[Historia]
"I don't remember a single day when my mother ever smiled at me.
We lived far from others, in a cold house where the walls felt closer than the people.
She never called me by my name. When she spoke of me, it was as if I were a mistake someone else had made.
Sometimes I thought that if I disappeared, her life would be happier. And maybe... she was right.
There were no hugs. No warm words. Only looks that pierced me without seeing me, and the constant sound of footsteps walking away.
I... wanted her to love me. But what I wanted didn't matter."
—---------------------------------
The drizzle had soaked me before I even realized it.
The cold drops fell silently, hitting my hair and sliding down my neck. I walked aimlessly, following a dirt path I could barely make out under the gray sky.
Then I saw a small cabin, isolated, with a wooden shed that looked ready to collapse. I approached, seeking some shelter. There, at a low table, sat a woman. Her hands wrapped around a cup of tea, the steam lazily rising toward her face.
I stopped at the entrance, barely trembling.
"Hello..." I murmured, in a weak tone, unsure if I should speak.
She looked up slowly, evaluating me from head to toe with disinterest she did not try to hide.
"Are you lost?" she asked, flatly.
"A little..." I took a hesitant step forward. "Can I wait here... until the rain passes?"
"Do as you wish."
I sat across from her, resting my hands on my knees. Silence settled between us, interrupted only by the constant patter of water on the roof.
Several seconds passed before she spoke, softly: "You seem... tired."
She frowned, tilting her head. "I suppose I am... why do you say that?"
"I don't know," I shrugged. "It's just that... when someone looks like that... usually they're fed up with everything."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. She said nothing.
"Do you have family?" I asked after a brief pause, as if curiosity had gotten the better of me.
"I have... a daughter."
"Ah..." I lowered my gaze, fidgeting with my fingers as if unsure whether to continue. "I think... sometimes children don't understand all that one sacrifices for them. Is that why... she is like this?"
She said nothing, but I noticed her hand grip the cup tighter.
"So..." I continued slowly, "how much did you sacrifice for your daughter?" My eyes met hers, empty, indifferent. "Maybe... if you hadn't had to carry that daughter, your life would have been happier."
Her gaze drifted as her jaw clenched tightly.
I leaned forward slightly. "Your daughter..." I said in a soft tone, as if concerned, "has she ever made you feel... like this?"
Her lips trembled before answering. "If it weren't for her..." Her hands went instinctively to her head. "If only I had had the courage to kill that piece of trash..."
I nodded slowly, as if I understood every word.
"Then... it's not your fault. There are people who... simply ruin the lives of others without even realizing it. And when they do..." I paused slightly, letting the raindrops fill the space between the words, "they don't even apologize."
She turned her gaze toward the window. Her eyes followed the path of the water, but she wasn't looking. She was somewhere else. Maybe recalling memories. Maybe imagining what her life would be like without that burden.
Over time, the rain slowly stopped. I stood calmly, shaking the water from my clothes.
"Thank you for letting me stay... Alma Reiss..." I murmured before disappearing down the path.
"T-you..." I heard her speak, her voice broken.
—-----------
Four hours... it doesn't seem like much when you are in no hurry.
Every step on the wet mud, every drop of rain sliding down my neck, is a reminder that the world keeps turning even if you do nothing.
And as you walk, the mind... entertains itself. It asks questions you don't need to answer aloud.
Sometimes the words you drop weigh nothing.
Other times... they sink like stones no one sees, but they change everything beneath the surface.
You never know when they'll reach the bottom, but when they do... they move currents no one can stop.
Today the rain washed everything, or so it said. But rain is also treacherous: it hides what would otherwise be clear.
There is no need to push too hard; just tilt the ground a little and everything rolls in the direction you want.
Someone stumbles, someone gets angry, someone wonders if it was their idea... and you say nothing. You observe. You wait.
The cold seeps into your bones, your clothes stick... but there are things that, once said, never leave.
Rumors... whispers... misinterpreted gestures... all pile up and grow without anyone being able to stop them.
You just have to walk, let the current do its work, and watch the shadow of what you released start moving, slow, inevitable.
Maybe tomorrow someone will blame another. Or maybe everything will explode in silence.
I don't care what the final form will be... I just know I set something in motion.
And now, I return home.
The path back was muddy, but my steps were light. The rain had eased, leaving the air heavy and damp.
Arriving at the house, I gently pushed the wooden door.
"Where have you been...?" Mikasa asked, looking up from the table.
I gave a small nod, barely a gesture of courtesy. "I fell asleep."
Eren was next to her, chewing bread with his usual clumsiness. He waved, and I responded with a slight nod.
Then I saw Grisha, standing near the fireplace, reviewing some papers. I lifted my gaze, and our eyes met.
I didn't look away. Neither did he.
That brief glance lasted a few seconds longer than usual, as if we were measuring something invisible, something that couldn't be put into words.
Finally, he blinked and returned to what he was doing.
I also moved toward the table, as if nothing had happened.
—--------------------------------------------------
[Historia]
I remember the smell of the forest that morning, wet and sharp, mixed with the scent of leaves freshly soaked by the rain. I walked alone, following a path I thought I knew, though every step felt heavier than the last.
Then I saw her. At first, I thought my eyes were deceiving me, that the sunlight filtering through the branches was playing tricks on me. But no. She was there... hanging from a tree, still, silent.
My breath stopped. My heart lurched uncontrollably. I wanted to scream, run to her, touch her... but the air felt heavy, a weight that pinned me to the ground.
Her face was pale, eyes closed as if asleep, and yet... it was impossible not to feel the chasm that separated us. A chasm that couldn't be bridged with words or tears.
I fell to my knees, unable to comprehend how someone who gave me life could disappear like that, leaving a void that neither trees nor wind could fill. Every falling leaf seemed to remind me of her absence, every moving branch echoed unbearable silence.
There were no screams, no protests. Only the weight of death, heavy and absolute, teaching me that some things can never be fixed. That life sometimes breaks, and there is no one to put it back together.
And as I slowly rose, hands trembling, I realized something that would stay with me forever: guilt, loneliness, and the certainty that this world would never be fair to me—or to anyone who loves.
...
...
...
...
...
While peeling potatoes for lunch, Historia began to speak, her voice low but firm:
"My mother... she was hanging from a tree... I... I found her and..." —her hands continued working, but she didn't look up.
"..."
A few seconds passed. Then she continued:
"I didn't understand... I couldn't do anything. Just see her there..."
The rest stayed silent. No one said anything, not even those closest. I leaned against the wall, watching without blinking.
Even now i suppose that ... I am still exactly the same kind of person. A person who understands how the world around them shatters and yet remains untouched. Who sees fear, pain, and guilt in others, and recognizes them... only as pieces on a board. Every human emotion is a variable, every reaction a datum I can anticipate. Nothing escapes logic.
While they cry, lament, or seek comfort, I already know how their actions will ripple, how their words and silences will form currents no one else can control. And amidst all of this, the only thing I feel... is curiosity. Curiosity to see how the world swallows its own misfortune while I keep walking, always a step behind, always beyond what they call humanity.
Nothing changes. Nothing touches me. And that... keeps me alive in a way no one else could understand.
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