Levi peers inside the envelope for a few seconds before pulling out the contents: an old brown and white photograph, the decoratively cut edges of which press softly against his fingertips as he holds it gently and stares. Against a simple background the camera has captured a man and a woman, both young and modestly dressed with serious expressions on their faces. She sits in a chair, straight-backed in her white shirt and long, dark skirt while he stands beside her, wearing what Levi can easily guess is his best suit, and holding a wide-brimmed hat. “You have her eyes,” Erwin whispers, pointing at the woman’s face. “See? And her nose.” Levi turns the photograph around to see the black ink markings on the back: Kenny and Kuchel, 1919. “Where did you get this?” His words are hardly more than a gasp. “It wasn’t easy to find,” Erwin admits, “but I did help develop the filing system. You can retrace many steps when you know how the information moves and where it’s kept.” Levi turns the photograph around again and keeps staring, his eyes glued to the woman – his mother. Levi feels as though he needs to make himself believe it really is her, that this is how she looked when he was born, maybe how she still looked not long before she started to waste away. What Erwin said is true: she has the same eyes and the same nose that Levi sees when he looks at himself in the mirror. Her dark hair is fitted on top of her head in an elaborate array of braids; it makes her neck look longer, Levi suddenly remembers her telling someone, a woman from their neighbourhood who sometimes brought him apples when she visited. In a flash he recalls a score of other memories, of his mother brushing her long hair, how far it fell down her back when she plaited it, how she used to tickle his face with the tassel formed by the tips.
Our basic attempt to cosplay as Kuchel and Kenny Ackerman as written by @hedera-helixwriteseruri in Dresden
Kuchel, make up, edit - me Kenny, important hair assistant, location music and food provider - Near very casually and out of character-ly listening to blasting Epica’s Divine Conspiracy album to pump me up while trying to brush my hair with his help and relieve excitement and stress only to headbang next and make the hairclips jump and having to fix them back again for the next photo And yes the book is obviously the one you’re thinking
