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Desiderata	By : RiekaDeVolka Category: Fullmetal Alchemist > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1364 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Desiderata
- 1
Title: Desiderata.

Beta: DramaQueen,
Dynast, jadedsilk (LJ) and n0_leaf_clover (LJ).

Rating:
NC-17, for philosophical disclosure, psychological discussion, sex,
character death, suicide and general queerness.

Genre:
Angst, PWP?

Pairings:
Edward/Envy.

Feedback:
Please! Feed my crazy!

Word
Count: +/- 10 470.

Quote: �It
belongs to the imperfection of everything human that man can only attain his
desire by passing through its opposite.� ~Soren Kierkegaard.

Summary: Desire is the rational expression of an
irrational yearning.

Notes:
My very first attempt at writing seriously in English. Because Zoe kept
rambling on how terrible my Fanfiction is. Darker than my usual work, which is
saying something. If I don�t go to hell for this, I�ll never will. This fanfic
was inspired by many things, one of them being hieronymousb's awesome story,
"Wasteland"; reading one of my favorite Poe stories, "The Black
Cat"; listening to Apocalyptica's "Unforgiven" and generally,
rereading my essay, "Desire, A Gateaway To Insanity", from which the
quotes between scenes come from. (That means the quotes also belong to me, so
be kind and do not take them without permission.)

~�~�~

Desiderata.

~�~�~

�Only one thing
has puzzled humanity longer than Time itself, and it is the urge to undo past
wrongs and wrong past rights; the insatiable desire to overcome ourselves and
what we have been before.�

~�~�~

Reality seemed to slumber peacefully
under the lulling hum of summer rain, devoid of color or expression as Time
slowly dripped away, one drop after another, following the ethereal movement of
the thin black hands in the mahogany clock. The numbers were decorated with pretentious
care, each swirl of faded ink drawing a line between the eternal and the
ephemeral, ultimately dissolving into an orchestrated sonata to eternity. The
roman numerals, wide and ageless, stared blankly at the monotonous silence,
rather than breaking it with each perfectly synchronized movement, further
sinking the room into it.

The young man sat comfortably on the
ornate bed, idly tasting the strange awkwardness of the coverlet with his palm
as his eyes, glinting amber in the shifting shadows of the room, fixed tiredly
over the ancient clock. He followed each line, eccentric and irrational as it
were, noting distantly the recherch� work done on the stubborn wood. A hundred
and one lives before, he would have been all over himself, delighted in the beautiful
machinery and trying to understand its basic principle, its reason for
existance. Now, all he could do was follow the movement attentively and hope
that for some karma debt well overdue, Time would hurry up and his enslavement
to the bedside would end before the line between Patient and Victim could blur
and he let himself be dragged by the sudden urge
to kill.

Edward found this new notion of self
control terribly ironic, especially when he took a moment to contemplate the
very reason for his inner turmoil.

Envy looked like a rag doll, hastily
put together and thrown carelessly over the soft bedding, for all intents and
purposes, dead to the world. His unnaturally waxen complexion stood against the
tendrils of dark hair that absolutely refused to be confined into a braid.
Edward knew, he wasted nearly two hours trying to tame the wild mess of green
strands into a decent order; every day, after a tedious session of cleaning
cold sweat off the ashen white skin. Envy, of course, was unresponsive and
uncooperative, even in the depths of catalepsy, and the struggle the blond had
gone through to ensure that his former mortal enemy stayed within the relative
realm of comfort had been titanic.

Finally, after an eternity that
hadn�t last more than a few hours, the ancient clock chimed four times, the
hollow sound bouncing off the walls with an eerie strength that made the young
Elric shiver inwardly. With paused movements, he stood up and couldn�t resist
the urge to smoother the fabric of the bed one last time before he walked
slowly to the door, footfalls heavy. Twisting the handle with his left hand, he
risked one last glance to the room. The dark blue wallpaper, adorned with white
lines in a complex yet tasteless design, attracted his gaze magnetically, but
he soon moved on to the rest of the luxurious space. His eyes traveled over the
dark mahogany furniture, all following the same abstract pattern of swirling
wood that lent it an oppressive air of wealth. The curtains were drawn, keeping
the early afternoon away, hidden behind the thick velvet that hung listlessly
from the ceiling. He commited everything to memory, to the last minute detail,
in hopes that the next time he came, something, anything would be different, that the absurd monotony
would break. When he closed the door, he locked it out of habit, and walked
down the corridor towards the staircase with a certain defeated arch to his
spine.

Edward knew it was a lost case, but
he had made a choice, and he simply could not fail. He was trying hard to
redeem his Father from his guilt, and maybe find a place for himself in the
strange world he had landed on in the process.

Envy remained unmoving and unaware,
and only the periodic whimper of the clock broke the overwhelming silence in a
room that was owned entirely by Death.

~�~�~

�Desire is the
rational expression of an irrational yearning.�

~�~�~

The analytical properties of the
mind, the ability to see beyond the tangible and flirt with the world of ideas,
the understanding of cause and effect; they are said to be the defining line
between animal and men, the most treasured ability of them all. Some argue this
theory, of course, pointing out the importance of imagination and active
creativity in the development of a healthy psyche. Yet, few consider an excess
of either to be a curse, the crushing weight which will eventually shatter the
mind into a thousand sharp edges and angles without a defined order. Fewer even
have had the misfortune of see brilliance turn into madness by the snapping
force of time.

Edward Elric was one of the few whose
terrible fate was to witness the slow destruction of genius, to stand
helplessly as mind was sundered from body; leaving behind only an incomplete
attempt at humanity that was so painfully familiar he dared not to take it out
of its misery.

The rational part of his mind knew he
could not blame the circumstances on anyone, not even on Envy. His father had
made a choice and he had known of the consequences that would surely follow his
bold attempt to meddle with the very laws that held the world in order. Those
were no different in this
world than they had been back home. England � as they called the country � was
slowly recovering from a war Edward recalled faintly, from a reality that
tasted like the most convincing lie ever told. This was a place where his
father had ascended to the peak of nobility with a startling ease. He had
become a Lord, respected and admired, with a political voice and a hand in
almost everything he could� or at least, he had been, before.

Before they had found him, starving, miserable and dying,
trapped into a reptilian body, slowly withering to nothing under the weight of
his own existence.

Before his Father decided it was time
to correct past wrongs and tip the balance back into place.

Before he broke his mind in exchange
of the son he had lost four hundred years prior.

The visceral part of Edward, the
imprudent voice that demanded harsh and quick answers to every question,
twisted over itself in anger. It was a strange hum in his very bones, unlike
anything he had ever felt in his life. It was not the scorching hatred he had
felt for Dante or the buzzing irritation that Mustang used to instill in him.
No, it was darker, colder. A gust of icy wind that made his lungs heavy with
realizations of broken promises and lost hopes, bitterness pooling underneath
his tongue at the sheer unfairness
of the whole matter. He had lost his life
to the Gate, without even a chance to know if his efforts had even been worth
it. He had lost his brother, safely trapped across the wretched portal, and who
must have thought he had died and his own sacrifice had been in vain. He had
lost� lost�

Edward rubbed his face roughly with
the slightly oversized sleeve of his coat, drying the tears before they had a
chance to moist his eyes and bit down his lips fiercely, concentrating in the
lines of the ancient book before him.

He had work to do, a charade to keep
up. For the sake of everyone involved, he could not allow himself to be
distracted by pointless touchy feelings. It had been almost two years anyway,
if he knew the man � and he did
� the bastard would probably be all over someone else already. Edward felt a
tingle of unease crawl his spine, clawing around his back with icy fingers as
he thought about him with someone else. He would, of course, because there was
no commitment between them, no words of fidelity or vows of silly romantic
nonsense, because they just weren�t the type. They had been compromised enough
with all they had been risking by their time together.

�-And to stabilize the equation�
fascinating.�

Life was not fair. The Gate was not
fair. Edward set his jaw in a hard angle, and pretended not to see the man
walking in circles and talking gibberish nonsense. He dutifully slid the pen
over the paper, forging the stylish signature with practiced skill, immune to
the soft exclamations from his companion. Letters from the King, asking
opinions about the war and the conflict in Eastern Europe, the steadily growing
incidents in Germany. The King, worrying over His health and His
son. The King, a silly clueless man who couldn�t really tell right from left
without asking for council.

Royalty, he had found, was just as
overrated in this realm as it had been back home.

�The snow is rather beautiful, isn�t
it Trisha? I should take the boys outside sometime.�

Edward Elric smiled thinly as his
father smiled softly at the empty corners full of memories and unseen specters.
For a moment, as he dared to glance in the general direction of the wide
windows, it was as if his own ghosts � of smirking bastards and smiling blondes
� were waiting for him behind the polished glass.

~�~�~

�One cannot desire
what one possess already, for in wanting lays the lacking, and in obtaining the
realization of yet another yearning.�

~�~�~

Breaking the deceptively fragile
tendrils that hold one�s psyche within slumber is very much like swimming in
the artic. Everything feels numb and perceptions don�t match the reality they
are supposed to measure. A bit like Alchemy, the world is distorted in its very
limits and the lines that separate the possible from the factual twist and blur
so badly, will becomes the only logical force with which one can attempt to
conquer his own mind.

For Envy, the tidal wave of
sensations that crashed upon him left him breathless. His abused senses twisted
around themselves, creating such a cacophony of feelings that he keened against
the pillow, curling tightly around himself. The very rustle of the sheets
against his bare skin was maddening and he swore he could taste the dust in the
air. Opening his eyes but a slit, he bit his lips against the sudden flare of
pain, coiling around his spine like a vice, and moaned miserably. Even in the
dim lit room, his eyes felt unused, rusty, as if they had never been opened
before. He tried to sit up, but his muscles felt heavy and his movements were
torpid at best, barely achieving a twitch. A hand wound into his hair, gently
lifting his head until a cup was pressed against his lips. The water lapped
against them insistently until he allowed himself to take a sip, feeling it
soothe the raw skin of a throat that had not yet uttered the first war cry. The
hands left after a moment, letting him fall against the satin of the sheets
with a gentleness that surprised him by its coldness, before they returned with
a determination that scared him just a little.

Envy wasn�t sure what was happening.
The world around him decided to spin merrily to music no one could hear, colors
and shapes distorted into a surrealist impression of a reality he had no
control of. He felt hands on his skin, lukewarm hands that rubbed something
oily over the knotted muscles that were simply refusing to move at his demand.
He tasted the awkwardness behind the jerking gestures, feeling every tug and
pinch as a scream and a yell that were ruthlessly pushed away by sheer will. He
heard the uneven breathing, marking movements that were forcefully made slowly,
the inherent test of resistance in each gesture. He smelled the unearthly mix
of hatred and lilacs, brushing his nostrils with a teasing promise of pain. But
when he opened his eyes, when he forced his bruised retinas to take the dim
light of the room, he saw despair wrapped in spun golden threads, amber
promises stored behind the impassive face of his caretaker.

In that moment, as the hands
retreated again, leaving him shivering and helpless and strangely dissatisfied,
as he heard the potent footfalls muted against the plush carpet, as the
damnable clock let out a drowned scream, as the door closed and the lock
clicked� then, then Envy knew he was doomed.

~�~�~

�Duty and Desire
are as incompatible as oil and water, selfish and selfless, God and Man.�

~�~�~

There is no moment in life when a man
is as vulnerable and strong as when he bares his deepest desires, his most
innocent wishes for Fate to judge and choose whether to grant or deny them.
Nothing can create a tyrant quite like being granted what his heart ambitions.
Nothing can destroy a saint like being denied what he craves the most in life.
Tyrant or saint, either and both are made and unmade by Fate, by the capricious
flow of cause and consequence, the delighted dance of coincidence that makes
Life a bit less dull each day. Yet there are instants, mere shadows of time,
where the line between true evil and honest good will are broken, twisted and
sewed together into a tapestry that makes even the most cold hearted Gods weep.

Edward had learned, under the cruel
tutelage of Life, that nothing comes for free, and that payment is never fair.
Love had made him lose part of his body and his brother. Love had led him down
the road that left his mother�s memory tainted and his father�s mind crushed.
All had been done with love, for
love� because he had been na�ve enough to believe in fairy tales and stories
about miracles, of men that could do anything, men who would stop at nothing�
men like his father.

But his father was gone, wasn�t he?
Because surely, surely that miserable shell of mad words and stoic
contemplation against a world that did not exist anymore, that could not be his
father. His father was gone and he was alone and shamed. He had two hands and
two legs and while he appeared to be whole, he lived in the struggle to feel
complete; with a burden that was his own by choice and the weight of a broken
promise waiting at the other side of the Gate.

He glanced at the tall clock in the
far corner � why were there so many of them in the manor? Wrenched soldiers of
Time judging him with pointed fingers and reproving echoes� � and heaved a
sigh. In a quarter of hour, the ritual would begin and with it, the consuming
struggle to remain sane amidst the chaos. He was but the ashes left from
glories and victories long gone, and which had been so portentous, so bright,
that they had burnt themselves and left him broken in a world that was not his
own, living a life that was not his own. He remembered a certain pair of black
eyes, whose owner had warned him of the outcomes of his quest, of how he would
become trapped in a society that demanded him, tried to call him theirs. And
then, when he had denied them, he had been destroyed and his bones had been
preserved behind a pretty crystal so future generations could learn from his
mistake.

Edward bit his lip.

Roy Mustang had tried to warn him. He
had yelled and hissed and screamed and kissed and fucked, but he had never
managed to get through him, to make him see.
Now Edward understood what he had meant, and he could almost picture his own
skeleton behind the glass, proclaiming to the world the utter failure he had
been.

�Young Master?� The door creaked as a
sliver of warmth from the corridor entered the frigid study and the head of the
ageless butler passed through, shyly.

�Thank you, Arthur, I know,� Edward
smiled a grimace at the man, and he placed the pen down, folding the letter
carefully. He stood up slowly, weighted down by a resignation that broke the
old man�s heart every time the dull eyes fixed on him with that awkward tilt of
lips, �I know.�

Grey eyes watched silently as the
blonde walked almost ceremoniously down the corridor: his back could not have
been more stiff, even if he were walking down towards execution. And though
Arthur Coppice had had his due of terrible monsters that society wrongly called
Lords, he knew no other that had held such suffering in his eyes as the young
blonde that always forced a smile for his sake.

~�~�~

�Time is but a
collage of memories and slices of our past, views on events that are not shared
by anyone else, for no one ever saw quite the same thing we did. If you offer a
man what he desires the most in life, in exchange of the cacophonic disorder
that are his memories, few would realize that along the bargain, they would
lose the will to want.�

~�~�~

It has been said that the mind is
little more than a storing room of memories and past experiences that forge our
views on a harsh world that has little consideration for mistakes. Every second
counts in the end, from the strangest conundrum to the simplest riddle, every
corner and twist and slope of Time drowns the mind into the intersection
between what Is, what Should Be and what Wants To Be. Wise men know these
labyrinths in their psyche; they spend countless hours exploring them all until
they can say without fear who they are. Pitiful men lived their time on earth
like animals, unconscious and uncaring of the noble, higher purpose of their
existence.

Envy was neither wise nor pitiful,
hiding the discordant notes of his symphonic life under the dissimulation of
true hatred.

He was many things. Cruel when he had
the time, snide if he was bored, forceful when he was denied something and
utterly heartless when he was confronted with the past. He had lived the better
part of those four centuries alone with a Master that care none for him or who
he used to be, but it was the best a thing like him � because Dante had said
so: he would always be a useful pretty thing, but a thing nonetheless � could ever hope for. Dante had used
and abused him, there had been nothing too low for him to do, nothing too
degrading or humiliating, if she ordered it. He could bend and twist to fit her
schemes, because he had his strength to back his words, but she had the past to
back up her threats. And that was enough for Envy to accept bowing to her every
once in a while, biting back vile words and accusations. After all, she was his
Master and he was her Servant, and there was no way around it.

He had always been respected, too. As
the older Homunculus and the holder of a power that seemed to grow with time,
there was no one who really wanted to challenge him. Failures like Greed or Wrath
tried, but they were uncommon and always sorted
out with a frightening ease. He had had his power and his strength
since he could remember waking up on the cold stones of a dungeon, screeching
and hoping someone would be kind enough to put him out of his misery as his
deformed body had tried to reshape itself properly. Afterwards � because there
was nothing before that
stormy September night, nothing
� vulnerable had been a foreign concept that could only apply to the woeful
humans he killed every once in a while.

But the one thing Envy had never been
before, was helpless. Or rather, he had never been after becoming Envy. That slip of a blonde, sickly and
miserable had been born to die and be forgotten as the useless rag doll he had
been. But not Envy. Envy was perfection and style and beauty; all blending into
a lethal predator that made no mistakes. He was the epitome of control, self
and otherwise, no matter what others thought. He could hold out a killing with
infinite patience and he could snap a neck before the owner had a chance to
blink.

To put it simply, the idea of being
vulnerable and helpless was completely new to Envy.

And that only made it much more
distressing to realize he was stuck into his current shape, when said shape was
behaving suspiciously like a frail mortal
thing and he honestly felt like a shit bag barely held
together to resemble something human. Naturally, the first reaction had been
anger, and he clung onto it as if his life � the irony � depended on it, but if there was one thing Envy
definitely was not, was a
coward. Admitting he was only
angry at his situation would have been cowardice, so after the first few days
of awareness, after seething so much he felt he was going to spontaneously
combust by the sheer power of his hatred, he dared to take a peek a bit deeper,
and he didn�t like what he found.

He was, honest to that God he didn�t
believe in, afraid. Terrified, actually. He was helpless, utterly so, and
in the hands, literally, of the one person he hated the most in the world,
apart from Him. A hatred that
seemed to grow to colossal proportions; every day, every touch, every look
adding another drop to the already overflowing glass. And the fucking brat had the nerve to remain impassive,
touching without really thinking about it, running his stupidly chubby fingers
all over his body and smearing that goddamn oil that shouldn�t have felt that good on his
tired muscles; cleaning him with such a delicate brush of cloth it made goose
bumps brake out all over his traitorous
skin. Yet, even afraid as he was, Envy was stubborn, and he absolutely refused
to make the blonde�s job, whatever it might be, easier. He was the Ultimate Actor, and power or no
power, he made a rather good interpretation of a comatose body, good enough he
was sure the blonde annoyance never knew when he was truly unconscious � that
had been a most unnerving episode, to suddenly be awaken by cold water in a
bathtub, being fondled by that idiot
� or if he was faking it.

Envy ignored that tiny voice within
him that told him he was being as mature as a child with his vindictive streak,
since that was the stupid voice that usually complained when he ripped a man�s
spleen clean out off the body.

They often say humans are nothing but
pride and good will, and given the nonsensical situations that had given birth
to the monster that called himself Envy, he didn�t expect himself to have much
of the so called good will. He was being petty, and it made him even angrier,
feeding the cycle as the Oroborus fed itself. He was angry because it was a low
blow at his pride, the one thing that had kept him alive and going for the last
four hundred years. His pride demanded retribution, and he acted with what he
could, which was not much. And so and so forth, until he felt he would implode
with what little pride remained within him, taking the haughty rascal with him.

Helpless, prideless, seething,
isolated and afraid, he failed to notice the strange almond scent that heralded
the arrival of Edward and his little bottle of oil.

~�~�~

�Yet, lets suppose
it goes the other way, that when you deny a man what he desires the most, he
will accept it and move on, that his wants will eventually be outgrown by his
matured nature. Then you would have a perfect army of Buddha, and not a single
cynic to criticize it.�

~�~�~

If you wish to hold a man prisoner,
open the doors wide enough for the world to see, to be seen, and let the early
morning breeze into the room. If you wish to lead a man away, close the doors
and make the world blind to the egregious comfort you provide for your guest.
This is ancient science, born from the stubborn nature of those who insist good
manners are the best mask with which one can hide the Truth.

Flicking his eyes on the clock�s
blank face, Edward wondered not for the first time about his limited knowledge
of human behavior and the strange social needs of his own species. Still deep
in thought, he placed the embellished tray on the nightstand, silverware
clinking almost cheerfully as he ran a finger over the rim of a dainty cup.
With a decidedly nihilist detachment, he checked the room to be in order before
he left, dragging his tired frame away, least Envy decided to break his silence
and finally snap something that would force Edward to break his own oath. With
one last general look at the room and its horrible wallpaper, the blonde closed
the door and the sound of the lock sliding into place echoed emptily into the
room.

Edward always locked the door after
he was done tending to Envy. After spreading the clear oil all over the pale
skin, he would clean his hands with a small towel and stalk out of the room in
silence. The former Homunculus never tried to speak with him, and the blonde
never bothered to break the silence, thus the routine became even more tedious
after his patient regained consciousness, since now he had to spend precious
time alert and prepared for any unexpected movement from his �guest�, rather
than wasting it away in perpetual contemplation. He tended to Envy�s body and
tried as much as he could to ignore everything pertaining to his mind; he had
no need for more morass situations to deal with.

Envy hadn�t yet taken the trouble to
slid out of bed � aside basic necessities that were no one�s business � but that day, as
the lock whined pathetically and the stoic footfalls echoed down the corridor,
the former Sin reached a conclusion: he had to get out of whatever theatre of
madness he had fallen into. Following the most obstreperous impulse, he threw
the covers off his body, mildly confident now that his limbs had decided to
actually obey him for a change. He was, however, morbidly aware that despite
his extended quiescence, his body seemed unable to breach a certain barrier in
rehabilitation. His muscles felt tired and even in bed, sometimes he felt air
missing and his lungs lurching forcefully, leaving him gasping quietly as he
tried to recover some sense of composure.

It only served to strengthen the
determination that he needed to escape, get away from the unvoiced accusations
in the golden eyes and the eerily welcome touch of lukewarm hands.

Planting both feet firmly on the
carpeted floor � a vermilion monstrosity that should have never seen the light
of day � Envy took note of the needs for his attempt at escape. Firstly,
clothes. Preferably some that would hide the sick fragility of his bones and
the pallid tone of his skin. There was an armoire pushed in the corner,
separating the main door and the door that led to the small bathroom assigned
to the room. With a slight stagger in his walk, the former Sin made his way to
the elaborate woodwork and had a personal struggle with each drawer to force
them open. Bed clothes, expensive silk and satin fabrics pristinely folded and
in perfect order� but not what he wanted. Eventually, after impatiently
searching with the same ardor of a storm pushing against a shore, he found a
long, grey nightshirt made of some strange material the green haired monster
couldn�t recognize. It wasn�t exactly what he had expected, but it would do,
and he slid it over his head, shuddering when it brushed over his oversensitive
skin. The edges touched the floor and the neck opening was wide enough it slid
off his shoulder easily. Not perfect, not at all, but Envy was willing to work
with anything that would get him out of that strange macabre world of high
ceilings and engaging shadows he had managed to land on.

Next, he stumbled into the bathroom,
noting with growing anxiety that his steps were uneven, perhaps more than a
little ataxic, and that with the added weight of the gown he now wore, minimal
as it was, his balance was thrown completely off. Hissing through his teeth,
Envy made a massive effort to enter the porcelain decorated room on his own,
maintaining as much dignity and equipoise as he could. He stopped for an
instant, allowing himself to show his distaste for the overdone furnishing of
the room, something that he hadn�t been able to do the previous times he had
been in the room. The bathtub, a ridiculously eccentric show of wealth, was
made of the whitest porcelain with intricate designs of silver lines at the
edges and resting on four golden lion paws, swirling the material into absurd
twists that were horrendous rather than impressive. The rest of the furniture
followed the same extravagant pattern, much to Envy�s disdain. The floor and
the walls were white, so white it hurt to look at them and which gave him the
strange irking of always being dirty.

With a sigh, he dared to glance at
the mirror, cringing at the pitiful creature that looked miserably back at him.
Envy had always been pale, but he was willing to admit his current coloring �
or rather, lack of � was bordering on corpse-like. His eyes appeared to be
sinking into his head, dipping under his eyebrows and looking much smaller than
they always had been. His lips were transparent and with his hair held back on
that poor attempt at a braid, he looked tiny.
Minuscule, even. Snarling with growing aggravation, he set his hair free,
shaking his head to let the strands of hair fall where they may, yet even in
their apparent wildness, he saw his hair hanging far more listlessly than usual
around his ashen face.

Envy ground his teeth as he closed
his eyes: It was as if Death had come and fucked him over until he was no
longer but a passing ghost of himself.

He remembered the time spent in the
lone castle. He remembered the dull sense of touch and the painful acuteness of
hearing. He remembered the scent of sulphur all around him, the world at
twilight, painted with colors and scents and songs that no human had ever
heard.

He remembered slowly going insane
within that prison.

�But They�re still alive,� He told
the figure in the mirror, �They�re still breathing and They�re probably
laughing at us, so we ought�a get the facts straight and show those fuckers who
we are, right?�

The mirror, of course, did not reply,
but Envy smiled somewhat haughtily and made his way back into the main room.
There was a fountain pen on the small writing table by the windows � still
covered by the oppressing blue velvet curtains � and Envy took it with a
calculative glint in his eyes. Screwing it open, he discarded all but a thin
metallic band. Giving the room that was meant to be his cell one last
supercilious look, he proceeded to pick the lock with a startling ease.

Not without some trepidation, he
exited the room, intent in putting an end the ridiculous situation he had managed
to land himself in.

~�~�~

�The King is
nothing without a Kingdom, and the Crown is useless without a Head to wear it.
So is man without desire, a headless crown, a kingdomless king, sailing through
the shallow rivers of Life without any real motivation, aimless ships in the
desert wasteland of the unknown.�

~�~�~

The corridor led to a magnificent
staircase, which opened into an ample hall. The lavish carpet gave in to
impeccable white marble floors that contrasted, rather than compliment, the somber
furniture and the shadowy tapestries that hung from the beige walls. There was
an ornate piano pushed to the far left side of room, against the windows, with
such a thick crust of powdered dirt it seemed to have never been used.
Attentive eyes took in every detail, every corner and ludicrous design,
searching carefully for a way to escape unnoticed by the quiet servants that
were trying to make the place somewhat presentable.

�Elizabeth!� A low voice broke the
scolding silence, as a man around his late twenties glared darkly at his
companion, who had been busy leaning against the wide double doors on the other
side of the piano, �Have I not told you not to listen to what you shouldn't?�

�Aye...� The woman jumped a foot off
the ground, before whirling around with a submissive frown in her face. Her
hair, light brown in color, was neatly held back into a bun and her clothes
were simple, meant to be practical and not decorative. All in all, she was a
very plain woman, except for her blue eyes, which seemed to glint with a life
of their own, �But the Young Master looks so sad.�

�After what's happened to Lord
Elric,� The young butler commented somewhat caustically, �It's understandable
that he feels� reclusive.�

�But tending over this 'guest' of his? All day and night?� The
woman, Elizabeth, huffed as she rubbed emphatically on the rail of the
staircase, �He barely eats anymore!�

�Well, it is unusual...� Shaking his head warily, the man agreed
with some degree of hesitation, �But as our Master, he�s free to do as he
pleases.�

�He might be,� Her tone of voice
indicated she didn�t quite believe it so, �But I tell you, I saw them when they
arrived... and I couldn't tell who she
was.�

�She?�

Never let it be said, that gossip
does not have its purpose in the world. Sordid mockery of concern, gossipers
live only to indulge in the misery of those around them, speculating over
matters that concerns them not and delighting in the wildest flights of
fantasy, but their wicked fancy does serve to spread the precious information
to those who need it the most, if only they are willing to listen.

�It has to be a she,� Elizabeth argued smartly as she balanced
a priceless vase in her hands, scrubbing it none too gently, �Too pale, too
delicate; Lord Elric treated her with utmost care and the Young Master never
took his eyes off her.�

The vase, mercifully intact, was
placed back on the seemingly fragile table that had housed it for a century or
two, and the energetic maid moved to other artifacts that demanded her
attention under layers upon layers of Time�s sand.

�Perhaps an illegitimate child of
his?� The man did not remain impassive, he moved around the room with a
vertiginous efficiency, sweeping decades upon decades of memories made nothings
as he continued the debate, his brows furrowed darkly on his handsome face.

�I doubt it,� Said the ruthless
Elizabeth, annihilating yet another nest of old times behind a picture frame,
�Lord Elric said he had no family but his sons overseas.�

�True,� Perplexed grey eyes looked at
the high ceiling, not so much looking for answers to the puzzling matter, but
to catch the last cobwebs that had not been removed yet, �But then?�

Elizabeth paused as she tapped her
fingers on her lips, feeling a ghostly taste of violated eternity in the
process. The man shook his head, confronted with the universal mystery that
came with feminine curiosity. Running a hand over his smoky black hair, he
slicked it back to unnatural perfection as he returned to the task at hand.

�Maybe she's Young Master's lover!�
The woman�s face lit up with a smile so bright it seemed to shine on its own,
her eyes convinced she had solved the enigma of their unexpected guest.

�Elizabeth!� Her companion did not
seem to share her glee, scowling fiercely at her blatant disrespect to their
Masters.

�Oh, don't bother pretending, love,
I'm sure you've thought it too,� She tilted her chin defiantly, leaning
forwards with a mischievous glint in her eyes, �Think about it. Young Master
devotes all his time looking after her, nursing her back to health. He doesn't
allow anyone into the room but himself and he�s overly possessive of anything
relating to his guest... That sounds like infatuation to me.�

�I don't know,� Clearly unconvinced,
the man shook his head stubbornly, unaware of the mess his hair became as he
did so, �What kind of lover would a sick woman be? Not fit to bear an heir, I
would assume.�

�Yes, yes, but�� Her eyes widened as
she smoothly came up with the explanation, in her mind validating her theory
definitively, �But maybe she wasn't sick when he met her? Maybe they met in
America!�

�Oh woman, stop already,� Irritated,
the man grabbed a mop and almost carelessly began to clean the exquisite marble
with much more care than his harsh mannerisms belied, �You're writing a drama
out of something that's neither yours or mine business.�

�But-�

�You have duties to finish, and so
have I, now lets leave Young Master's affairs to himself and wait until this
'guest' is properly announced,� Grey met blue, flashing insolently until the
penetrating glare of the man forced her to look away. There was no tolerance in
his voice or movements as he placed a few clean rags into her hands.

�You are no fun Jeremiah,� Elizabeth
concluded almost darkly, walking towards the piano with every intention of
bringing it back to the land of the living.

�No, I�m not,� Jeremiah grinned
almost indulgently at the sight of the fretting woman, �But at least Father got
us all a free weekend, so perhaps you may teach me to have fun in the mean
time,� The young couple shared a warm moment of conspiracy as they smiled to
each other.

Being so engrossed in their reverie,
they never noticed the shadow slipping away atop the staircase; a gray ghost
too weak to move more gracefully, too tired to choose between anger and
amusement. Instead, as Envy staggered back into his gilded cage, he found
himself shaking with the irresistible urge to do something. In a fit of fury, he threw everything on the
small nightstand to the floor, taking little pleasure in the clattering of
cutlery, almost melodic bells as he unleashed his wrath. But it burned quickly,
taking with it the last remains of energy that still propelled his decrepit
muscles forward and he found himself making an enormous effort to hide under
the covers again, wanting none of the world outside. The stolen nightshirt lay
rumpled in a corner, ignored as the satin sheets � so dark they seemed to
become extensions of his hair � enveloped him into an almost loving embrace, a
soothing touch against the dizzying unevenness of the room. He thought, already
in the murky lands of Hypnos, that he had developed some sort of dependence for
the distastefully garnished cell he had been confined into, because the moment
he fell onto the bed, his mind slipped into a void of shapeless dreams, filled
with their silly intrigues and colorless speculations.

Distantly, he realized he had
forgotten to lock the door again.

He found himself too tired to care.

~�~�~

�Desire gives
birth to Love, to the untainted, honest wish of happiness in someone, a
completely selfless emotion. But do not forget the world across the mirror,
where the most tender caress can hum a tone of Death. The most brilliant
murders of the century were not perpetuated for greed or hatred, but for
unadulterated Desire, under the name of Love.�

~�~�~

Panic is the highest expression of
animal fear humans possess. It nullifies every learned conduct, reducing even
the greatest mind to a confused, often aggressive, irrational being with the
sole purpose of ensuring its survival. As Edward flung himself through the
corridor, a rainbow of horrible outcomes opened before his eyes, every one
worse than the one before. He opened every door and searched every room,
becoming more and more frantic as each second passed and his quest proved
itself fruitless time and time again. It was no use, the old house was empty.
The Coppice were gone, Father and Son and Wife long disappeared through the
high archways and into the distance, heading back to the warmth of town, away
from the ghostly scent of death in the manor. Frustrated to the point of tears,
the young blonde ascended the staircase once more, heading to his room with
swift steps.

Contrasting sharply with the rest of
the building, his personal quarters were rather Spartan: the walls bare and the
floors deprived of the plush Persian carpets that seemed to populate the rest
of the upper floor. Covering the large desk by the corner, facing the wide
windows, a complex mass of tubes and crystals glinted with the last rays from
dusk. Resting on the black leather of a thin book, a small mountain of white
powder seemed to mock Edward with it�s apparent innocence. The empty oil bottle
lay uncapped by the dusty Death, and the blonde�s breath hitched erratically.

With his heart in his throat, pumping
guilt into his veins to make his feet light, Edward ran the corridor at a
vertiginous speed, cold sweat breaking all over his skin as the thought of
Victim and Patient swapping places made him die a little inside.

~�~�~

�Achilles did not
fear Death, even when he was sure it would come to meet him. The promise of
drunken glory and redemption dressed up as revenge were enough to rip the last
doubts off his heart and sent him straight against his enemies, sword raised,
to collect his greatest desire, Justice. It burnt within, brighter than fear,
nobler than greed, and he found its meaning in the taste of cold iron. A Life
for a life, a death for a Death, and the Moira smiled.�

~�~�~

Dreaming is the ultimate expression
of human creativity. The strange power to spin threads of possibilities into a
thin fabric of imagination that eventually overlaps reality. Dreams alone can
drive men to reach for the sky, to create worlds unknown and sing in voices
long forgotten.

Homunculi are not human, and thus,
they did not dream. But Envy was not immortal anymore, and he alone among his
kin dreamt. He dreamt of the past and the memories that were better left
untouched. Of the portentous Xerxes and the mystic Xing, of humans he had seen,
met and killed. He dreamt of Dante and Lust and Wrath and Greed. Of the manor
and its maze of corridors that led to secret doors and obscure stories of times
long gone.

Above them all, Envy dreamt of Him, with his silly blond hair and his
bland smile. He dreamt of him walking away, again and again, the disgust in his
eyes after he realized he had failed. Sometimes, though, he dreamt of quieter
times, that inexistent before,
where the fuzzy images were filled with a rumbling voice of quiet encouragement
and a smile only he would ever see. He dreamt, and the shapes took form,
seeming real enough to be felt and missed and hated.

The bronze handle twisted slowly and
the door creaked as it was opened. Light from the well lit corridor spilled
into the shadowy room, high lightening the contrast of the body hidden under
piles of blankets and covers. Golden eyes glinted like molten amber as the
lithe figure breathed deeply, still snared by dreams. Quiet footsteps on the
carpet as the heavy body entered the room, seined in thin tendrils of
recognition and yearning that beckoned him closer to the fading creature in
bed.

Envy had dreamt a thousand different
ways of how their first rencontr� would go.

Reality, though, was bent on outdoing
his wildest dreams, and as he was hauled upwards, Envy quickly found he didn�t
like it. For instance, the eyes were all wrong; too wide, too empty, too dead. The hands holding him down were
hurting him � he hadn�t felt pain, real
pain in eons � and he was
sure the skin would turn bright purple if only given the chance. The beard
rubbing methodically against his neck was raspy, dirty and wild, it was like
sandpaper shredding the all too thin skin covering his blood vessels. The
clothes were different too, aristocratic and with just the right amount of
doomed wealth that had always been better fitted for Dante than for Him, yet sliding against his over
sensitive body with a frightening ease.

�The moon�� The strange phantom
surrounding him said with a broken sing song voice, �We must see the moon.�

Struggling only proved his
vulnerability further, the crushing weakness that left him unable of even
posing resistance. The large palm wound around his wrist, so tightly he swore
he felt it snap, and he was bonelessly dragged, naked and shivering, out of bed
and towards the unforgiving blue curtains. The carpet scratched his knees,
until the rough handling ended with his face buried into the soft velvet, dust
stinging his eyes and his lungs, causing a seizure of coughing to wreck his
undernourished frame violently. His voice, lost somewhere in the cavernous
abyss of fear, true fear,
gave out in a tiny keening noise as he was finally freed from the brutal grip.
Envy gasped, trying to refill his lungs with clean air as he firmly ordered his
vocal chords to work, articulating a few gurgling noises.

�The moon,� Hohenheim towered over
him, smiling that carefree, hopeless smile, before he turned on his heel,
escaping the room as if he were the prisoner and not the torturer, �Trisha!�

The horrible scream, followed by the
sound of smashing glass made Envy shiver, curling around himself, hiding in the
deceptively warm embrace of the curtains. The smooth fabric caressed his skin
lightly, making goose bumps break all over it. He remained there, shaking to
the rhythm of the storm outside, letting the howl of the wind carry his
thoughts far away from the cruel ironies that were trying to tear him down to
nothing.

With an effort more of will than
anything else, the exhausted creature crawled back over the safety of his nest,
no longer sure of who or what or why he was. Bitterly, he realized he had truly
lost everything, before realizing he cared not about it and surrendering once
more to the lethargic weight upon his shoulders.

~�~�~

�The darkest facet
of obsession is not that of a terrified victim or an isolated stalker, but the
crystallized stare in the empty eyes of a suicidal lover, laying next to the
cooling corpse of his beloved.�

~�~�~

Normally, one never does not know the
date of our last day; it remains a secret well kept in the twisted folds of our
dreamland reality, until the very second between this existence and the next.
When the elegant cup was placed on the nightstand, Envy barely twitched at the
sound, and it was enough proof for Edward that his sickness was coming to end.
Narrowing his eyes, the golden haired teen climbed on the bed, silently awed at
the snaring beauty intrinsic to vulnerability, and straddled the bony hips, the
slumbering corpse still unaware. The hunter had been hunted, without even
noticing so, and Edward was ready to claim what he had stolen with light
touches and charitable detachment.

Of course, the moment he wrapped his
hands around the fragile neck, every fiber of his body demanding him to snap
it, the violet eyes snapped open and the skeletal hands clawed uselessly at his
wrists as the former monster bared his teeth in a feeble attempt of defending
himself.

�He died, you know?� Edward�s voice
was eerily calm as he stared impassively at the body writhing underneath him,
�Threw himself head first through the window.�

�Good to know,� Envy hissed
pathetically; the cruel hold around his windpipe twitching open and closed
erratically as the scotch colored eyes glared down at him, impassive and
furious at the same time, �Aren�t you going to do it?�

�Yes,� But the hands remained
unmoving, holding, teasing with the promise of annihilation, but not daring to
do so, �Yes.�

Silence stretched for a small infinite
number of seconds, ticked away by the glorious clock in the corner. Envy
squirmed under the blonde for a moment, growling softly though his throat was
raw. The tower of wood and clockwork machinery watched impassively as the
mortal enemies, both dying in their own ways, calculated the risks of gambling
one last chance of survival.

Then, Envy smirked.

�You can�t.�

Edward�s eyes became stormy with
guilt. Guilt that had been bottled away ever since the first time he had laid
eyes on the monster that
smirked and taunted him. But Guilt had not stopped him from crushing Death in a
mortar, diluting it into oil and smearing it all over the sickly limbs now
holding him back with token resistance.

The hands of the clock moved
leisurely, lazy as the grains falling down the hourglass.

Envy�s grin grew, that tiny sparkle
behind the jaded, tired eyes
ignited again, becoming a small ember of rebellion that made the blonde
awkwardly aware of where he
was. The former Sin shifted again, and then narrowed his eyes maliciously.

Edward was hard where he pressed
against him, too hard.

�You want me,� The cynical smile
broke through, even if the hands around his neck tightened in reflex to the
morbid accusation. Envy coughed for a moment, his own fingers falling limply
from their pathetic grip around the stronger wrists, before they held onto
velvety hair, hair as soft as the curtains had felt under his fingertips, �You
wanted me too, back then�� Rising slowly, as much as the vice on his neck would
allow him, the former Sin turned the tables on the panicking Edward, �It made
killing you much easier.�

As if his words had been a physical
blow, the boy scrambled away from him, seemingly noting for the first time
his state of undress. Wide eyed and suddenly drowning under the weight of his
actions, the golden eyed teen gave a small mortified sound as Envy rearranged
himself on the bed. The long limbs, seeming longer by sickness � sickness he
had induced, Edward reminded himself � spreading almost petulantly for him to
see as the infuriating smirk widened very, very slowly.

�Did you touch yourself?� The devil
was speaking through the monster, dulling his senses and drugging his mind with
a thin cover of lust, �All those times you were diligently being a charitable host,�
Edward flinched, �I wonder if you wanted this in payment� did you want me like
this, Edward?�

Shivering, he couldn�t but watch in
shame and despair as the monster spread his legs slightly, allowing him to see
his lusts had not been the only ones sparkled by their words. Dainty fingers
wrapped around the erection, tired as its owner, and began a slow massage that
Edward felt as if it had been done on himself. Violet eyes slid half closed,
the smirk morphing into a slight grimace. Like a willing immolation, Envy threw
his head back, moaning softly, completely ignorant of the why�s and when�s, but feeling the irresistible pull of arousal in
the air. Light coming from the open door played an incongruent dance of sharp
shadows and shallow illusions all over the placid looking body, every shape
coiling malevolently around Edward�s will, bending it slowly to the breaking
point.

�I did,� The breathy whisper made the
younger man cower, but he dared not to take his eyes away, �Every time after
you were gone,� The monster shivered, �I could feel your hands on me hours
after you were gone.�

Something twisted in Edward the wrong
way as his eyes fell on the body resting over the bed almost listlessly. Envy
laid there, nude for the world to see as his skin seemed to be clutched by the
dark coverlet in a bar-less cage. Without the lights on, his hair got lost
amidst the velvet, giving him an air of lost innocence that made Edward
painfully aware of his clothing, and how constricting it was becoming by the
minute. Only the steady movement of a hand and the soft gasps remained him Envy
was, in fact, alive, and that this absurd vision of decadent beauty was very,
very real. Quite simply, it made Edward want to fidget and stumble all over him
at the same time, because fuck,
the goddamn beast was pretty.

But the shrewd part of the blonde�s
mind, the one that never lost track of details no matter what, noted Envy was
thin, far too thin to be healthy. He was all bony hands and long arms and
knobby knees and jutting elbows. If he wanted to, the blonde would have been
able to count the ribs that moved rhythmically with every breath the former
monster took. The skin around the deadly aware violet eyes was sunk and
stretched, marred by a bluish tint that spoke of insomnia beyond the humanely
possible.

Envy was beautiful when he was spread
like that for Edward to take, daring
him to take what he wanted, what he craved
more than air itself� but he was dying, and Edward knew it.

He found he couldn�t bring himself to
care about it.

Painfully aware of being watched, the
blonde began undressing, slowly. Peeling away each layer of cloth as if it were
one reservation less against him, this, them, all, watching the rhythmic movements of the stubborn hand.
He knelt there, unsure and aroused and willing and reluctant and so, so afraid, that he almost jumped out of
his skin when he stopped the teasing hand and Envy made a small protesting
sound. Very slowly, he approached him, like a man entering a dragon�s den,
tracing his fingers over the blue veins that stood against the almost
transparent skin. Envy shuddered violently at his touch, for all his arrogance
and taunting words, submitting to him rather easily. Edward drew a sinuous line
along each leg, from sole to calf to thigh, nails brushing lightly. He was
enraptured by the contraction of muscles, clearly seen and felt under his
palms.

Envy howled when he began retracing
the capricious lines with his tongue, buckling his hips far more wantonly than
either would have expected.

Edward thought he tasted Rot and
Murder on the cold skin.

Nevertheless, he kissed and licked
and touched and fervently tried to ignore the minuscule voice within that
snidely told him he had
caused the rot. Watching Envy tremble through half lidded eyes was a strange
experience for a young man who thought he had had all the strange experiences
of his life already. The violent movements slowly turned into a passive
twitching as the muscles, already overstrained for a day, fought to react in
some way to the terrible sensations dancing around them, close but always out
of their grasp.

Edward pressed his lips against the
scar on Envy�s thigh, the last vestige of the lives they had led and lost and
left behind, and the former immortal whined as he was violently thrown over the
abyss, spilling the thin and sticky substance all over the covers, his body and
their hair. Fleetingly, the blonde thought the stains would never be removed
from the covers, and then he felt glad they wouldn�t, so that maybe, just
maybe, something would remain of them in a world that was not their own.

�Bastard,� Breathless, lifeless, Envy threw his head back,
exhausted, �Fucking bastard.�

His breathing grew harsher as he felt
the strangely hesitant lips tracing a path from his navel to his neck, nipping
and tonguing his broken shell as he tried to come down from the high. Edward
ground his hips against his hard enough it hurt,
the puffs of warm air beating rhythmically behind his ear, and Envy had a lucid
moment. He realized he was going to die.

But then Edward was kissing him,
invading his mouth with reckless abandon and a quiet undercurrent of hatred that made it all much sweeter.
Envy undulated himself, spreading his legs wider so that the blonde fell even
more snuggly over him, that their bodies, so different from one another, slid
together. The monster was deadly cold and everywhere he brushed against
Edward�s boiling skin, the blonde felt like he was being torn apart. With his
abused senses and his nerves raw, Envy watched as Edward towered over him,
hesitant and determinate at the same time, before he felt the invading
pressure, the burning pain that was nothing compared to the wrenching cough
that had installed in his lungs, heavy like lead and that wouldn�t let him
breath properly. He felt hands, chubby, clumsy hands playing his body like a
fine instrument, tuning it precisely to what Edward wanted and then, with a
loud creak of protest from the bed that drowned the soft whine from the former
immortal, they were joined.

Envy whimpered pitifully, laying back
as stoic as he could, the last of his resistance stubbornly refusing to
participate in the act itself; he was sated, he wanted nothing more to be left
alone to mourn the cold in his bones, a familiar chill that spoke of Endings.
It was as if a veil had been lifted from his senses, and suddenly colors and
scents and tastes and feelings and sounds, everything murmured a quiet Nocturne
to Decay.

Edward groaned, completely and
utterly lost and out of himself.

It made him drunk. Drunk in their
shared grief, drunk in their loss, drunk in the pale body so pliant under his
fingers, drunk in the soft gasps that made his hair stand on end, drunk in the
willingness of the sacrifice, drunk in the mutual hatred that melted away to
nothing, drunk in the tears that swelled up and never fell. It felt good and
bad and terrible and glorious...
but it felt, and Edward finally realized what he was doing when the muscles surrounding
him closed tightly and a keening moan raised from the until then immobile body
underneath him. Envy tensed up and arched up like a bow, eyes closed and hair
spilling everywhere. And then, just as suddenly, he fell back, slack and
boneless as he opened his eyes but a slit, dark violet promising something that
Edward couldn�t quite name. But the green haired minx � because it was his fault, Edward could not say no to him, no one could say no to him � buckled
his hips against him, thin muscles flexing so violently, so wantonly�. He
moaned in reverence.

It was not love. Not even affection.
It was a brutal fight, where both sides had declared defeat before starting,
and which were only moving on by the imperious momentum of desolation that
demanded them to engage in a pointless struggle for dominance. Despite his
initial indifference, Envy began thrusting upwards as fiercely as his
unbalanced hips would allow him, digging his bones against the bulkier blonde,
feeling his breath leave him every time his body was cruelly crushed under the
other�s weight. Edward licked the fresh bruises in the arrogantly tilted neck,
bruises he had placed there, nor even a full hour before, after� after� golden
eyes flickered to the nightstand for a moment, catching the moonlight
reflecting on the calamity made liquor that waited almost patiently within a
delicate crystal cup.

The blonde cried out as he reached
completion, pressing on the unresisting body with a breathless prayer.

Moaning almost miserably, the former
Sin let himself fall back on the sodden linens, breathing labored and body
shaking much harder than before with the first prelude of a seizure. Edward sat
back with a shudder, naming the symptoms without needing to watch them happen;
he had chosen his deliverer with infinite patience, he knew well what was
coming. Turning back on themselves with their thoughts, the seconds ticking
away and crushing them under the corpses of the dead instants they had lost.
Silence grew in the room again, oppressing and liberating at the same time as
the melting stream of hours slithering away to nowhere lulled them into a
contemplative fantasy full of what-if�s, alienating reality away. The clock let
out his regular cry, though, as the hands set in position and the spell was broken.
Suddenly they were back at the room of the horrible wallpaper, tired and sweaty
and dying, but it no longer
matter.

Nothing mattered anymore.

Edward looked at Envy, carelessly
thrown over the disheveled covers, trembling as pearls of sweat slid over far
too pale skin. He took in the mess of slippery hair, tangled beyond hope all
around a face that held enough fear to pass off for hatred, savored the citric
aftertaste of defeat in eyes that had never looked at him with anything but
contempt. He saw the places were his hands had dug too harshly, red skin that
would become bruises in the morning, if they were to have time. The scent of
decay and sex were so intrinsically wound together that the young blonde
couldn�t quite grasp his mind around the magnitude of what he had just done.

Eerie violet eyes fixed on his own as
Envy pursed his lips in a puzzled scowl, as if he were debating something of
the utmost importance. He was silent, trying to drown his defeat with quiet
stillness, and failing by the shuddering breaths he was taking. He looked at
Edward for a long moment, critically measuring his chances, before he shrugged
and slid closer to him, insinuating his thin, bony body against the bulkier
blonde.

�I hate you,� The former Sin rasped
out tiredly, feeling something heavier than slumber falling over his eyelids as
his breath became almost ghostly in its slowness, and he made himself
comfortable against the warmer body.

�I know,� Came the ageless whisper,
voice rough from the terrible despair hidden in his throat and which made
swallowing the redeeming elixir in the nightstand much more difficult, even
when Envy was already asleep.

Edward embraced the broken doll of
Death, his cadavre exquis, and knew that he would not wake to see next morning.

~�~�~

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