Upon arrival, Dr. Jaeger exhaled, watching his brazen escort leave immediately, excited to mingle with the upper-crust.
Historia stood at the empty steps of the castle, staring up at it in wonder—its architecture was sublime, resembling a cathedral than palace.
"Historia," the doctor motioned for her to join his side. She quickly went to him, waiting for his order.
"Inside, you're welcome to eat anything at the buffet table," he encouraged, causing her eyes to widen, "but, you're wearing an unfortunate color for the occasion. People might give you awful glances, but you will be fine.
Historia nodded, feeling a bit guilty, but the idea that she could eat—actually eat something other than scraps and porridge!—was more than enough for her to muster courage for the fête.
Jaeger spared a smile at her reddening, eager cheeks as her eyes were glued to the door where the music and laughter were emitting from.
"I will be travelling to the gardens, now," he kneeled down, patting her shoulder, "I suggest you to play with the other children. Try to stay out and away from the Royal couple."
Historia furrowed her brows, not ripping her curious gaze from the open doors.
"How will I know them?" she asked—her tiny hands taking the one on her shoulder.
Dr. Jaeger was quiet for a moment, staring at her gentle grasp.
"They will be the center of the party with crowns." He reluctantly removed his hand from her hold, patting her shoulder once more before straightening up, adjusting his tie.
"Now, run along, have fun, and be a good girl—just as you always are, you sweet babe," he lightly dismissed her with a hand as she finally smiled, nodding, and racing up the stairs and into the light of the castle.
Once she disappeared, a frown deepened on his face as he went towards the side gate of the castle where great briers grew, acting as a formidable wall around the precinct of the castle.
He gave a rhythmic knock. The gate opened without a sound as he vanished into the shadows as the music and merriness echoed throughout the hour—what a short hour it would be.
~X~X-O-X~X~
Historia couldn't help and smile as she raced between the scions and the upper echelons, heading towards the buffet. Something sweet lingered in the air, coaxing her to hastily come thither.
Men and women gasped at the sight of Historia and her odious dress, whispering as they derided the unknown parent for dressing a pretty child as such. However, it was not the dress—it only served as an abhorrent lure for ill attention— that brought the most gossip, it was Historia herself who bore the familiar and uncanny blue, lustrous eyes of Frieda Reiss. At observing this, it sent the few, perceptive aristocrats in a tizzy, gathering into tight circles, blathering on at the possibilities of a bastard, a marred marriage, and the future conflict to come.
But, as the good doctor requested, Historia did her best to ignore their judgmental words and eyes as she found her mark—the delicious and imported fish pastries from the North! Her hands immediately caught onto a freshly baked morsel, eyeing it with awe. Unlike its name, the fish pastry was not made of fish, but instead baked in the endearing likeliness of it! Historia almost felt bad as she bit the tail of it, surprised to taste the texture of a custard filling!
"Ah," she chewed away, completely in bliss, causing the crowd who were gawking at her attire to almost melt as sweetening as the custard Historia adored.
Again, this caused more disruption amongst the guests—who would dare dress such a beautiful and innocent child in such a disrespectful way? The depravity!
Historia chomped away, unaware of the people staring, but they eventually found her blameless as she was too distracted with eating the sweets. Certainly, somewhere, there was a detestable person who thought ill of the wedding and was too cowardly to outright say it—instead, brought a child to masquerade in their favor.
The child ate four fish pastries before discovering a whole new world of food to be had—from the piquancy of cherried duck to the tart yet pleasing huckleberry mousse. She dined on the fine cuisine until her petite stomach was plump and full.
The whole time, she was fearful that her mother would catch wind of her and tear her away from the food, reminding her that she was not worth the comfort of nourishment, but, she never came, and Historia grew bolder, realizing that the conversation in the carriage was true—her mother would no longer torment her.
She wandered to the side of the ballroom with a warm, chocolate drink, sipping on it as patrons sat together, chortling as they helped administer each other the new intoxicating craze—blood. Vials upon vials were tucked in decorative snuff boxes, quickly being used one after another with a pungent odor. Historia frowned, scrunching up her nose and placing herself on a bench in the corner, under a lancet.
The thought didn't occur now that she was alone—the doctor had vanished and he had not returned from the gardens. The crowds were too thick to try and find the exit to the gardens, and, even then, if she miraculously found it, there were guards stationed at every aperture, ensuring nobody wandered into forbidden corridors. Yes, her mother may have disowned her, but did that mean Dr. Jaeger was adopting her?
Historia sat her drink down, feeling her eyes water in fear.
What if he didn't, and he made an excuse to abandon her? Where would she go if the doctor didn't take her?
Slowly, she began to sniffle, curling her knees up to her chest, hiccupping as the realization came crashing down on her, but it instantly ceased when she felt a frigid breath on her neck.
Historia jumped out of her seat, whipping her head around to find nothing there except the sharp reflections of the ball through the panes. However, again came the ghostly chill as she watched a murky silhouette approaching her in the window. She tilted her head to the side, wondering who it might be, hoping it was the doctor, but nobody was there.
She was alone.
Bewildered, she shot another glimpse at the reflection, and she beheld the crisp image of a woman, standing, adorning a fashionable hat and garb. Oddly, it was just like—
"Child," her voice was thick as honey, extinguishing every noise in the room to a murky, inaudible whisper, "do not be alarmed."
Historia was rooted to the spot she stood as the woman bowed her head, chivalrously removing her hat, causing it to disappear from existence.
"May I intrude?" her voice asked.
Again, Historia glanced behind her, finding nobody there, and knowing very well the window was too thick to allow her unearthly voice to penetrate its glass.
"Y-yes," Historia couldn't fathom what powers this being had if the mere sound of her voice caused the world to hush as if it was listening and lingering to every sweet syllable.
The woman's crooked smile glistened as she reached a hand out, causing the lancet to ripple like water—stretching and liquefying as the woman's hand extended past its otherworldly dimension and into Historia's. With lithe movements, the woman stepped into the ballroom from the glass, floating and grinning before Historia as the window returned to its respected state.
Historia flinched, gasping loudly, backing up—no mere human could have such abilities, she knew, and there were no benevolent beings that could harness such magicks.
Only terrible beasts had awesome powers that matched their infinite wickedness.
"Thank you," the woman graciously bowed, "for allowing me to join the festivities."
Historia wanted to cry out, hoping others had noticed, but none had—she was the sole witness.
The entity chuckled.
"I will do no harm, I assure you," she promised, "in fact, I am very merciful to those who're harmed."
Slowly, she gracefully landed on the ground, standing before the child.
Historia knew it was the woman was the one from the carriage ride, and Historia also very well knew she should've ran—she should flee while she could, because this woman was dangerous—she was an unknown presence that was neither human or beast, but her fixation only deepened like frenzied blood.
"And, while I am not accustomed to here," she studied Historia, "I do understand black is habiliments of the grave."
She knelt down—just like the doctor—before Historia, kindness in her august eyes.
"Who would dress such a dear darling for this occasion?" Her smile widened when she gently caressed Historia's cheek, causing the girl to bashfully smile back, forgetting her own horror as a warmth spread throughout her body.
"There, there," she whispered, patting her head, and bringing her hand back, whispering something imperceptible, but she stopped upon seeing Historia trying to decipher it.
"Now, dearest heart," she soothed, "do not listen—for if you heard even one utterance, your mind would explode and descend into madness."
This made Historia sharply inhale, covering her ears as the woman whispered her eldritch knowledge. A wisp of strange phosphorescence ignited in the palm of her hand, casting her face aglow with a heavenly light.
With a single puff, she lightly blew the light onto Historia's face, causing the girl to squeeze her eyes shut, afraid of what may happen.
"You may listen now." The voice came from within her own mind as she did as she was told, opening her eyes and removing her hands from her ears.
"W-What did you do?" she braved.
"Why, I made you a dress as lovely as pearls, innocent as Baby's Breath, and light as stardust," she tilted her head, lowering a hand and taking Historia's, showing her that her hands were gloved with the finest of silks.
"Ah!" Historia regarded herself, finding that the woman didn't lie—she wore the whitest of dresses! It was as beautiful and pure as swan feathers and the moon itself—in fact, it was such a stark white that any other white appeared to be dingy in comparison.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" she stood once more, looking onward to a specific but mysterious location.
"It seems I have time to spare, and I have encountered a lovely girl who deserves a dance, don't you?"
The music grew louder as the room grew darker, the candelabras and chandeliers shining like distant stars, and the stained glass of the lancets glowing. The people inside completely disappeared, shrouded in darkness as the woman took Historia's hand, lifting her up and guiding her into flight as the floor itself dematerialized.
But, it wasn't scary—in fact, it only enchanted Historia as she was enveloped with a radiating happiness, smiling and giggling as the stranger twirled her, smiling and enjoying Historia's laughter.
Historia's eyes shone brightly as she watched the stained glass vibrate as stately harlequin figures came out of them, flawlessly sweeping in a beautiful dance around them.
The world became an array of colors and shapes as the woman laughed, leading their dance through reds, blues, greens, and yellows and purples, and then oranges and through every shade of pink.
Nothing else in existence compared to the woman and her magick as Historia clung to the woman's hands.
"S-Stop," she laughed, because her cheeks were hurting from her smiles, "y-you never told me your name!"
The woman threw her head back, guffawing.
"My name? What a queer question!" she cried. "Why, I never heard that in eons! Oh, what a lovely, naïve child!" she nearly doubled in.
Historia didn't know why she found it so funny, but she joined in, too, because such unbridled joy was foreign to her—exotic and addictive.
"Now, I do not want to startle you, but," she smiled as the world was ripping apart, tearing itself down like wallpaper as reality was coming back, "I am called many things—but to you? I am Death."
Historia felt the blood drain for her face as she was struck frozen.
"However, just for you, dearest Historia," the woman lifted the girl's limp hand to her lips, "I will be called Ymir."
Like that, the woman disappeared, leaving Historia with a heavy sensation morphing in her kissed hand, manifesting itself into her palm and fingertips—austere and deadly as she fell to her knees, unobserved as the crowd cheered as the inauguration of Levi Ackerman to House Reiss began.
"You will know what to do, little angel," her words somehow sang through the loud clapping, "let your human morality be the compass—isn't that what you humans do, anyways?"
A chuckle.
"Well, it doesn't matter, does it, little Hunter? Men go with the tides, and, well, tonight, it's going to be quite the splash as this city turns upon itself."
From across the room stood the newlyweds—Frieda with the veneration of her righteous ancestors, and with Levi, who was the cornerstone and child of the mighty and powerful army of St. Valencia and all her people's pride.
Frieda's eyes scanned the room, gracing everyone with her attention and appreciation for standing witness to the new era of the monarchy. But, Levi, he had eyes for nobody but his commander. The commander who inadvertently taunted him with his acceptance and even approval of the marriage.
"For men and woman," Frieda commanded the room's attention into silence, "I appoint my new husband, future father of my children, protector of the realm, a crown as fit as mine, a hand as just as mine, and love as vast as mine, a seat at my side, a place at my table, and the warmth of my bed—by honor, you will always be of my own blood—the very river that runs through my heart, always."
Frieda turned to face Levi, smiling, taking the crown from its rest on the Golden Fleece cushion.
"And forever truly," she whispered the end of the rite as she raised the crown."
Finally, Erwin bowed his head, walking away, ready to leave with the lieutenant, relinquishing his hold on Levi's attention—but it was too late.
The loud peal of a blunderbuss cut through the crowd like divine thunder!
People scattered, screaming and crying out in horror—for the Queen fell to the ground, bloodied, but not because of being wounded—no, it was not her blood! It was Captain Levi's as he choked on quicksilver, clutching the spray that embedded itself on every inch of his upper body and throat.
Frieda cried in shock, staring up at the assassin as gunshots rang out further.
"C-Commander!" Levi yelled, sniping the would-be assailants with his Evelynn.
Erwin only spared a moment to gape before roaring, sending his stationed men to immediately to weed out the extremists, but they were ambushed by cloaked figures as the flank men had their throats slit, causing a skirmishes all around the ballroom.
The royal guards immediately shot forward, grabbing the Queen, but she took herself from their grasp, rushing to Levi who fell forward, pouring blood out of his wounds.
"Attend him! Attend him!" she begged as the guards nodded, grabbing him, causing him to cry out in pain as he was led to the surgeon's hall.
Frieda took after, but the other royal guards were skirted and given no quarter as a large and horrendous blade ripped through them like a butcher's knife.
"Frieda Reiss," the blood soaked Dr. Jaeger acknowledged, his sharp teeth baring at her as he closed in, "I will end your family's tyranny and awaken the people of St. Valencia to your vile truths! Your befouled blood will be put to an end!"
He lifted his large, jagged saw as a guard threw himself in front of the queen, his heroics only seeing him ripped asunder in a single swipe.
Frieda was bathed in blood as she fell down, slipping in the man's writhing entrails and gore.
"No matter," he spat out the blood that splashed into his mouth, readying himself once more. He wound up his aim, readying to tear her apart.
But the commander and his lieutenant were too far to save her—and all his men disposed of the attackers, but they would never reach the Queen in time.
"Daddy!"
Jaeger hesitated, eyes bloodshot as he seethed, realizing who spoke out—his son, Eren, crying, covered in Levi's blood, witnessing him in all his atrocity.
"Ere—"a ghastly wail of a banshee made everyone stop dead in their tracks. Grisha Jaeger stood before the assembly, a ragged, gaping hole punched through his chest. His slick organs falling out like slimy eels—his guts, blood, and flesh sprayed across the royal dais like offal at a slaughterhouse. The Queen looked up at him, drenched in blood and splattered with meat, blinking in disbelief at the carnival of carnage she found herself trapped in.
The hollow then spewed forth blood, frothing like a fountain as he staggered, turning towards the slayer.
The crowd gasped, reeling backwards as he fell to his knees, breathless with his cavernous body, but his head still turned, staring at his killer.
With an unidentified gun in hand, Historia reared, drenched in red, staining her once pure dress, as the gun fell from her broken shoulder as she gazed back at the man. The gun was too repugnant for comprehension that it seemed reality itself censored it, as if it was being seen in the corner of the human eye, and before it could be fully be analyzed, it dissipated into nothing.
Frieda recognized Historia immediately by the familial resemblance as she laid in the bloodshed.
With his curiosity quenched, Grisha fell forward, prostrated and extinguished of life as his blood seeped through the carpet and onto the marble in pools.
It was, then, throughout St. Valencia, did the world know of the little girl named Historia Reiss—dressed in white, caped in the blood of a spoiled rebellion—bastard of the late King, Rod Reiss—Historia Reiss, the omen of saints.
And so it plummeted.