no one in sight and no one to reply to you.

Maybe you never got your wish; you will never be remembered for your brave death, not when everyone else is dead.

You trip, falling forward and landing in the dirt. Your comically large boots fly off of you, and you scrape your foot on a rock.

The years still fall, even with your face coated in dirt. Below you is dark dirt filled with pebbles.

"It can't be." You force your eyes shut, the salty tears coming out even faster. "This is not happening!"

"What is going on?"

You freeze.

A hand wraps around your own and pulls you up. Your legs wobble, and they place a hand on your shoulder.

"Krista, what happened?"

Your mouth hangs slightly open. "Hhh-hhh-"

"Historia," she finishes. Her frown deepens, and her blue eyes meet yours. It does not help that you both stand at exactly the same height.

For a moment, you are trapped in her gaze. Somehow, you break away and look down. She is dressed in a white silk dress, one of the few presents your father ever gave you. He had never smiled at you or complimented you, just shoved the dress into your hands and then spoke with your grandparents.

"Where are they?"

"Who?" Historia (you?) cocks her head to the side.

"Ymir? Sasha? Mikasa? Arm-"

"Who are they?" Her voice is flat.

"My friends and teammates!"

Historia only blinks. "What do they matter, Krista?"

The word sounds wrong on her tongue.

Why did you not choose another name, something better than that?

"They care about me!" Your voice rises higher and higher and the tears keep falling.

Still, it is Historia who looks like the sad one.

They'll come back, you think. It's a quiet thought, a whisper from the back of your mind. But they must come back, somehow. Ymir would never leave me.

Without warning, Historia pulls you forward and your lips meet hers. Her lips are cold and she pulls your tongue in quickly.

This is not love, not even lust.

Only hunger, and she is holding you so tight, like so many others hold their food at the mess hall. That meal truly may be their last.

"Krista!"

Historia's eyes hold onto your owns. Her pupils seem to be getting smaller and smaller...

"Krista!"

You gasp, and move your head away from your pillow. Two warm arms are wrapped around your waist, holding you tight.

"Ymir?" Your voice trembles.

She leans in closer to you, her soft lips landing close to your ears and into your hair. "Of course it's me."

"Krista?" Sasha stands by your bed, her eyes half shut. She yawns. "That sounded like an awful nightmare."

You nod.

"I'm just glad that you're awake." Ymir runs a finger around your belly, making small, soft circles into your skin.

Sasha digs around in her pocket and holds it out to you. "Here, you need this more than I do."

You take the small piece of bread from her and hold it close. It feels hard, but food is food.

"Thank you, Sasha."

"I hope that helps to keep away the nightmares." Sasha walks back over to her own bed. "I really need my sleep."

Quickly, you stuff the entire piece of bread into your mouth.

"What happened in your dream? It must have been awful."

"I don't remember."

It's a quick, easy lie, and somehow Ymir doesn't fall for it. Instead, she only hugs you tighter. She places a kiss to your neck, and after a while, once your bread has been swallowed, you can hear her snoring.

Your stomach twists.

She knows your secret, but only the most basic part of it; Ymir has only touched the surface. Some things are just not worth telling.

Ymir, at least, makes "Krista" sound beautiful.