𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 | 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧

𝐗𝐈𝐗 : 𝐑𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐬𝐭

If anyone asked about the happenings of your novel, you were fully prepared for any questions. You were back in Mr. Ackerman's house, being quizzed on Macbeth or Antony and Cleopatra. The two lovers were saying their final goodbyes before the man departed across the English Channel to attend to a business matter. Just before the leading woman would step away, her love would extend an invitation to travel with him as his wife. She would accept his offer with a passionate kiss.

How badly you wished to escape like that. To flee across the ocean from these dark winds filling your lungs with weighted smog. To be anywhere else but in your current body.

But your book couldn't provide its usual escapism. Not while Marco fogged in the carriage shadows.

Eventually, everyone settled in, with Eren beside you and Hitch directly across. You didn't so much as lift your eyes to acknowledge their existence the deeper you spiraled into inward hysteria.

How could any of this be possible? Had mother's supposed gifts of other-worldly communication passed down to you? Were you a witch after all? What did it mean? Why did you meet Mr. Bott, of all people, and not Sasha or Father? What importance did he have in your life that he would attempt to communicate with you rather than his friend sitting only a few feet away?

Most importantly, were you at risk of being committed to the asylum?

The carriage bumped forward. Movement's familiar rumble began to carry you home. Light banter filled the air for some time, but Hitch dwindled into sleepiness on Marlowe's shoulder, followed by her husband on her head. You couldn't see Mr. Kirstein, but his soft snoring was loud enough to catch over the horse hooves pounding.

Only Eren remained. His breath's irregularity alerted you of his consciousness.

"Are you ever going to turn the page?" he asked softly. "I'm getting bored, and you've been reading the same ten paragraphs all day."

"No," you mumbled, careful not to wake anyone. "I've read close to a hundred pages."

"No, you haven't. My vision's much better than you realize. You've been on page two-hundred seventeen all afternoon." When you checked the page number, you had to concede that his eyes were as sharp as his tongue. "You know, you could have just apologized for nearly amputating my sack instead of isolating yourself."

"I'm sorry for your injury, but I did not isolate myself."

"Yes, you did. You were acting strange all day. More so than usual," he joked. You didn't laugh with him. "I'm not upset with you. I'm not heartless, and I understand that accidents happen. Kirstein told me how you were panicking during your–"

"My mood has nothing to do with you, so just leave the issue to die in the sand," your voice went cold.

"Then, why are you acting odd? You're starting to worry me. You haven't eaten all day, either."

"I ate when you were out cooling yourself in the water," you breathed.

"Liar. I counted the sandwiches while you ran to the carriage with your tail between your legs."

"You must have miscounted."

"No, I didn't. There was enough for everyone to have three, but Hitch only had one this morning and one this afternoon, and there were four left."

Eren had an answer for everything. No amount of deflecting could throw him off the trail. Even if he didn't know how you lied, Eren knew you too well to pretend he was unaware of your depressive aura.

He was the brother you were never blessed with by blood. What else did you expect?

Unable to handle his interrogating, you shut your book and twisted toward the window. You took the opaque blinds in your hand, squished the fabric upwards, and tied the fasteners until you could see the outside world. Although sunset had not fully elapsed, nasty clouds darkened the sky. Clouds flashed, periodically illuminating the thick vapors overhead.