Chapter 1
Historia watched as snow softly fell from the heavens, sticking to the last of the still-green grass outside, and gently illuminating the quiet night.
Her hands were wrapped tightly around the mug in her hands. The last bit of warmth had long since drained from the tea inside, but she made no move to empty it. She chose to instead, occasionally swirl the contents around, and continue to gaze at the falling snow.
The snow always brings back memories of her scout days. Days when their only goal was to make it through the night. Somehow, life seemed more simpler then, then it does now. At least back then, she had the most important people in her life by her side. Their constant, comforting presence, that even while in the worst moments of their lives, Historia had still found happiness in just being by their sides.
She half expected her old squad mates to burst in through the front door, screaming about this or that titan headed right this way, and letting the snowflakes rush in along with them and their frantic preparations. But of course, it had been years since they had all been together. Years since all of them had even been alive and well. Years since the events that occurred during The Rumbling. Still, it was nice to dream about them, even just for a bit.
A pang of loneliness stabbed her heart as she fantasized about it, and she clutched the mug in her hands until her knuckles turned white. She sucked in a deep breath through her nose and closed her eyes, slowly releasing it through her mouth. A pair of honey brown eyes flashed in her mind for a split second, and she snapped her eyes back open, taking another steadying breath.
No matter how long it had been, she could never, ever forget those eyes. They’ve burned themselves into the very essence of her soul, unraveling even the most complex parts of her being. She knows she would do absolutely anything just for the chance of seeing them again, and the thought scares her.
She sniffled, and released one hand from the mug, flexing away the slight stiffness she had acquired while squeezing it so tightly, and dragged it across her face in an attempt to compose herself once more.
Historia slowly massaged her temples for a moment, fighting against the oncoming headache she could feel rattling around in her head. Finally, she brought her hand away from her face, slowly bringing it down to rest it back on the mug again, and glanced at the room around her.
Bare, white walls seemed to close in around her, stealing away any warmth she had in her body and taking it for itself. The only pieces of furniture in sight was the small, square table she was currently sitting, a short and uncomfortable couch on the wall she was facing, and a worn rocking chair in the corner. It was as if a family of ghosts lived there, as all signs of life were hidden in the shadows of the barren wasteland that Historia now called home.
As the front door flung open Historia was shocked out of the trance she was in. She looked up as the man closed the door, his hands already reaching to unzip his large, brown winter coat. Her husband, James, refused to meet her eye. Instead, he turned around and hung his coat on the coat rack, and bent down to unlace his boots.
Silence stretched out between them for a few torturous minutes. Just as she was about to open her mouth to say something, he spoke up, “Did you make dinner?”
“I did,” she said slowly, “Hours ago. Before I put Amelia down.”
He grumbled a response Historia couldn’t hear, and turned away from her once more. She watched him as he finished taking off his shoes, and retreated to their bedroom down the short hallway leading out of the kitchen and dining area.
James was by no means an ugly man, Historia thought. He had soft brown hair that wasn’t long nor short, and sharp eyes. Paired with his strong nose, full lips, and sharp jawline he could easily be the ideal man for most. She has once even thought that she could be happy with this tall, handsome man. But reality had given her hope and then laughed in her face. Before the ink had even dried on their marriage contract, James had changed. He turned into a cold and distant man. Leaving early and coming home late. Never sparing her a second glance unless he wanted… other things. The treatment grew even worse when Historia had given birth to their daughter, Amelia, three years ago.
Historia had only allowed him to pursue her in the first place because, well, what other option did she have? She had felt that maybe the best she would be able to get now, was the man who had once mercilessly thrown stones at her. So she had let him pursue her, choosing to believe that all his apologies for his past actions were genuine. She had accepted his marriage proposal, signed her name on that document, and became his wife. It now felt like Historia had signed her whole life away. Now, she was destined to live a life stuck in this house. Forever trapped in a situation she would’ve never dreamed for herself.
She loved Amelia with her entire being, but sometimes, as she laid in bed next to this man who was now a stranger, she wondered if maybe it would be easier if she hadn’t given birth at all. But in the end, guilt always stopped those thoughts just as quickly as they came.
Historia shook her head slightly and stood, leaving her mug behind on the table. She started slowly walking towards the bedroom, her bare feet feeling even colder each step she took.
As she reached the end of the short hallway, she hesitated while reaching for the handle directly in front of her, and instead turned and quietly opened the door to her right. Inside, Historia could see Amelia’s small sleeping form beneath the thick, purple blanket she had laid over her. Her bright blonde hair was splayed wildly around her head, and one of her hands was tucked under her cheek. Painting the picture of a child completely at peace. Historia smiled softly to herself before closing the door once more.
She took a deep, steadying breath before once again reaching for the door that led to her bedroom. Opening it only halfway, she slipped inside, her footsteps as soft as a gentle breeze. James was already in bed, facing the wall the opposite direction of the door, and Historia let out a breath of relief.
She stepped towards the long, wooden dresser that was on the wall to her right, opening the top right drawer. Reaching in, she grabbed her sleeping clothes, a simple pair of soft black shorts and a loose fitting shirt. She quickly changed out of the long skirt and sweater she was wearing and tucked them in the laundry basket to the right of the dresser.
Historia went and quietly opened the door once more, and walked into the bathroom that was across from Amelia’s room. She turned on the small light inside, and spun around to gaze at herself in the mirror. She met her blue, bloodshot eyes in her reflection, and blinked hard a few times, as if that would get rid of the obvious exhaustion in them. Her blonde hair was tied in a low ponytail at the base of her neck, and she reached back to release it, running her fingers through a few knots.
After controlling her hair she looked back at her reflection, scrutinizing her appearance, and then sighed. Of course she knew she wasn’t the same woman anymore, but looking at herself now in the dim light of the bathroom made it much more obvious. Historia no longer radiated the same light that she used to. Her hair had dulled, her eyes were too tired, her skin too dry. Never again would she be the same carefree, laughing and smiling person. The thought made her sick to her stomach.
Not wanting to spend any more time looking at herself, Historia quickly brushed her teeth and leaned down towards the sink, splashing cold water on her face. After softly patting her face dry with a towel, she flicked off the little light again and returned to the bedroom.
James was snoring softly as Historia entered, and she was glad. She didn’t want to have to say any false niceties before going to sleep.
Just as she was about to crawl into bed, she paused, glancing over at the dresser once again. No. She thought. She would leave it alone, and go to bed. But in the end she gave in, slowly walking towards it. She crouched down and opened the bottom drawer on the far right. After digging under piles of pants and skirts, she came upon a small wooden box.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. This is wrong. Wrong. Wrong. And yet, with slightly trembling hands, she lifted the lid and peered in the box. Inside lay a single letter. The wax seal was still as bright as the day she had opened it, but the paper was worn at the creases, slight tears could be seen along the edges of the envelope.
Although the box was open, Historia made no move to grab the letter inside. Only silently staring. She could see the words written on those pages in the back of her mind. They had burned a hole in her eyes the very moment she had read it the first time, and then the time after that, and the time after that.
She knew what the first line would be. Knew every swoop and curve of the pen that had permanently marked the words on that paper. She could see it so clearly in her mind it felt as if she was looking at the words this very second.
To my dear Historia, is what it would say.
Historia gasped a bit as a lone tear ran down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand. She took one last look at the letter in the box and then returned the lid to it, and then piled all of the clothes on top again.
She hurried over to the bed again, quickly turning off the lone light that had been illuminating the room, and slipped underneath the cover. Facing the opposite direction from James.
Historia sighed deeply before closing her eyes. Although she had changed significantly after all of this time, she knew one thing had stayed the same, and she knew it would always be the same. For as long as she lived.
Historia fell asleep that night thinking of the girl she still loved, but no longer had.