Her hands are bound in chains reaching to the ceiling. The metal cuts into her wrists. She's in a large cave, on top of a stone pillar. A man stands in front of her, clutching a syringe in his hand.
Her breathing is calm. Her heart beats slowly, too heavy, too broken, to pound with its usual ferocity. Ymir tries to focus on keeping her bare feet from scuffing on the ground as they lead her to her fate.
She had considered herself to be the kind of person who lived with no regrets. She thought that being selfish was the only way to be happy. Her stubborn heart knew that was wrong. Now, she thinks about how if it hadn't been for this selfish desire to repay her lost debts, she could still be with Historia.
Historia.
The name is sweet, refreshing; it's new. Even in these circumstances she feels her heart swell with pride that her Historia had become true to herself. Historia. The name suits her so much better. There's a black stain on her hand from the ink she had spilled while writing her final goodbye.
"Historia…" she mutters, as the man pierces his skin with the needle. "I wish I could have gotten to know her."
She hears the shift. Ymir finally looks up, catching for a brief moment a glimpse of the titan's hungry eyes as it reaches down to grab her.
She takes a deep breath and tries not to scream when the titan's huge hand grips her and raises her off the ground.
It's ironic, she thinks to herself. After a life of trying to live without regrets, regret is the last thing she ever feels.
When Ymir wakes up she angrily wipes away her tears and rolls onto her side.
"Again," she mutters. "That fucking dream, again."
She's nearly been gone for a month. Every night that dream plagues her, forcing her to relive the moment of her death again, and again, and again.
Ymir pulls the blanket around her more tightly and flips on the light at the bedside table. The cheap hotel rooms flickers into view. She stares at the yellowed telephone cord hanging limply from the wall, and the patch of damp which has claimed the far right corner of the ceiling, and the painting, faded from the sun, which hangs lopsidedly on the wall above the TV.
Fuck this, she thinks, as she drags herself out of bed. She gets dressed and trudges downstairs for breakfast, managing only a single slice of toast before her stomach convulses and she feels as if she's going to vomit. Back in her room Ymir pulls out her laptop and sits down on the bed. The hotel wifi is frustratingly slow but eventually the website loads.
A message notification flashes on the screen.
Armin: Any luck?
Ymir: Take a guess.
Armin: Hmm. Nothing on my end either.
Ymir: How is she?
Armin: I thought you said you didn't want to know.
Ymir: Ugh. You're right. Have you had any hits to the site?
Armin: A few. But nobody has gotten in touch.
Ymir: Bummer.
Armin: Why don't you just come back? It's pretty improbable that you'll find any of them.
Ymir sips the coffee she had brought back to her room and thinks.
Ymir: Maybe I should.
Armin: Really?
Ymir: Fucking hell, I really don't know. I'm just like. I'm sitting here in this shitty room with barely any money and it's like… If I just got out of my own head then maybe I could go back and work things out with Historia and everything could just be normal
Armin: Do you really think you could do that?
Ymir: Uggggghhhhhhh. No
Armin: Then carry on.
Ymir: Yeah. I know. So are you doing alright?
Armin: Yeah yeah I'm fine. Dealing with Eren's excitement has been pretty draining, but it's all good.
Ymir: I bet he's like a fucking kid.
Armin: Yep.
Ymir: Lmao
Armin: So what's your plan?
Ymir: Just going city to city I guess
Armin: Where even are you?
Ymir: Near Berlin.
Armin: I'll be shocked if you find him you know. Or any of them.
Ymir: Me too
Armin: Good luck anyway.
Ymir: Thanks. Gonna need it. Anyway. I'd better go
Armin: Yeah, hope you find them.
Ymir: See you
Armin: Bye
Ymir sighs again and sips her cold coffee. She goes to the website they had set up, waiting a full five minutes for the page to load and fighting the urge to throw her laptop across the room.
Krista's face stares back at her, smiling. It was a picture she had taken of the both of them. Ymir rarely takes photos of herself, but on this occasion, Krista had begged her, and she had given in. They were in the park where they'd met Eren and Armin for the first time. Krista was wrapped up in a scarf, grinning, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold. The two of them look genuinely happy, and looking at it sends a jolt of pain through her gut. She closes the page and takes a deep breath. This is better for her, she says to herself as she leaves the hotel and out into the streets of Germany.
The scene in the coffee shop is bustling and bright. People fill the tables. There's a couple quietly arguing, trying not to draw attention to themselves; a group of six teenage girls squeezed onto the sofas, chatting about school and boys; a baby crying loudly. Krista can't hear any of it. She's in a daze - she feels like she's underwater, or that the air is thick, and everything is slow. Nothing makes sense, and she's dizzy all the time. It's almost like she's drunk, stumbling about and unable to focus. She spills coffee, apologizing blankly for her mistake.
"What's going on with you?" Her boss asks her to come over at the end of her shift, as she's folding up her apron and staring with glazed eyes at the wall.
"Nothing," she says without really hearing herself.
In her bed that night, she curls up alone, thinking about Ymir, with the same feeling of deja vu she has every time she tries to sleep. Krista scrolls down her phone lifelessly, staring at the tens of missed calls to Ymir. Her eyes sting, but she doesn't have any tears left to give. Sleep never comes easily, even though Krista is always so tired. The prospect of it taunts her and stands just out of reach.
Her exams loom on the horizon, too, and she knows she's not ready - but she doesn't care. Sitting in front of a book makes her want to vomit. Holding a pen in her hand makes her want to vomit. Anything that isn't lying in bed and staring at the ceiling makes her want to vomit.
Krista knew she was depressed before, but this takes the cake.
Will she ever come back? Why the fuck did she even leave in the first place?
She lets out a long and shaky sigh.
I wonder what she's doing now.
Ymir knocks back another shot of Jaegermeister and grimaces. The alcohol burns her throat, evoking memories of sitting in the park drinking anything she could get her 15-year-old hands on. The bar is rowdy and filled with people, and Ymir lets their conversations drown out the intrusive thoughts in her head. A cute blonde is serving at the bar. Ymir can't look at her. As she continues to drink her vision becomes hazier. She stares up at the ceiling. The loud music blasting from the jukebox is a faint hum. She orders drink after drink, not caring about the hangover she's going to have in the morning.
"Ist alles in Ordnung?" A girl sits down on the barstool beside her. Ymir stares blankly, half due to the girl's striking beauty, and half due to the fact she was speaking German.
"Uh…" Is all she manages to say.
"Oh, I'm sorry, are you American?"
"Um, no, I'm English."
"Awesome," she smiles. Ymir just stares at her. She's got long, bright auburn hair in tight curls. Her skin is flawless and even in the low light Ymir can tell her eyes are a pretty blue.
"Anyway," she continues, her German accent strong. "You look completely miserable. What's up?"
"What isn't?" Ymir laughs, and lets out a groan. "It's a long story."
"I have all night," the girl says. "I'm Maria by the way. What's your name?"
"Ymir."
The colour drains from Maria's fair skin.
"Ymir what?"
"What?"
"Your last name. What is it?"
"Fritz."
"Oh my god," Maria says, and immediately pulls out her phone.
"What?"
"This is going to sound crazy, but do you know Jean Kirstein?"
