𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐲 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 | 𝐄𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫

III

Eren lost control of almost all his muscles, including his tongue, a mile back, so the moist muscle wags over his lips and leaves a slug trail along his prickly jaw. The hand that touched the flower is swelling up to twice its original size, and the veins traveling up his arm grow more purplish-black by the second. His legs feel like a hundred little mice are massaging every inch as you drag him through the forest by his armpits. His vision ripples in beautiful, swirling rainbows that grow more intense with each heaving tug to the point where Eren has discovered three new shades of green, two new shades of purple, and one new shade of red.

This Reaper's Kiss might be killing him, but Eren had never felt so good in his whole life. The sensation is pure, unadulterated bliss.

"Oh, Eren... Why'd you have to touch that plant?" a voice whispers.

Eren turns to see a familiar set of bright blue eyes and golden hair floating beside him. His voice sounds different, almost like the princess', but maybe the poison is affecting his hearing.

"Ahmin?" Eren asks, and if he had more control of his lips, he would have smiled. "Wha ah you doin' heh?"

"Eren, try and keep quiet. You need to save your energy," the same voice huffs, but now Mikasa appears on Eren's right shoulder.

Again, she too sounds like the princess, but her black hair is still short and her eyes still glitter gray, just like the day he left her. Even after all this time, nothing has changed. His friends are still the same: worried fools he left to fend for themselves in the sewers of Rat's Row. The peace that realization brought Eren is a beautiful feeling.

"I mith you guyth. Ha you geh heh? You hould be a' home." Eren mumbles.

"Please, try and stop talking." But this time, it's the princess.

Eren tries to twist his head to see you pulling him through fallen leaves, but he can only make out your sweating figure in his peripheral.

"Pintheth, my thiends ah heh. Thith is Ahmin. And thah'th Mikatha."

"Eren, those aren't your friends. It must just be an illusion from the poison. You will stay quiet until we reach Hange's house, alright?"

Eren does as he's told; something about your voice makes him want to listen. Maybe it's because you're a princess, or because your voice is sweet as clean water, or because he's high as a kite and lacks the strength to make any attempts at bumbling speech. But you have the type of voice that could command a man to death for your sake.

Not Eren, of course, but he would stay quiet if you will it.

And after many fatigued heaves and snapped twigs, the princess releases Eren's shoulders into the warmest, coziest pile of leaves, and you yell, "Hange?! Moblit?! Come help!"

Eren shuts his eyes the deeper he sinks into the crackling leaves. To think—he thought the inn beds were nice when there were perfectly good leaves to fall asleep in. And leaves are free. The sound of their musical crunching drawing closer sounded so pretty in his ears. It reminds Eren of when he was young, before the horrible King replaced the less horrible King, and the guards would march through the streets of Rat's Row on the prince and princess' Name Day.

How he wished to be one of those guards back then; they received three meals a day and decent, steady wages. But Armin was far too weak to join, and they wouldn't accept Mikasa because she's a woman. It wasn't like Eren was the type to leave both his friends by choice, and to be with his friends was better than three meals any day.

And he has his friends beside him now. What better end could a man ask for than being with his friends one last time?

"Oh, dear," a new voice gasps once the leaves quiet themselves. "Moblit, help me lift him. We'll set him down on the kitchen table."