Envy/Kimberly. PG. ~200 words. Noncon.
The last thing of Greed’s still breathing.

He stands over the man’s still form. The sheets are rumpled, the air heavy with sleep. Greed is dead, but in Envy’s mind, the alchemist still belongs to him. The last thing of Greed’s still breathing.

The other things of Greed’s, possessions jealously hoarded: a straight-edged razor and matching kit, an endlessly ticking pocketwatch, a dozen half-empty bottles of bourbon and scotch and wine, expensive clothes from fine tailors, women’s trinkets and clinking gold coins; all are buried in dust-ridden rooms. Buried like Greed would be, if he had a body or a soul or someone to care enough about either to stand at his grave and mourn.

Envy’s hand snaps around the man’s throat. Slender fingers curve over the lingering bruises made by brutal, black claws. Yellow eyes flash wide. Confusion and disbelief and rage, one deafening gunshot after the other, jerk the backstabbing alchemist awake.

“You took his skull,” he breathes. Hands reach for him, murderous hands that are easy to catch and pin, threaten to crush to useless stumps. Envy smiles, lets it reach eyes so much like Greed’s. “I want it back.”


Leave a Reply