ˈ𝒊ɡ.𝒏𝒊𝒔 .

‘‘I don’t have a heart, so I suppose you’re quite correct there.’’ Envy responded, listening to the other speak. His head tilt to the side as he took in his words. About how his inside was probably hideous. Envy couldn’t disagree. As much as he’d like to be human, his true form was a cold reminder as to why he never could be. He wasn’t human. He was a monster. Envy knew that far too well. He could hide it, but he couldn’t change it.

‘‘I could show you what I truly look like, it would prove you right.’‘ He said. No need to hide it. Envy didn’t care if he knew. It was part of who he was. And who he was was something he loved to feign pride over. He loved to make others believe that he was perfectly happy with who he was — the way he was. Because if one lied to others long enough, they believed it themselves. Envy had been wearing that proud homunculus mask for over a decade, nearly two. He’d worn it long enough that it had leeched onto his face, making it nearly impossible to tell that he was even wearing that mask. It had become his face.

‘‘I could tell you if I knew. What makes you think that I know who killed him? Murders happen every day, I don’t have the time nor desire to know everything about them. I know it’s hard to believe — but there are bad people out there too, not just us. We’re not involved with everything. If we were, we would have achieved our goal a long time ago.’‘

          ❝           no,     you don’t 𝑑𝑜 you ?       i’ve seen what’s 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.                                                                              that core of yours,        i know what’s 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.     ❞

       𝐡𝐮𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐬 a folly.       she’d been gleeful in a revelation.       unveiling to the eyes of 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍 men.                             spearing claws through the visage of skin,      ripping through shreds of muscle to show the thing within.                     not a heart.       more than mere muscle. a thing of 𝑓𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑠,           wired through veins amongst flesh.

       he’d held it between hands.     felt as muscle multiplied,     moulding around its 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝖾.

     𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒆𝒕,     liquid in feel,     yet solid to a touch.       𝑡𝘩𝑟𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔,       pulsing with power it radiated.       so many sought out its powers,       they possessed it innately.       birthed from its crystallised depths.

                    ❝         i’m not 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒅 by you.      if that’s your 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭.                                                         you’d only be increasing your surface area.     just more of you to 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚗.         ❞

    true,    then.    bleeds through a visage,      speak of the essence of the thing inside.          seen in glimpses,       held in the fault lines of a flesh.       snippets in irises of something 𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑙.      footing,                                   belying something more than what’s captured in a frame.

brow’s bow. 

           is that all it is ?      a 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝.       a 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟.      slain.         lost through mere human hands.                                              a statistic ?                                   how,     𝒖 𝒏 𝒔 𝒂 𝒕 𝒊 𝒔 𝒇 𝒚 𝒊 𝒏 𝒈.

       ❝       i’ve seen the files.        what he was 𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔.     liore,     ishval.      uprisings.                  philosopher stone’s.       he called me,     then.      𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭...         i thought he realised something.         something 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 didn’t want him to know.          are you saying that that’s 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 to do with you ?        ❞

𝑅𝐴𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁𝐴𝐿𝐼𝑇𝑌

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝗎𝗇𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖺 𝗏𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗎𝖾: 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖺 𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗍 𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝖾𝖿𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝖾𝗈𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄. 𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝖻𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝗂𝗇 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖽𝗎𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉𝖿𝗎𝗅

𝐸𝑋𝐻𝐼𝐵𝐼𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑀

𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾’𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 – 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌, 𝗈𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗈𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿-𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀 𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗇𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿, 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗊𝗎𝖾, 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗌 𝗆𝗒𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇, 𝗍𝗈 𝗃𝗈𝗄𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝖾𝗑𝖺𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝖽𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗌. 𝖳𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖺 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗈𝖿𝖿, 𝗂𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖺 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗒: 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖨𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉.

𝑅𝐸𝑆𝐼𝐿𝐼𝐸𝑁𝐶𝐸

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗒, 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄, 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖺 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗂𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖺 𝗁𝗎𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗂𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖻𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗎𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 – 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌, 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋. 𝖡𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝖽𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖻𝖾 𝗎𝗇𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝖽𝗆𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗂𝖽. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍, 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺 𝗏𝖺𝗅𝗎𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗆: 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗃𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖾𝗒𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗒.

tagged by:   @enviouscore​  thank you !!

          ———-          ❝  for  you  to  speak  in  that  tone  of  voice  to  the  being  that  could  answer  all  your  questions  is  such  vile  thing  to  do  ,  colonel  mustang  .  ❞          she  stands  still  as  ever  ,  a  dead  corpse  held  more  life  in  its  bones  than  her  whole  being  entirely  .           she  watches  the  flames  dance  behind  his  eyes           (  something  memorizing  ,  something  cursed  .  )          she  wishes  the  hush  his  flames  away  &  press  salt  to  the  shredded  wound  .           to  watch  him  revolt  in  both  pain  &  desire  before  choking  on  his  own  ichor  .          his  hubris  would  eventually  cause  him  to  fall  &  she  would  be  there  to  devour  every  second  of  it  .

          annoyed  stare  was  offered  to  the  flame  alchemist  ,  lip  curled  downward  as  the  brisk  night  air  grew  thinner  with  the  atmosphere  .          he  might  be  losing  control  ,  but  lust  remains  unphased  by  his  roars  &  outcries  .         he  was  nothing  more  but  a  child  throwing  a  temper  tantrum  &  lust  ,  by  no  means  ,  was  there  to  back  down  .

          she  would  break  him  even  further  ,  as  much  as  she  would  like  .          repair  him  ,  break  him  ,  repair  ,  break          ———-          he  is  an  object  more  than  cattle  &  know  his  importance  in  father’s  plan  ,  she  would  make  sure  he  remained  as  such  .

           ❝  are  you  finished  ?          i  don’t  have  time  to  watch  a  child  crying  on  the  floor  .          you  are  the  flame  alchemist  ,  remember  ?          or  was  you  defeating  me  more  of  luck  than  of  power  ?          i  would  hate  if  there  is  nothing  more  to  you  than  a  dog’s  bite  .  ❞

          she  knows  the  way  he  barks  ,  knows  the  way  he  bites  ;  but  she  latches  onto  his  agony  anyway          ———-         praying  to  be  the  one  that  drags  him  down  into  the  fiery  pits  of  hell  from  where  she  came  .

          ❝  jean  was  much  more  respectful  ,  that  says  a  lot  ,  don’t  you  think  ?  

        lambs to a slaughter ;     infinitesimal in razored maroon hues.     they walk the tracks,      eyed meat.

      amongst the 𝒔𝒊𝒏 he sworn 𝘩𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛.      felt within bones.     looking upon the gluttonous,      a 𝗺𝗼𝘂𝘁𝗵 sown upon muscle.      he felt humane,     follied,     yet fleshed.       to be faced against such a crude feint,                                    the illusion of humanity.               𝘩𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑡 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑓𝑖𝑒𝑑.

                       born mortal in the company of monsters.     it was almost funny. 

                             tallons rip a pools of sanguine      ;       saline slips among its spilling.

        unseeing of ministrations,       tethering the dancing 𝒻𝑜𝑜𝓁 to their stringing.           whites wide set eclipsing dark irises.        stoicism combusted.       known features turned stranger.      fervid animation,   furrowed brows ;           𝑢𝑔𝑙𝑦 twists of mouth.   something snapping and biting.       playing into toying tallons.  

              ❝   i’m not sure i could kill you 𝒕𝒘𝒊𝒄𝒆.      but.      believe me .                                                                              i’d be more than 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 to 𝘵𝘳𝘺.                            ❞

       a 𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 ;        surrender in a worship.      fall to 𝒉𝒆𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒎 for a 𝚠𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚑,     turn a self over to its mastery.       free fall to fired depths.          flesh peeled.         erase the skin that mars him human.      crumbling form,         grit among knees.         bowing under its 𝗯𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗶𝘀𝗺.      at a mercy.       baleful its chokehold.      air thinning,     stolen by wildfires.  

          loose a face to its feeling.      he cant wear this visage with pride.     

                                      to slip so low,     he wouldnt return.          𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 feet can’t 𝗰𝗹𝗶𝗺𝗯.     

    feet 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 forward,      a half step,    he isn’t aware he’s taken.    nearing toe to toe,  more so than he’d wished. 

     a  knife twist in a spleen.       a toying visceral.      the itch of temptation,     a rash plaguing skin.   𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒄            the loss of a 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 man.        𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 than he.      he failed him,       sworn to breathe last first.     to bleed in his place,              only to 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌 𝚑 as he did in his stead.    because of 𝓱𝓮𝓻.     

                   a gurgle of a laugh.                        alike spitting 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅.

                        a wry look glimpses,         speaking without speaking.   at this point,                                                                                                                                                it isn’t as through they need the words. 

      left to a 𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲.       last nights whiskey still keen on a breath.      a night to wallow,        to fall to knees at the 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒔.        𝚊 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚗𝚘 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚍𝚘𝚖.         the cold light of day knocking a 𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔,            he doesn’t have the time for. 

    showing a hand,         to lose it all.         they’d known.        𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑛.      𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 at the revelation. 

          he’s to be their baying 𝒅𝒐𝒈 once more.      stolen of a pawn,     a rook,     a knight,     a 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒆𝒏.                                      thrown to a 𝘩𝑒𝑒𝑙,       and 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝.      only to bark,     to bite when commanded. 

        stared down,       they saw a bleeding heart.         hands plunging a chest hold it betwixt a vice.    the 𝑖𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑦,           of the one seen as blinded,      to see all too much.      to be read so easily.     𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒇𝒖𝒍,    really.                               the madam taught him better. 

             he’d been a fool,     and they’d paid for the toll of it. 

     a room so sparse,        turned near silent with the absence.        even with the two of them it feels barren.                 pieces ceased,        stashed across the board.       thrown from his hands,     to sit between their own.                                     to be 𝐭𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 with at will.             𝑖𝑡 𝑠𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑛𝑠.   

                 it’s almost 𝒇𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒚.      stuck within the serpents den,     it’s still 𝘩𝑖𝑚 she worries for.   

         weary the eyes,         the ears upon them.          all too willing to wretch yet more at the pieces they hold,                      he smiles. 

     ❝             of course !       i’m just revealing in some newly found solitude.                                        i might actually get to take a real 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘 once in a while,        my previous adjutant was one hell of a  drill sergeant.             ❞

         cocksure a grin pinned across cheeks,         rakish and frivolous.         lounging in a chair,         vehemently not on four legs,        but two.

              ❝  sweet of you to worry about me though lieutenant,    i’m flattered !  ❞

It was impossible. He was lying. There was no way to get their bodies back - to regain what had been lost. People don’t come back from the dead. Not ever.  But was it impossible?  Was it something that couldn’t be done? 

Everyone who sees him seems amazed about what he’s done to save his brother - twisted him into this metal form - but for some reason he’s praised for it - called such words as ‘gifted’ and a ‘genius’; a ‘prodigy’ even.  He was none of those things. He was a failure and a fool. The embodiment of Pride wrapped in human flesh. He was a fool too self absorbed to listen to those around him.  He was a fool who was unwilling to grieve and process the emotions that came with losing his mother. 

Why would I mourn her? Why should I mourn someone I can resurrect? 

People don’t come back from the dead. 

Not Mother. Not Uncle Yuriy or Aunt Sarah and certainly not Alphonse…

He’s killed his brother with his hubris and now all that was left of him was a shell of what was once considered a mere boy. What was once his kin but now no longer - he was a sibling in the sense that their souls still came from the same source but nothing else in common.  Could he even say they were still brothers by blood when he stripped him of even that? 

 A choice?  

Set an wallow in his misery - refusing both food and medication - waiting for the inevitable where his body would finally just submit to it’s needs and he’d be forced to meet them or his body would break down and die. 

What would Al do without him then? 

Would he cry? How could he with such a cold unfeeling body? 

Would he mourn him? Neither of them were very good at that. 

He’d have Winry though - Winry and Granny - but then again they both had them then and look where they were now. 

How could he die when his little brother needed him? 

He swore to himself then that he’d do anything to fix what he’d done. He’d do anything and everything possible to bring Alphonse back to his original self even if he couldn’t wash the sin from his hands. 

He’d never be pure from sin again. 

-

Edward shook his head, blinking a few times as he looked to the side. Gold wide as he stared at his Commanding Officer in silence trying to remember what was said and that they’d been doing. He must be tired to be remembering all those years ago.  

Those long years ago.  

A sigh, and gloves hands are raising to try to wipe the sleep from his eyes. It was a commodity these days after all. Between everything he was asked to do along with the title he carried plus the extra work he took upon himself to reach his own goals - the eldest Elric sibling was what could be described as exhausted. 

A yawn escaped him, shaking his head again like the motion would help snap him back to reality.  That was years ago, and he was no longer trapped in the prison that was once his wheelchair.  No he’d traded all that for limbs of steel in order to reach his goal. 

He wiped his face with his right hand before giving his superior an awkward look with an as equally awkward smile. 

“I’m sorry Colonel. What were we talking about?” 

     these boy’s have seen 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒍,      of that he holds no doubt.      felt it’s 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔,       𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 upon flesh.                  perished somewhat under its fires.       starred upon its abyss and felt it’s gaze 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚕 back.

     he once told him what it meant to choose this path.     feet ploughing forward,      𝑛𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝘩𝑎𝑡.                        measured steps never faulting.      no matter what lied ahead.      striding through 𝒎𝒖𝒅.       entrenched in its claggy grips.      feet must be unyielding.     never faulting at a hurdle,       not matter their 𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔. 

     cataloging the difference’s.       taking stock of the intricacies anchored among flesh.        that small 𝒔𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒑 of a boy confined to a chair is gone.      sunken cheeks lost a 𝘴𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴,      something of 𝑠𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 among skin.                     the years hang over shoulders,      heavily,     like an extra layer,     above 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 else.      weighted rings still hang around irises.         hues still hold a 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.         the traces that of the spirit,         the kind that made him 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆 in the kid.

    there’s still a 𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚝,     a 𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑙𝑡,     a 𝐬𝐢𝐧,     splashed among a soul.      something that time will never resolve,       only an 𝒂𝒃𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏.      the will to find that absolution,       that’s what he see’s in those eyes.       the same look hollowed among his own.

                    ❝   attentive as always i see 𝔣𝔲𝔩𝔩𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔞𝔩.    ❞ 

    he looks tired.     the kind that burns achingly behind eyes,      no matter their closing.       the kind that not matter a rest,         lingers amongst bones,       set far too deeply within them to leave so simply.

      pains of 𝒔𝒚𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒚 could be pulled from depths,      but he 𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙨 their stirrings.        sympathies would earn them nothing.      he can’t take those step’s for them.        he can only aid in pushing them 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑑.

      ❝    we were discussing your latest little 𝑑𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 to the east -------  i see,    this time,     only 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟 the city was left in ruins.       you’re losing your touch.     ❞      there’s a scold amongst such mockery.     ❝     i’m hoping after all that 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒔 you have 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 to show of yourself.       the intel was fairly promising.  ❞

      whispers,    they always are.        of some maddened fool attempting the impossibly the thing of fables.                    they chase them all the same.