𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐀 | 𝐋. 𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐍

𝐈𝐈.𝐈𝐈

❝𝑰 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓, 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒊𝒕.❞
— 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐎 𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐀

꧁꧂

VALEN HAD WAITED ETERNITIES BEFORE RISING FROM HER CHAIR AND FLEEING THE BARRACKS.

"Fresh produce!" a vendor whooped from his stand, whose worn, green canopy hardly persevered in the unusually strong afternoon wind. Valen moved to the side as a horse pulled along a covered wagon loaded with goods, bunching up her skirt so she could step on the curb. She accidentally collided against a woman her age, and Valen whispered a 'sorry' before reentering the road.

"Thank goodness flour's gone down this week...!" a civilian nearby hurrahed. Originally, Valen had planned on doing light exercise in the gymnasium, but some imbeciles ignored the barracks' worsening pipes and the sorry excuse that was the plumbing system finally gave— now every single floorboard was soaking in (hopefully not) dirty water. So while they repaired the result of their sheer ignorance, she was indulging in a lesser-known hobby of hers— shopping.

Wonder where I can find a boutique. People packed the sidewalks and roads. The Trost marketplace was always busy, especially on Saturdays— it's why she rarely shopped nowadays. But now that was in the middle of it all, Valen rejoiced. The hollering, how quickly life moved around her... they all brought her back to a simpler time, when humanity lived inside three Walls, not two, and when Titans were no taller than fifteen meters.

The expedition. Valen still hadn't fully processed their deaths— Petra, Oruo, Eld, and Gunther. And though she was well aware of what'd happened—that she'd never lay eyes on them again, or talk to them, or eat with them, etc.—Valen, in a curious way, refused to acknowledge they'd passed, and not because she believed Levi was a liar, but because they were strong: how could humanity's strongest soldiers perish so suddenly and in such an undignified manner? How could they, having strength no normal person could conceive, succumb so tragically on the field?

Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps they weren't as strong as I believed.  

Valen continued walking.

"You, young lady in the blouse!" Valen turned, finding a vendor beckoning her over. To her surprise, he was grinning, enthusiastically waving his arm— few people reacted that way to her. Feeling gracious, Valen walked over, entering the shade of his stand. He was selling tea, and of fine variety as well; Valen wondered what a vendor like him was doing in run-down Trost. "May I interest you in some leaves?"

"Of course." How long had it been since she'd last indulged in a tin of leaves? Years? She could hardly recall. Valen explored his selection, picking up tins, squinting at their labels, and sometimes—with permission of the vendor, of course—popped the lid from a tin to sniff its contents.