When the cries of a newborn become familiar to the world, the finger of the child is pricked and pressed onto the fresh parchment of a book forever placed on the impatient shelves of the government. And when that child grows to commit an act of treason, only then is the spine of the book pulled off the rotting wooden shelves and opened to reveal the dried blood that has been decorating the fibers of the paper, craving the day it fulfills its everlasting purpose.

... But what is the purpose of the blood that is spilt on the ground rather than on paper?

The guts of our comrades has left a fingerprint so prominent in the heart of our island that no amount of rain could ever wash it away. No matter if you rip up the roots of the grass or burn the hills to a pile of ash, the wound is so deep that the scar will forever remain on the skin of this foreboding land.

When will we be let out of this cage that we've been locked in for so long, forced to watch as our comrades are devoured and killed?

I am not sure.

I can only wait for the day more blood showers our lives when this... War plays out.

I can only wait and watch.

I cannot do anything to stop it.

Just how long till blood spreads over my palms again...?

I do not know.

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《 Chapter 5 》• Tell It To The Wax

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I grabbed the candle off the nightstand, my nightgown flowing down and kissing the sides of my ankles as I slid off the edge of my bed, the white woven sheets stretching under my weight.

My bare feet tapped lightly against the dusted hardwood floor, a chilling draft spilling in from the slight crack in my bedroom window, picking up a few strands of my hair in its hands and carrying it behind my head. I swiftly tucked them away with the hand that did not carry the burning candle, allowing my feet to guide me toward the door simultaneously. I reached down and turned the cold doorknob, the biting temperature of the surface pinching my fingertips.

The door creaked open, the old moan of the wood scattering through the dark halls illuminated only by the moonlight that peeked in through the windows.

The glare in the glass split the pale blue color into two sections, one pouring down over me, and the other leaning itself onto a dark stained door down the shadowed hall. I recognized this door, and a solemn expression befell me as I watched it open the moment my gaze fell onto it.

The holder of the room stepped out, the lucent light from the moon connecting us by the glowing line that stretched between where we stood. My eyes clouded with an unspoken sadness, but I couldn't find the strength to look away.

Levi.

It was always Levi.

... I began walking forward, my destination being the Mess Hall. I didn't want to seem impolite, so I dipped my head in a kind greeting as I passed him, but did not slow my pace. I was desperate to escape the suffocating feeling that squeezed the life from me whenever I saw him. No, I did not hate him. No, not even in the past did I truly despise him the way I claimed I did.

But I hated myself anytime I looked in his eyes, because I felt guilty. I felt guilty that I chipped away at his strong self all those years ago. He never showed it around the kids, or anyone for that matter. But I could always see how he had that lost glimmer in his eyes, because my signature was written all over it.

I was the reason he strayed from the path he was once following. I was the one who set him off course, yanking him into a pit he's been stuck in for all these years without anyone to pull him back out.

Something so simple as just a few measly words can truly ruin someone in unimaginable ways.

I learned that the hard way.

So I'd rather not hurt him anymore by being around him. Seeing me must remind him of everything. I can never truly atone for the things I said, even with the apology I've been drafting in my mind for the last three years. So until I can bring myself to say it, I will stay as far away as humanely possible.

...

After passing through the courtyard outside, I opened up the heavy doors of the Mess Hall and stepped inside, letting the warmth of the area enclose around me. I was parched, and a glass of refreshing water sounded heavenly.

So I made my way over to the open kitchen and set my sights on a cupboard, opening it up with my free fingers, taking in the sight of the rows of cups above me. I placed the candle I held down, then slipped my fingers into the space between two cups, preparing to take one out- But just as I lifted it up, a moth fluttered frantically out of the darkness in the cupboard, spooking me just enough to drop the glass I held out of pure surprise.

The glass shattered on the counter, a sharp piece cutting through the air and piercing my finger. The rest of the cup crashed down onto the floor, and I was immediately taken back to the previous night where I'd done almost the exact thing. I silently shamed myself for being so spacey, turning my hand around to gaze at the small gash in my finger. Blood welled up in the wound, and I could only look at it in a dull way, feeling like I've been cursed to replay this moment over and over again.

Only this time, I knew not to close my hand.

I let a shaky breath escape the confinement of my lips, staring dumbly down at the shattered cup.

I must be an idiot.
...

"[Y/n]..."

My stomach churned.

My eyes turned to peer over my now slightly trembling shoulder.

"Are you... Okay?"

I wanted to erupt in that very moment, to let the tears spill and drown every overpowering emotion I was feeling. I should be the one asking him that, I should be the one worrying about his wounds and burdens. And yet, here he is, breaking down the bearer that's separated us for so long just to ask me if I'm okay over a silly injury that means absolutely nothing to me.
... But I held myself steady.

"... Yeah..." It was almost a whisper. I stared down at my bloodied finger now in horror, afraid that it would be proof of all my unbearable sins.
I clenched my jaw.

I heard him rummaging through a drawer, but hadn't felt the need to look over. I just watched the blood drip down onto the floor, spreading through the crevices in the wood. The wound was speaking through the art of movement, the blood singing as it danced down my finger. It ran over the hills of my palm, running down my wrist and forming a swiveled line down my exposed arm, traveling around as if intending to explore the parts of my body it circulated through from above.

Then, a pair of hands interrupted my dazed thoughts, a cloth intercepting the blood and soaking it up before it could complete its journey. The icy fingers of the other hand held my wrist up, and my gaze followed the arm up to the face it belonged to.

I knew who it was the entire time, but now, the obvious realization set in strongly.

Levi was staring down at my arm, not meeting my gaze as he worked slowly yet efficiently. His left brow twitched, knotting in a way that made it seem like he had no idea why he was helping me. But he continued to do so.

He set the cloth down on the counter behind him as he finished cleaning up the trailing blood. Then, he turned to reach in a first aid kit he must have found stationed somewhere in the kitchen, pulling out a bandage that resided within. The soft feeling of his hands against mine threatened to make me jump out of my skin, but I let him place the bandage gently around the infraction in my flesh.
He let go.

Now, if I closed my hands, the blood would not spread.

But I didn't care to look at my hand. I just kept staring into his eyes, just as I always seemed to do. I couldn't help myself.

They were such a deep encapsulating ashy blue that I found myself mapping out every blend of color within them that made them such a mesmerizing hue. The question of if they were the night sky or the deep pools of the ocean found itself in my head again. I could not piece it together just yet, but they were so unbelievablely unique that I almost couldn't remember how to breathe while standing here.

"Don't worry about cleaning up the shitty glass," He broke in suddenly, bringing my attention back to him as a whole. "... Were you trying to get something to drink?"

I found a spark of my old self jump out at the question.
"Well I don't see why else I'd be grabbing a cup," I replied, but immediately held my breath after speaking. That was far too mean for the tone of mood that was just set. Oh no.

Levi didn't seem offended though. I saw his eyes flash momentarily, and then he just turned to grab two cups out of the cupboard I left open.
He held one out to me, a plain look on his face, but I could tell what he was offering.

"I was about to make tea. Want some?" The Captain asked somewhat daftly, as if he was taken aback by his own words. I felt extremely reluctant to accept the cup, because I did not want to get close to him. But a simple cup of tea couldn't hurt anything... Right?

The candle I had set down earlier in the corner was burning a brilliant orange, the hot wax melting into a liquid that dripped over the edge of the counter and landing into the pile of glass below.

I took the cup.

"I would."