𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 | 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧

𝐕 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲

Carla Yeager raised you as one of her own children after your mother passed. Part of you always questioned whether she secretly hoped that Eren had been born a girl with how prepared she was to love you. Growing up, she would divulge every piece of women's gossip to you, teach you how to act like a proper lady, as well as prepare you for the less glamorous parts of being a grown lady. She even guided you through your first menstruation, which was unbelievably traumatic due to Eren's belief that you were hemorrhaging your way to an early death. The boy passed out, forcing his father to attend to him, while you sobbed into his mother's skirts, screaming how you were cursed.

And you joined Eren in the black pit of unconsciousness a full two minutes after he hit the floor.

Mrs. Yeager was also a very beautiful woman who ensured all her beauty tricks were passed down directly to you. She taught you how to curl and braid your hair and how to reduce the appearance of wrinkles and pores with odd-smelling creams and tonics. Lastly, Mrs. Yeager always emphasized the importance of a tightly-pinched waist in every dress so that one's womanly figure would entice even the most devout disciple.

So, as you gasped for air and your friend's mother pulled your laces tightly that your eyes bulged, you breathlessly wished you had been born a man.

"Just a bit more, sweetheart. Your dress will fit you better than your own skin," Mrs. Yeager assured you. The constrictions ceased their worsenings a moment later, and a slight give allowed some air back into your lungs. "There. All done," she said, dusting her hands together. "I still wish you picked the pink dress. It suits your skin so much better, and your work on the appliqué is perfect."

Taking the most massive breath of your life, you huffed, "But this blue dress better suits my intentions for the evening."

"And what intentions are those? To be forgotten in the crowd? To have no man ask you to dance? To be stuck with my sons all night?"

"Exactly."

You didn't attend parties to find a husband like Hitch or eat the night away like Eren, nor did you go to act like a lady and socialize with higher members of society. You went to haunt the ballrooms' every corner for gossip that seeped through each conversation. The flowing fountains of wines and spirits loosened people's tongues, allowing them to be far less careful with their speech. In only nineteen years, you had been privy to it all, from secret affairs to murder conspiracies to bitter family rivalries, thanks to your constant sneaking. You might save a few dances for Eren once you were both piss drunk to make a mess of the night, but other than that, your goal was to discover as many secrets as possible before Hitch's new family sent you home on a donkey.

Knocks echoed through the chamber as Mrs. Yeager adjusted your skirt's humble cage. Eren glided into the room, his dark suit hiding his boyish charm. His long hair was tied back neatly with one of your many red ribbons, and his cheeks were free of their usual dust and dirt. For the first time in your life, he appeared in front of you as a man.

He offered you his hand, and you gave him the deepest, most exaggerated curtsy you could muster. "Are you ready to leave, my princess? Zeke'll be miffed if we take any longer. You know how he is about time."

"She's almost ready." Mrs. Yeager secured two pins to your head to lock a loose braid into place. "There. Nothing should fall out. Now, come see your reflection."

Mrs. Yeager clasped her hands over your shoulders and walked you to her dressing room's massive mirror. She made you spin around a few times to see your dress's movement and the hair's softness.

"Thank you, Mrs. Yeager. You've made me look wonderful," you applauded her work.

"A strong canvas makes a beautiful painting. Go tell that to your rude artist."