Filth. the room mister kept me in wasn’t just a prison—it was a pit of filth. the walls were streaked with mold, the air thick with the sour stench of decay. hygiene wasn’t even a concept; once a year—on my birthday—I was given a bucket of freezing water, just enough to smear the grime rather than wash it away. now that I’ve tasted freedom, cleanliness has become my obsession. every speck of dirt feels like a piece of that room, clinging to me, haunting me. I know filth won’t kill me, but the thought of it suffocates me, pressing down until I feel like I’ll splinter apart.
Sickness. mister controlled everything, even when I ate. he’d bring food every other day, if I was lucky. but it was always spoiled, reeking, barely edible. my stomach rebelled, forcing it back up. He’d watch sometimes, his gaze cold and indifferent, as I forced myself to eat to stay alive. It made me weak, so weak I could barely move some days, too frail to fight, too hollow to cry. now, even the thought of sickness feels like his shadow looming over me, reminding me of how powerless I was, how survival hung by a thread he could cut at any moment.
Betrayal. I never trusted mister, but he knew how to make me hope, and that was the cruelest part of all. sometimes, he would act kind—just long enough to light a fragile spark inside me. he’d do it just to see hope flicker in my eyes, to watch me believe, even for a moment, that maybe things could change. and then, just as easily, he’d snuff it out. he’d turn cold, cruel, calculated, delighting in the way that hope crumbled, leaving behind nothing but despair. he wanted to see it—the breaking. I still don’t understand how someone could take joy in such a thing. and yet, despite it all, I want to trust people. If mike can be good, then maybe the world isn’t entirely bad.
Lightning. A fear I didn’t even know I had until recently. on my third day in the hospital, it rained. but then the storm turned violent. lightning split the sky, and thunder rolled like a monster roaring through the heavens. the sound tore through me, leaving me sobbing, shaking. but mike was there. without a word, he pulled me into his arms, holding me close.
And now, I stood before my newest fear: the door to the yeager house.
"Come on, dear. carla even cleaned and prepared the room just for you. and eren—he hasn’t stopped talking about finally having a friend," grisha said gently, his hand resting lightly on my head. the warmth of his touch was meant to be reassuring, and for a moment, it almost was. but the tightness in my chest refused to ease.
