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Summary
“Oh god,” she choked out. “Oh my god, Ymir. I… Oh god…”
Ymir’s brows furrowed deeply. She let go of Historia’s hands and cupped her cheeks, thumbs brushing off the dried splatters of blood across Historia’s pale white skin.
“Before anything else, are you hurt?”
Historia swallowed, choked down bile, and shook her head. “I’m fine. The blood is—it’s not mine.”
At that, Ymir gave her an odd crooked grin. “I mean,” she glanced over her shoulder, her brown skin lightening as she paled at the sight behind her. “I guessed as much, from the dead body on the floor.”
or
Historia kills someone. Ymir is the only person she calls.