Beneath The Flies • 《 Levi × Reader 》

《 Chapter 5 》• Tell It To The Wax

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.