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Summary
Armin sits up. A cold moon sends a slice of light through Eren's loft window. It's still early spring, and it's cold. He's got on extra socks, a thick nightshirt and a grey wool knitted cap on his head. In a while, the sun will rise and the sounds of daily life will ground him, offer him their rhythm and distract him from the murmurs beneath his skin, the shivers of ancient dreams reawakening; the voices in the bone.
"Something is not right," he says softly. And he means that nothing is right; not the subtle changes in his palate, the way colours now appear to him, the way books whisper to him. Even his skin smells different.
Series
- Part 4 of Voices In The Bone
