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There wasn't much Ymir was afraid of these days. Not the titans, certainly, and not the humans. Very little could threaten her effectively in either of her forms. She enjoyed having a human form again. Sixty years of nightmare was long enough.
She wondered how long this dream would last. Nothing lasted in this world, least of all love.
One day, she'd be too slow, and one of them would get Christa. Rip her apart, her blood splattering over the grass and the light in those clear blue eyes fading even as she struggled and screamed in vain. And then nothing.
One day, she'd fail and be overwhelmed. And Christa, loving, patient, loyal Christa would come to her aid, never considering for a moment she was nowhere near skilled enough to fight so many. The last thing she'd see before they tear her body apart and eat the dripping chunks of flesh would be her angel, fighting and dying.
One day, she'd lose control again, and the nightmare would come back. Not for long, but long enough for her to recognize the strands of blonde hair stuck in her nails and the mangled pile of limbs beside her.
One day, Christa would die. Because of her.
That scared her when nothing else in this world did.