I don't think of all the misery, but of the beauty that still remains - Anne Frank.
The coolness of a metal has long gone. The heat of the attic she hides in has sought to that as well as making the time (that drags it's feet as it passes) here more painful. Yet she still clings to thing one of her sons made.
There isn't much to do in this vast darkness that's air is painfully warm compared the air down the stairs of the house. It times like this that Haddash isn't proud on how Ishvala crafted her. It's shaming but she wishes she had the eyes and skin of those who are murdering her people. Haddash only wishes this so she can be with her children instead of this suffocating darkness that condemns her more than Ishvala ever did by taking her sight.
Haddash wriggles her toes ontop of the cover beneath her. Eventually she loses the entertainment of feeling the softness of the cover and has again nothing to do. A few days ago Pinako (worn face, coolness of metal and glass, a slender piece of wood that's almost always between her dry small lips that smelt of something Haddash still did not know the name of) had cut Haddash's hair for her. She'd been miserable with the weight, long length and how it would stick to her skin because of sweat. Now she somewhat regrets the actions; Haddash had played with braiding her hair while in the attic. Now, while cooler, she had one less thing to do.
She let go of the warm metal toy that fell onto the cover with a thud. She lifted both her hands to rub her face (not as worn as Pinako's but far too worn for her age but war did that along with many other horrid things). There was sweat on it, cool touch with her long fingers. Whenever she breathed out (a bit strong because of her impatience) air touched her palms.
If her face is more wet than it should be there's no one here to see. Haddash is the only person to bear witness to her frustrated tears in the all encompassing darkness. Except, of course, she can't actually witness just as she can't be free. There's a miserable sob that escapes her lips. Even when the war is over with her people's blood staining their harsh terrain Haddash will not be free. She will not get to play in the meadows with her children who have their father's eyes. Everyday Haddash is thankfully they have those eyes of Pinako's drinking buddy.
Gold, Pinako had told her when she given birth to her first born. Her employer, her friend (the closest thing Haddash has to family besides her blood and Van), would latter mutter how Edward had the eyes of feral cat; it always without fail would make Haddash smile.
Gold, Pinako had once again informed a tired Haddash when she'd given birth to her youngest. Alphonse. His name was Alphonse. Alphonse meant ready to fight; to the on looker with knowledge of the name's meaning it would have matched better with her eldest. But Haddash, with a sly, proud upwards quirk of her lips, knew better. Any child who ever hurt Edward or Winry and didn't have the sense to stay away from Alphonse learnt better. The boy who had found entertainment in kicking a kitten had learnt better. She had never cared to learn much less remember that boy's name; Haddash had been too proud of her child to care about the apparently bruised child.
A/N: Originally posted on ao3 under the pen name youngjusticewriter. Part of the Elrics Through the Looking Glass series.