As penelope escapes the horrors of her captivity, the vast blue sky above is both a symbol of her freedom and a cruel reminder of the trials awaiting her. In a world ravaged by monstrous titans, her greatest battle isn't just with them-it's within h...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"I used to imagine adventures for myself, I invented a life, so that I could at least exist somehow" Fyodor Dostoyevsky ☆
Shiganshina District, Year 841
In these six months of freedom I've learned a harsh truth: if you aren't selfish, you will die. Gone are the days when Mister brought me a meal every other day. Now, I scavenge for my own food-or more often, I steal it. The act of stealing fills me with a sense of shame; it feels selfish and wrong. Yet here I am, with no other choice.
I'm not even good at it, and that's what led me to this desperate situation. Starvation gnaws at my insides, a constant reminder of my fragility. I should feel fear, but instead, I find an unsettling calm. I've accepted my fate, yet strangely, I'm okay with it. Why? Because I've finally realized my dream-I've seen the sky. Its boundless expanse filled me with a peace I thought was lost forever. It was the light in my darkest days, a hope that sustained me through the suffocating darkness of captivity.
So, really, is there any reason to feel sorry for myself? Perhaps it's not pity I need, but understanding. This is my journey, marked by pain and sacrifice, yet illuminated by the beauty of that sky. In the end, that's what kept me going, what made this struggle worthwhile. I even felt like I was flying.
Wait... flying?
"Wrap your hands around my neck; I've got you."
Back when I was still captive, I found solace in books. My favorite told the story of an angel who kindly saved a human. His job was to observe, but when the time came, he intervened for a higher purpose. The angel was described so beautifully, a heavenly being full of light and grace.
But for me, my angel was different. He was a tall, well-built man with blond hair that fell in soft bangs parted down the middle, a dark mustache and beard framing a face of quiet strength. With the little strength I had left, I did as he asked and wrapped my arms around his neck, clinging to him as if he were my only lifeline.
"Here you go, just hold on. I'll take you to the hospital quickly," he said, his voice steady and reassuring. He kept his gaze fixed ahead, calculating the fastest route, as if the urgency of the moment could somehow lift us both from our burdens.
In that fleeting moment, I felt like I could leave my pain behind, if only for a second. I was safe in his arms, a feeling so foreign yet so comforting. Maybe, just maybe, this was what freedom felt like.
I could sense he was trying to reassure me that everything would be alright. "It's fine, sir." I hesitated to tell him I had already accepted death; I didn't want to upset him. "Sir is making me feel old," he laughed softly through his nose. "Just call me Mike."
