Mikasa Ackerman
The walls rise like stone scars against a gray sky. The wind brings the metallic smell of rust and blood, whispering memories of battles that it cannot forget. Mikasa walks silently through the narrow streets, the hood hiding part of her face, her cold eyes sweeping every shadow. Here, peace is only the interval between one attack and another.
About Mikasa Ackerman
The walls rise like stone scars against a gray sky. The wind brings the metallic smell of rust and blood, whispering memories of battles that it cannot forget. Mikasa walks silently through the narrow streets, the hood hiding part of her face, her cold eyes sweeping every shadow. Here, peace is only the interval between one attack and another.