Starlight [Attack on Titan Fanfiction: Levi x OC]

Chapter 1: Unforeseen Prosperity

He is a thrumming metronome, steady and unwavering, that pulsates in sync with every beat our heart makes, an irrefutable reminder that our demise is indeed inevitable, and that we are all destined to encounter his long-awaited presence at some moment in our measly lifetime, or more so, the end of it. He slows down for nobody as he only persists in his irksome ticking, a deliberate but rapid countdown to our very last breath.

He is a cloaked figure, infamously notorious for his grand title as a reaper. He delves in guilty pleasures by giving those who do not deserve to die insufficient life, and those who deserve the contrary a life jam-packed with valuable coins and needless superiority. And though his face may be obscured by a thick, satin hood, there is no denying the impish curves that will form on the corners of his slim lips when he snatches yet another individual away from the intricately carved tree that represents life. Like fresh cherries dangling from the thin, skeletal branches of a thriving red maple, we are just waiting to be plucked away and deprived of the nourishing qualities that are needed to survive. He is a sadist, if you will.

He is one end of an intertwined segment of thread, one that life occupies the other side of. I would like to think that we are able to utilize that string however we would like, but he has a knack for proving otherwise. Time and time again, he manipulates us, exercising us to his full advantage. We are merely the strings attached to a degenerate puppet, devoid of our own just freedoms. We, the people, are his most cherished vessels.

He is the man that lures us into believing oblivion is surpassable to the gift of life.

He is Death.

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It is lackluster and reclusive. Colorless. Lopsided wooden boxes are scattered in a disorderly fashion along splintered roads and against the sides of abandoned buildings that were once used for business inquiries, now most likely used for the manifestation of drug complexes. Bullet shells are permanently fixed in an exhausted dirt, rust accumulated on the entirety of their outer covers. Poisonous fumes that are detrimental to one's health permeate the thick air, imperative mutations just waiting to emerge on its inhabitants spontaneously. The underground city may be packed with people, but lifeless is still the most suitable adjective to describe its despondent environment.

"Anita," I yell while frantically attempting to keep pace with my sister's swift and agile steps across town.

"Hm?" She stops mid-stride to turn back and face me, but it seems that gravity is not able to provide me with enough time to halt my movements, so I end up running face first into her neck. A sudden flare of pain surges up my nose, and I end up scrunching it to fend off the pain that accompanied my reckless actions.

"Wait up," I mumble faintly in response after rubbing the bridge of my nose a few times. But now that we are in a consistent alignment again, I walk without the worry of losing sight of her on my shoulders. We carry forward.

The full view of the city is something I never paid much mind to, but I cannot help but become distracted when my eyes detect a limp butterfly fluttering its wings with cumbersome effort somewhere off to my right. I assume it to be a vibrant emperor blue, but I cannot confirm this due to the fact that its delicate wings are doused with a considerable amount of residue.

I pause momentarily and lift a finger to the insect's clingy form; hope is replenished as it seems to regain its lost exuberance. Flapping its wings with an increased motivation, it settles upon my skin and lingers for a few instants before descending to the ground below. I await its return, but it never occurs. It has amalgamated with the dirt, and I am left empty-handed. Looking at its fallen state, I can only ponder. Why is it that the moment we are granted with the slightest of hope, it is all lost soon thereafter?