Once again:

Warning: Spoilers for the end of FMA. But they're not really played up. Also, your mileage may vary (TV tropes reference...) on the amount of angst in this oneshot.

Thaumaturgy

Thaumaturgy: The performance of miracles or magic.

She wonders if it was coincidence, or maybe fate, that led her down that path. That led her to him.

Alchemy. She had hated it. From the instant she had first heard of it, she was intrigued. She had wanted to know more about it—she was caught in its vice-like grip from that moment.

Her father was a state alchemist, who had been researching the use of alchemy and its effects on the environment. But secretly, he was delving into the taboo of human transmutation—not that she had known what that was at the time. He had been trying to bring back her deceased mother and twin sister.

When she found out, she knew that it was wrong; knew it in her heart. Yet, she could not find it in her to stop him. She had continued to spy on his work, since he forbade her to learn alchemy. This had deeply saddened her, because before her death, her younger twin sister had shown great promise of becoming an alchemist herself. And after she passed away, the girl wished to continue in her dear sister's wake, although she hated alchemy even more so.

Her father was so rarely home, always out doing the military's bidding—she had been too young to understand what exactly that pertained to—and when he was not out, he was up in the attic, researching. Researching what, she also did not know.

She had once ventured up to the attic when her father was out. The walls, the floors, and even parts of the slanted ceiling were covered in intricate loops and patterns. She traced her fingers over them, committing each perfect symbol to memory.

She had then run outside, copying the elaborate swirls down in the dirt with a broken piece of chalk. She had regarded it with a pleased look only young children can manage. Her ugly chalk scribbles. She had smiled, hating it, yet satisfied at the same time.

She had placed a pebble in the middle of the circle, and positioned her hands on the outer rings as she had seen alchemists do.

Focusing hard on it, she had willed it to become an enormous pile of candy. She practised, and had eventually given when the sun set. Her father did not come home that night. But that was alright. He almost never did. Her attempt at alchemy had failed as well.

Why? Why did it not work? Why did he still not return?

She did not know. She could not understand why.

One day, when she returned home from school, she had found her father home, waiting anxiously. He had welcomed her back with a warm embrace, and called her by her younger twin's name. She had glanced at him, worried. Was it the stress from work? Was he tired? He needed rest.

But he had waved away her concerns, continuing to address her by her twin's name, and ushered her up to the attic, saying that he wanted to show her something. She had tried to refuse, a sense of foreboding washing over her. But he paid her cries no heed, and dragged her up the stairs into the loft. The furniture had been tossed up against the walls, and the entire floor was cleared, revealing one transmutation circle, outlined in heavy white chalk. The rest of the chalk drawings were erased from the floorboards.

She looked to her father for an explanation, but received only a pair of handcuffs around her wrists and a lash of rope around her neck. He threw her into the centre of the circle. She had yelped, crying out in pain, asking him for an explanation. He just laughed, and told her that he was going to bring her twin back. He had then rolled his sleeves up, and she had begun to cry, not understanding what was happening, and why he was acting like this.

He had just laughed coldly, once more, and had then told her that he did not need her anyway. It was her sister that he needed. With her alchemical skill, he would be able to bring his late wife back as well, if this worked. And if it failed? It did not matter; she was dispensable.

The wind had howled, and whipped her hair around, and she had begged for him to stop, that she loved him, and to please stop. She was a good girl, and she loved him, and that she would help him with his alchemy drawings, and to please, please stop.

But he had ignored her pleas, or maybe he could not hear her. Nevertheless, he had cackled gleefully at the promise of seeing his beloved shortly, and the world had gone white.

Death?

"Where...am I?" She opened her eyes to a white-washed reality. The piercing light surrounded her. She squinted for a few disorienting moments, adjusting to the unfamiliar environment.

Then she began to panic. "Where is this? Papa? Papa?" she cried out for him at first, but then she remembered...he abandoned her. He was the reason that she was there.

And she was alone. She cried out in wordless anguish, collapsing in a heap, not knowing who to call out for.

A giggle alerted her, and she looked up, tears staining her cheeks.

She gasped, and quickly scrambled back, "Who are you?"

"Me?" the figure pointed impishly at itself, then replied, "I am the Truth."

"The…Truth…?" she repeated, uncertain, and a bit apprehensive.

"That's right," It grinned at her with a wide smile. "And you are here because your father traded your soul."

"My...soul?"

"Yes. He traded your soul for your twin sister's."

"But..." she scrounged for a word, then remembering the term, she shouted, "Equivalent exchange! What about equivalent exchange?" She tried desperately to look for a loophole, to hold onto a shred of sanity.

"It was very much equivalent exchange."

"But...But...a soul cannot be measured like that! And besides...that is a taboo for alchemists! Send me back! Send me back!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Hunh?"

"Because only your soul exists here. Your body is currently occupied by your sister's soul. In other words...you're dead to the world."

"What?" she whispered, clutching her chest.

"It's as you said, 'equivalent exchange', little girl. What will you trade to go back? What can you trade?"

Nothing...

She had nothing to offer. She had nothing to trade for her passage back into the world of the living, nor could she ever pay for her escape into death. She would never be able to return.

She would never be able to leave this void. Ever.

She wandered aimlessly for what seemed like aeons of time. She never encountered anyone else in the Void, as she came to call it. It wasn't quite Oblivion, she surmised. Oblivion would be a total nothingness. The Void was worse, she decided. In the Void, you were left utterly alone with nothing at all.

Maybe, she had already gone insane. She would never know, as there was no model of sanity or even of insanity for her to compare to. There was nothing—Except for her. The nothing was filled up to the brim with more nothingness, and everything was made up of nothingness.

But...maybe that, in itself was incorrect. 'Nothingness' should never exist. And so, she came to the conclusion that this Void was different, and did not have the same rules as the world of the Living. This was a metaphysical world that did not have the same physical technicalities as that other world. But there was the problem of the Truth.

There was the Truth and herself, as far as she knew. There existed nothing, the Truth, and her. It would visit her, appearing from the nothingness. Even the Truth was made of nothing. Therefore, she decided, she must also be made of nothing. It was the only rational conclusion she could come up with. If there was nothing but nothing, yet if one existed, then, one must also be nothing as well, to adhere with the previously established norm.

The Truth was a being that transcended all time and order, and all previous established thoughts and conventions. However, it was a stickler for the rules, taunting her for her helplessness against said rules, yet it appeared not to follow the laws of the world itself. She still knew little of alchemy, though from her snippets of pseudo-conversation with the Truth, she acquired more general knowledge on the topic.

But that mattered very little. After all, what did that knowledge serve her? She would never be able to apply that knowledge, nor share it. The Truth seemed to sense her despair—or lack thereof. So it indulged her, trying to provoke her into breaking. However, she deduced that it too, must be bored of the white expanse of the Void. So she listened, and learned of the eternity of mankind's mistakes.

Then, in one moment, a moment like any other, indiscernible from all the rest, she found herself not to be as alone as she had once thought. She discovered the boy huddled up in a ball, the Truth skipping away merrily as the Doors to the Living slammed shut. The door and the Truth disappeared, and the boy cried out in anguish, reaching out to it.

She watched from a distance, unsure of how to react to the new situation. The boy's sorrow was so familiar to her, yet she was at a loss as to how to respond. She did not—could not—feel his pain per se, but she understood how lonely he must have felt.

So she just observed, for there was nothing else to do.

He soon composed himself again, and so she turned away and kept walking. She wondered if there were more people out there like the little boy.

In another moment, after an unknown amount of time, she found herself back there. Was it possible to walk in circles of nothingness?

"What is your name, little boy?" she asked.

He looked up with golden eyes. They were sad eyes, hopeless eyes. But they were bright. Was it because of the tears? He seemed surprised to see another person, and not the Truth back to torment him. He stared, and could not bring himself to answer her.

She examined him with a blank expression. Was he mute? She tilted her head, and when he still did not respond, she turned to leave.

"Alphonse..." his lip quivered, voice cracking. "Alphonse Elric," he croaked, and promptly caved in to the pressure of the tears.

She smiled at the white ground, and took a step away, and another, and another.

"I have a brother. He's the bravest person I know," Alphonse stated proudly. His tears slowed, and eventually stopped. His demeanour was one of an innocent child, eager to learn, and eager to share all he had. He was a sweet boy. "His name's Edward, but I always call him Ed."

The more he talked, the more he opened up. The more he talked, the more she learned of the world that she was deprived of.

This Edward Elric also seemed like a good person.

"And Winry, too," he laughed. "I miss them. Maybe we shouldn't have..."hHis voice trailed off into silence, looking at her with big eyes.

She nodded. She knew. Why else would such a kind-hearted child end up in this Void?

"We just wanted to see Mom again."

Mother...

She nodded again. Yes. She could understand that.

"We just wanted to see Mom again...That's why, Ed and me...that's why..."

I see.

She reached out, and patted the boy on the head, and his trembling stopped. His tearful gaze was turned onto her.

"Thank you."

"That's why I'm here. This is my body. My soul is trapped in a suit of armour right now. That's pretty cool, don't you think?" he flashed a bright smile.

She contented herself to just listen to his stories, his play-by-play actions of his adventures in the outside world. He still retained a link to his soul, and could keep tabs on what was happening to it in the world of the Living.

"Brother lost his leg, and I lost my body at first," he said, voice becoming serious, "But then, brother sacrificed his arm in return for my soul. Then he tied my soul to the armour with a blood seal."

The Truth was awfully kind that day.

"Brother became a state alchemist, so that we could get access to otherwise restricted books."

She flinched. State alchemist?

"Brother and I, we're searching for the Philosopher's stone, because he thinks that with it, we can get our bodies back."

She nodded slowly, then, standing, she turned to leave.

Alphonse became used to her comings and goings. She never said a word, yet she would always come back.

She learned more of their plight, and she took in the determination of the brothers with a grim smile.

They will never succeed. They cannot—It is utterly impossible for them to do so. If an eternity of brilliant minds before them were not able to do so, then by all means, they will be no better.

The Truth had told her of the Philosopher's Stone and of the many tragedies and deaths, pain and punishment that it had inflicted.

Names fluttered around her head, as the brothers met more people along the way. All of this information was relayed to her through Alphonse's body.

Master Izumi Curtis, Marcoh...

Colonel Mustang did this, and then Lieutenant Hawkeye did that.

But always, always, Alphonse spoke of Edward Elric and Winry Rockbell. He always spoke of home in Resembool, of Granny Pinako, Den, and always of his mother. Over time, it went without saying, an unidentifiable amount of time, the boy was able to speak of them with a nostalgic expression, yet retain his composure and his easy smile.

She wondered if she should feel jealous. But to what end? They would never be able to leave anyway.

She approached him carefully, as she saw that he was once again crying. She never said a word, just sat beside him.

It was then that she learned of the death of a Colonel Hughes.

She nodded, and patted him on the head. There was nothing else that she could do. So she stayed with him. It was becoming interesting. She was detached from the characters in the story that was unfolding, and so she watched, desensitized to the pain the boy was feeling.

He really is too kind.

Ouroboros...

It was not the first time that she had heard that term. No, she had heard of it may times before. It was deeply laced with alchemical secrets—its physical representation reflecting that of a transmutation circle, as well as being a sigil synonymous with the Philosopher's Stone. And with it came another word:

Homunculus...

It was interwoven with the history of mankind, and the Truth received much pleasure from giving her the story of the world. The secrets of the world—she knew them all. She would never be able to tell anyone of it—nor would she be allowed to.

Alphonse told her of his soul's capture by the one called Greed.

And he told her of the chimera that served him, and he cried again over their deaths. She sighed. This one was different. She had never heard of one who cried over the deaths of their captors, their would-be murderers.

Was that feeling...disdain?

She blinked. Of course not. To what end? What purpose would emotions serve her?

Ling Yao...

The twelfth prince of Xing, representing the Yao clan.

Mei Chang...

The seventeenth princess of Xing, representing the Chang clan.

Xing Country had a rich and deep cultural history. The king was announcing the successor to the throne, and he would choose the one who could bring back the secret to immortality—the Philosopher's Stone.

And thus, it all led to this internal feud, and scramble to Amestris across the wide sands of the unforgiving desert. This succession led them to fight amongst themselves, and inadvertently battle the Homunculus, as well as the state—all for the sake of an elusive elixir that they would all be better off without.

Furtive and sardonic, yet she stayed with the young Elric, and listened without a sound. What else could he do during those sleepless nights?

Kimblee...

Olivier Armstrong...

New names swirled around her, more and more accumulating in her vast memory. What a twisted tale this was turning out to be.

Gluttony...

She despised the knowledge that came with that name. It gave her a glimmer of hope that she quickly crushed. Gluttony was a failed recreation of the Gate of Truth. It gave her a splash of colour in the great white expanse, but she quashed the notion, for the fear of falling into the depths of despair.

For there was no need for that—no need for any emotions whatsoever.

But she did feel a smidge of amusement when the boy talked of the Xingese princess. He would speak avidly about her and her little panda for what seemed like forever, and he never seemed to grow tired of talking about her.

Sloth...

Coward! Living...Living, took too much...effort?

She fumed quietly, and in a civil rage, dipped her head at Alphonse and stalked off into the nothingness, leaving him alone once more.

How could living and breathing, require too much effort? She found it hard to accept that fact. How could living, simply existing necessitate so much effort that one would simply give up on life? How was ceasing to exist any easier? Living, even dying, she concluded, would be better than 'not existing' in the Void.

Van Hohenheim...

That was a name that she had never heard before. As she listened to Alphonse, she learned that that was the name of the father that abandoned them. Their father never returned, even after the death of their mother.

His eyes had grown hard, but then softened. "I've...forgiven him," he smiled. "But...Brother...still hasn't fully forgiven him for leaving us back then."

Such a sweet child.

She, however, never forgave him—her father for destroying her existence, and Hohenheim for leaving the brothers, which of course, meant that he had indirectly trapped dear Alphonse here as well.

Those were useless emotions that still clutched with claw-like hands on her metaphysical heart.

She listened to Alphonse's tale, and the intricate threads that were these people began to weave themselves together, creating a rich tapestry filled with lies, betrayals, deceit, and clever strategies. It was better than unravelling the threads—because then, the lies ensnared you, and the truth became tangled up within the lies, the vivid tapestry becoming an indiscernible, unsalvageable ball of twine. And the more one yanked at the strings, it would never unwind its clandestine lengths, and disclose its secrets.

No, she decided, it was much better to watch the tapestry weave itself. She could follow each individual thread's winding path with her own eyes, drinking up the vast amounts of information, documenting it all. She took in the vibrant colours, and could see the harmony of shades, how they warred and clashed against one another in contrasting complementary colours that somehow, cryptically united them all.

Yes. It was a masterpiece in itself, Life was.

Life?

Then the time came.

The Truth had exacted judgment, and he had done his time.

It begins when she is wandering again. A Gate opens, and a man stumbles out, dressed in a soldier's slacks. He lies, sprawled out on the white nothingness, then he pushes himself to his hands and knees. "Where...am I?" he calls out, almost as if he expects the expanse to answer.

She peers out from behind the Gate at the soldier.

The Truth appears in front of him, greeting him with a smile, "Welcome, Colonel Mustang."

Colonel Mustang—was it the same Colonel that Alphonse spoke so highly of?

"Who are you?" he demands.

"I am the Truth. I am everything that you know, everything that you do not know, everything that exists and everything that…isn't. I am everything and nothing," the Truth answers enigmatically. "I am judgment."

"Judgment?"

"Yes, and I am here to exact punishment for the attempt at human transmutation."

"But I didn't—"

"I am well aware of that, Colonel. Someone did commit this taboo, and they have been punished. You, who aspires to become the Führer should know, that one must rule with a fair hand and an iron fist. And somehow, along the way, Colonel, you ended up here."

The Truth's smile widens, "Tell me, do you still wish to become Führer, colonel? Do you wish to see your people, your country thrive? …Do you wish to leave this place?"

She watches from behind the Gate, as one of the most brilliantly coloured threads in the great tapestry begins to fray.

"Yes. Send me back."

"You are aware, that this passage requires a toll, do you not?"

The man swallows thickly before answering confidently, "Yes."

This is the proud, self-assured man from the tapestry.

As the Truth grins, and the colonel disappears, she is afraid that the Truth has broken him. Whatever the Truth has taken from him, it will break him.

She is afraid that the Truth has cut the filament that tenaciously held together both sides of the tapestry that was tearing down the middle. And when it breaks, the threads will be scattered by the wind, never to be recovered again.

Every thread is precious to her. Even the dull hues that make up the background—they support the framing of the picture, and enhance the radiant tinctures.

Such a beautiful work of art.

But she is powerless to stop its destruction. And she knows it.

"The colonel's been blinded!" Alphonse relays as she sits down beside him.

She just bows her head sadly. The one that wanted to see his country strengthen and flourish had his sight taken away from him. The Truth is cruel. But judgment is cold, and the Truth hurts. One must accept that fact. The colonel, if he is anything like the story that the tapestry depicts, will grow stronger from this, and with his loyal supporters, he will continue on.

"And—!" Alphonse suddenly falls silent, and she looks up at him sharply.

Time passes in irregular increments in the Void, she had learned. And after the boy falls silent, it seems like another eternity to her, sitting in the silence. She stares at the vacant pools of gold as she bides her time. She thinks of the tapestry. Could such a dynamic non-existent tapestry of such intricate design ever exist? If there is such a place like the Void in which the non-existent exist, then it should be possible for a tapestry of such non-existent quantity and quality to exist.

However. She looks around at the empty whiteness around her. The emptiness already fills the vacancy to the brim.

There must be equilibrium at all times. That is why the Truth exacts a toll on those who venture past the Gate—to preserve the balance.

There must be balance. Symmetry, regularity, stability, constancy. The Void is the epitome of perfection, the paragon of quintessence.

Which is nothing at all.

There is a creaking sound, and she stands. She's been sitting for a very, very long time.

A suit of armour strides out with great, metallic footsteps. "My...body...My body...!" it cries as it reaches out to the boy.

"I've been waiting...for so long," the boy smiles."Welcome home."

"Why are my arms so thin? I'm all skin and bones. It's like I've never even stood up...How..." The suit of armour falls to its knees, wailing in anguish, "How am I supposed to fight in that body?"

She listens to the small voice, identical to the golden boy's, and concludes that this must be Alphonse's soul. Although it echoes hollowly through the metal suit, it is undeniably the same voice, from the same boy, reflecting the same pain.

"Everyone else is fighting for their lives..." The metal suit shakes, as if crying. The voice certainly sounds like it, but even she knows that armour is armour, and even if iron can be turned to gold, iron will never shed tears.

"You don't...want your body back?" the boy Alphonse asks timidly.

"Of course I do!" Metal Alphonse cries, "Always! Always, for years and years! I've dreamed about getting my body back! But...But—! I...can't...I can't have that body...not now..."

The boy leans down, "Do you want to go back? Do you want to return with that body?"

The Gates open slowly, and the black hands reach out for him. The boy closes his eyes resignedly, bowing his head, "If that is what you want, I won't stop you."

The metal Alphonse picks himself up, steeling himself. He runs to the door, but not before glancing back, "Forgive me! I'll come back!"

The golden-haired boy gives him a surprised smile.

"Hang in there a little bit longer! I swear I'll come back! I promise!"

Dear, noble soul. Your return will bring nothing but despair. Don't come back. You will be entirely ensnared if you do.

When the Gate opens again, sure enough, the naïve soul is back.

The boy must have traded his body for his brother's arm in a reversal of the original trade-off.

You foolish boy… But she watches on in silence.

"Are you ready now?" Alphonse asks.

"Yes...all we can do now is believe in our brother."

The boy smiles, and the two Alphonses join hands. The suit of armour disintegrates; it too, becomes nothingness.

The Truth appears, observing haughtily, "It looks like you've got your 'contents' inside you now. You really think he'll come back for you?"

"He will. I know it."

She hopes so for his altruistic sake. Poor, sweet child, do you know what you've done?

"What do you think he'll sacrifice?" the Truth cackles. She cringes at the similarity of the wide grin. So cruel. Then, the Truth disappears as well.

"He'll come. He'll definitely come for me," Alphonse assures himself, then turns to her for assurance, "Right?"

She blinks as she realizes that he's asking her. No, I do not—cannot—believe that he will come, Alphonse.

Indulge him.

She nods hesitantly, but he has already turned back to stare intently at the Gate of Truth. He waits, for a brother that may, or may not, come for him.

She waits with him, for no one is coming for her. She is waiting, merely to satisfying her own morbid curiosity, and, if the elder Elric does appear, to see him off.

She watches with dark eyes and a heavy heart as another golden boy exits the Gate. It is the Fullmetal Alchemist, she knows. Part of her does not want him to take Alphonse, but she knows that it would be wrong to stop them. The string of Fate has led them back to each other, and their promise will be fulfilled.

But now, what will he do? What will he trade for his brother?

"This," the elder Elric says evenly, placing his hands on the Gate.

Her eyes grow wide as she watches them. Even the Truth seems taken aback for a moment. She watches as the Fullmetal Alchemist's Gate of Truth begins to disappear. The Truth fades away as well, snickering at her.

The golden-haired boy turns, face lighting up when he sees his younger brother.

"I can't believe you were so rash, you idiot!" he yells as he runs to him. He holds his hand out to him, and Alphonse accepts, beaming radiantly.

The younger Elric's eyes settle on his brother's Gate which is almost completely gone, revealing a girl, timidly studying them.

Edward notices his brother's hesitancy, and turns to inspect their surroundings with his own golden eyes.

So this is the brazen red strand that tied all of the threads together—The Fullmetal Alchemist. She regards him curiously. He is so unlike the rest of the threads—he had his own place on the tapestry, tightly interwoven with the other strands, be it in combat as opponent or comrade, friendship, even love—he was essential to this tapestry. And with this final chapter, her magnum opus is completed.

"Who's there?" Edward enquires, somewhat suspiciously.

"She's been keeping me company all this time, brother," Alphonse laughs, turning back to her. He motions to her, "Come on! Let's go!"

She shakes her head quietly, stepping out from behind the Gate.

"She can't leave this place," the Truth appears again, snickering. "She has nothing to trade for her passage."

Two pairs of golden eyes are turned onto her, both surprised. She looks away from their heavy gazes.

"You…" Alphonse's eyes begin to tear up.

"Come on Al, there's nothing that we can do," Edward says, pulling gently on his arm.

"Wait!" Alphonse cries. It has just dawned on him that in all that time, he has never asked what happened to her, why she was there in the Void, or even who she was.

"Al..." the other male says gently. She regards him with a soft expression. "Al," he repeats, "There's nothing we can do."

This boy knows.

"Please! Please! At least tell me your name!"

She turns to meet his innocent golden eyes, surprise on her face. She repeats the words hesitantly, as if she hasn't spoken for quite some time, "My…name?"

"Yes! Tell me your name!"

She smiles sadly, looking down at the white ground. Her voice is soft and resigned when she finally responds, "You want to try and save me from here."

"Please!"

She looks back at him with a pitying look, "You can't save me. No one can. Now go. Go with your brother. You've got a girl back there, don't you? A certain Xingese princess, perhaps?"

She gives him a little push, smiling as he blushes. Then she glances at the other golden-eyed male with a gentle gaze, "Take care of him, Edward Elric."

He responds gruffly, "Thank you for looking after him in here."

She smiles at them, "You have a good brother there, Alphonse."

His brother tugs on his arm impatiently, nervously glancing around, "Al…let's go home."

That sends a pang shooting through her chest. They're such…such good brothers. They've stuck with each other for so long, and they were able to keep their promise. And now they will be able to return home together…finally.

Was anyone looking for her?

"Please tell me your name! Even if I'm not able to save you, please, let me try!"

The Gates begin to close.

"Hurry! Go!" she cries and Alphonse is dragged along behind his brother. He pauses, half in and half out of the door.

The Gates slow for him, and she's glad, because she can say goodbye, "Live a long, happy life, Alphonse. Never, ever take any part of it for granted. Never doubt yourself, dear child."

And then she whispers a name to him; a fleeting look of surprise flits across his face. He smiles, "That's a beautiful name..." and then slips through the passageway, back home.

"Go safely...Elric brothers..."

The Gate closes with an ominous rumble.

She waits until it is silent once more, until the Truth is finished mocking her anguish, and it too disappears, leaving her alone with her sorrow.

She hopes he will forget about her—Forget about his unhappy time here, sickly and weak. She hopes he forgets his self-proclaimed promise of rescuing her.

"Sweet, sweet Alphonse, I hope you forget about me, and that fake name I gave you."

She will continue to wander here forever, stuck between worlds.

Because no one will ever be able to save her.

Stuck in between Life and Death. Not alive, but not dead. There is nothing but Nothing.

Void.

That is all.

She will wonder if it was coincidence, or maybe fate, that had led her down that path. That had led her to him.

Was it the same coincidence that he had stepped onto the same path? Had it been the same path that had led him to her?

No...It was a thaumaturgical happening.

A/N: I'd forgotten how it feels to write in this style, so after rewatching this anime, and rereading this manga, well, why not?
I can write in many styles, and if you've read my other stories, you can see the distinct differences.

Anyway. I may be writing more in this style. What do you think? Please review and let me know what your thoughts on this oneshot were~
And if you find any grammar/spelling mistakes, please tell me, those things drive me crazy, and yet I still miss some.

(Oh! If you noticed the use of 4 different verb tenses, it makes me happy~!)