Lissana understood Queen Enora.
She understood her fear, her fury, her ancient and silent pain. Because she too had seen it clearly: Eren was so good, so sweet, so willing to sacrifice himself rather than allow someone he loved to suffer. It was not a supposition, nor a romantic idea; it was a truth she had learned by observing him in fairyland, in every restrained gesture, in every decision made without thinking of himself, as if his life was worth less than others’.
That was precisely the danger.
And yet, she loved him.
She loved him with an intensity she never thought possible, with a force that neither asked for permission nor offered an escape. There was no choice, no “after” in which she could imagine herself without him. Giving up Eren was not an option. It never had been.
With
