chapter two.
memories are a fickle thing.

YEAR 850.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Memories are a fickle thing. Lune remembers how delicious Ma's apple pie was, she continues to crave it on most days, and she truly misses Ma's cooking. She remembers the first and last time Pa ventured outside the walls. And she remembers when she met Levi, the year before the Fall of Wall Maria, in the Underground City. But she doesn't remember the last words they exchanged before everything between them felt better left unsaid, and untouched, no one utters a word about what was and what might have been. It hurts. She knows she had said something she shouldn't have, but it's too late to take it back now. It hurts. She knows if only she had let him in, had let herself be vulnerable then maybe they wouldn't pass by like strangers as they do now.

⠀⠀⠀⠀It hurts.

⠀⠀⠀⠀It really hurts.

⠀⠀⠀⠀But she would hurt rather than not feel anything at all. What she would give to rewind time and take it all back. But enough time has passed and the memories have become fickle. Memories are a fickle thing, and so is love. In a better world, (define: better.) would the wound not exist? Will the memories be vivid and clear? Would love be less painful?

⠀⠀⠀⠀(In a better world, would she be a better person? Would she? Better in what way? Lune Sion had grown up knowing death, and it had taken her father. Pa had devoted his life to humanity and believed that there are people who deserve to be saved. But what good is it to be a hero and believe in humanity if humanity does not believe in heroes?

⠀⠀⠀⠀Lune, despite having her father's eyes, never looks at anything the same way Pa does. He saw humanity as deserving of salvation, but all Lune sees in humanity is greed, which drives people into an unrelenting, vicious cycle of violence. What good is violence if it does not bring about peace? (What good is violence at all?) What good is a better world if the pain does not make her stronger?

⠀⠀⠀⠀In a better world, Lune would be grateful for the pain because it is what makes humanity stronger. In a better world, Lune Sion wouldn't be twice as thick-skinned as she is now. Lune Sion needs a better world, but does a better world need her? Yes, says a voice that isn't her own. Yes, it repeats. Although memories can be fickle, she will never forget that voice. He's always out of reach, just one step away, but she never takes that step.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Even if she can't get close, it's a better world with him in it.)

⸻

⠀⠀⠀⠀Lune closes her mouth, throat burning. She's been hanging on by a thread lately. She's tired, but not the tired where all she wants to do is sleep, the tired where all she wants is for these so-called men to simply disappear. Or die in their sleep. She couldn't give a damn. She gives up because the men in front of her won't listen to her anyway. The fact that useless men are lazing around and getting drunk in broad daylight is the least of her concerns. She scoffs as one of them passes out, his cup clattering to the ground. If they want to live that kind of life, she can't complain; she had known what she was getting herself into when she left the Scout Regiment, and there's no turning back now.

⠀⠀⠀⠀She walks away, sighing heavily. She hates how familiar these streets are, and how she knows almost every face she sees. Lune strolls through the streets of Stohess, the place where she was born and raised, the place that's full of countless memories; good or bad. She misses the days of her youth, being a carefree child because she had known nothing of the harsh truths of the world. Now, crimson blood stains the hands of what once was a hopeful soul. That flame of hope within her soul had died—been extinguished—and now it's as if it never existed. Too many lives have been lost, too many souls have been tainted, and too many children are forced to grow up far too soon—their days of youth ruined.

⠀⠀⠀⠀It seems her feet took her to the place she's missed, and almost forgot about. A house full of countless memories. A house of ghosts. Lune halts, turning to look at the house. It appears lifeless, empty, hollow. She wants to believe her mother would have kept it as her property, but it has been reduced to nothing more than sentimental value as the house has weathered over the years to resemble a skeleton. Not in regard to how it looked, but of how it felt. She can't remember what the house used to look like, back when she still lived there. Maybe she never will because it's been too long, and memories are fickle, ever-changing.

⠀⠀⠀⠀(Lune hasn't spoken to her mother in almost a decade. Just the other day Lune found out she has a sister—half-sister—but Lune doubts her half-sister is aware of her existence, let alone learned it from Ma (in her nine years of life). Maybe it's better this way. Lune doubts she'd be a good sister anyway.)

⠀⠀⠀⠀All that remains is a hollow skeleton, waiting for someone, anyone, to fill the void left by Pa's death. Before his death, they were happy. That was all she ever needed. Now, she yearns for rest because an ache in her bones doesn't seem to go away with each passing day. All she'll ever need right now is rest. But she never rests easy, not like she did in that house. Not like she did when Pa was still alive. (And not like she did when he was still there, always beside her.)

⠀⠀⠀⠀When will she finally be okay?

⠀⠀⠀⠀(Like she was when she still had him.)

. . . YUMI SPEAKS!

this chapter is shorter than i intended with only about 980 words but ANYWAYS ... i've finally updated after NINE months of leaving this fic to collect duct (smh). a little 'nod'(?) to the previous chapter i guess, sorta, kinda ?? but yeah, i hope you enjoyed this chapter!

( unedited )

PUBLISHED ⸻ 11/03/2023