Yesterday's Enemy [AoT]

NINETY-TWO

'Some of us are born with tragedy etched into our blood— harsh fates decided before we could even understand them.'

-An unseen extract written by scholar and journalist Aksel Briggs.

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NINETY-TWO

Wall Maria, South Region, Port Noaks, Noaks Survey Corps Base of Operations

"What?" Elske lurched forward. "You're kidding, right?"

Everyone stared at Lorelai, bewildered. "I, uh," she stuttered. How to begin to explain? All these people knew about her had been built from lies. She tried to calm herself as a wave of panic rose.

"It's true," Gabriel stepped forward. "She's been faking her identity. Lorelai told me the same thing when I was thirteen."

"Damn straight. She is who she says she is," Romero asserted.

Erwin blinked, digesting the information. "Lorelai, you'll have to explain." He looked around the room of confused faces. "I'm sure we're all willing to listen."

"Yeah, alright, I understand. Sorry," Lorelai calmed her shaky breathing, "I'm just- Larken, this has been a long time coming."

"You can do it, kid," Romero patted her shoulder.

She regained her composure, keeping her eyes on the floor. "Alright, I guess I should start at the beginning."

And thus, she let the memories wash over her. Lorelai put down the tidal defences— and allowed herself to sink into that which she had struggled against for so long.

"I was born on the second of January, year 815, in Islet, Northern Wall Maria. I am the only daughter of Adette and Aksel Briggs. My birth name is Annalise, and I'm sorry I lied to you all," she looked up guiltily.

"If that's true, how did you come to charade as a Havasian noblewoman?"

"It's... it's a long story. And it's not a very happy one. But I hope you'll all listen to it."

She gave a nervous smile, then began the story.

"Well, I was raised in a grand manor at the heart of Islet. I had reputable parents and riches at my feet. Most of the papers knew my name by the time I was three; Annalise Briggs, a prodigy to succeed her father.

But my childhood was not as golden as those papers might have remarked.

My father, as you can probably imagine, was not the kindest nor most permitting of fathers. If I remember anything about him, it would be his obsession with his legacy.

I wasn't his daughter. No, I was clay— ready for him to mould into whatever shape he pleased, if he applied enough pressure. My father's obsession was in making me a worthy successor." Lorelai's voice wavered, she raked a hand through her hair. This was far from easy to recall.

Thersa softened, walking forward gently. Her voice was tender, "Did he... hit you?"

Lorelai huffed out a faint laugh. "Among other things. My father's power has always been in control."

The memories came back in full force. Lorelai could do nothing to stop it as she let it all tumble from her tongue.

"Hours and hours, he would have me in lessons. He taught me himself. Language. Diction. Rhetoric. I would speak until my throat was hoarse. And, Larken forbid I stutter or hesitate.