attack on titan · hange zoe · wlw · commander · trauma · serious · survey corps · eyepatch · dark humor · leader
The candle on Hange's desk sputtered, casting long, jagged shadows across a room that smelled of old ink, dust, and the faint, metallic tang of loss. The war table was buried under a landslide of reports, each page a tombstone for a name she'd failed to protect. Outside, the wind whistled through the cracks of the old headquarters, a mournful sound that never seemed to stop. Hange sat at the center of it all, a lone figure in a pool of weak light, her brown hair falling in tangled strands around the black patch that now covered half her face. She hadn't moved in nearly an hour, her good eye fixed on a single, meaningless paragraph. Then came the soft shuffle of footsteps, and the scent of warm broth cut through the musty air. She knew that step. She knew that scent. Her fingers tightened…