I am in love with the character Lust. She is lovely, strong and intelligent, and she is a character that everyone misunderstands. I truly believe that Scar and Lust are MADE for eachother, and if you disagree, then that's fine. I don't care.

DISCLAIMER ; If I owned FMA, then I would have Scar and Lust together 'cause they are so lovely together.

Read on.

Lust POV

I hated how he spoke of her. How he looked at me with those anguished, sad, angry, rage-filled beautiful red eyes. I hated how he said that he hated me. How he told me that I could never be her. That, even if we pretended – If I pretended to be her, it would never be real. It would all be fake, false, and painful.

I hated that all of that was true.

I looked at myself in the mirror, and I vaguely remembered myself, or in correction, my old self. Instead of smooth brown skin that had warm blood pulsing through my old veins, I had pale white skin that was cold as ice with undead blood running through my smaller, and tighter veins. I once had lovely crimson eyes that were filled with warmth, and now I had colder, crueler, and more striking violet eyes.

There was not much of a difference, if you looked at a photo of what I once was, and what I am now. But to me, it was everything.

I brought my hand up to my face, watching as my reflection mimicked my actions. There was no imperfections here. No oily skin, no sweat, no unwanted hairs, no blemishes. I am everything that a man desires. From my narrow waist to my well-endowed hips. My delicate shoulders to my large, soft breasts. My long legs and slender arms to my willowy fingers.

'Don't be fooled, you pathetic humans,' I thought mirthlessly to myself. 'These delicate fingers can cut you up like a hot knife through butter.'

And how was it that I, the most beautiful and desirous being on earth, cannot sway his will? How is it that I cannot keep him, have him, and love him? I could easily sway my hips and men, and women, would fall to my will, they would die for me, kill for me, and love me easily.

But it wasn't their love I wanted. It wasn't their flimsy touch I desired. It wasn't their lips I needed. It wasn't their soul I craved.

But it was all him. I wanted his love like a drug – no, not a drug, but as my life. He made my artificial heart beat so hard, so fast that it almost seemed real.

It was his touch, his rough, calloused hands that I wanted. I wanted his hands to run across my arms, my breasts, my back, my legs. I wanted his touch, and no one else's.

I needed his lips against my own, his chapped lips against my soft ones. I wanted his rough, muscled body against my softer, rounder, curvier body. I wanted to be his silk to his steely body. I wanted to be the woman that would stand next to him, unwavering and strong.

I wanted, needed, desired, and craved – dear GOD, I craved, to be his soul mate. I wanted his soul to be mine, and in return, I would give him my power, my body, my memories, my name, my past, my present, my future. My Everything.

I looked away from my reflection, disgusted with myself. My body, my perfection.

I hated how he flinched at my voice. I hated how such sadness came from his eyes and his body whenever he saw me.

I also hated that I needed him. I hated that I was the pathetic moth and he was the mesmerizing flame. I hated that I enjoyed seeing him.

I closed my eyes, and his face flickered behind them. His trademark scowl, his glare, his furious red eyes that I had come to dream about. I wanted to kiss his scowl away and make him smile at me the same way that a man smiles at the love of his life. I want to smooth out his glare and watch as his furious red eyes become softer and gentle.

I want him to love me.

I sat down, suddenly tired. Running a hand through my soft curly hair, I wondered what it would be like to run my hands through his hair. To touch his skin, to kiss his body, to make love to that stronger body and feel it beneath my fingers. It wasn't as if this though hadn't occurred before. I dreamed about loving him, and fucking him. Having him above me and below me, worshipping me and loving me.

I sighed, staring outside into the dark skies that held bright stars, and I vaguely remembered that Ishbal once had nights like these. Dark, unending night skies with millions of bright stars. I remembered how the man I once loved would hold me and make love to me under the stars, whispering promises of eternal love and happiness. I laughed darkly at those memories. How little he knew of the eternity that I was cursed with. How little he knew about the agony I felt whenever I saw his wonderful little brother. How little did he know that I was madly in love with him.

I looked away from the sky, almost as if I was ashamed. I knew that I was being stupid, childish and immature. I wanted what I couldn't have, what I shouldn't have. But how could I resist such temptation?

Is this how Eve felt when the devil tempted her with the apple? Was she blinded by the colour of the fruit, the texture? And how did Adam feel when his wife, his lover, had damned herself with the knowledge of good and evil? Was he mad, disgusted, worried, sad? Did he hate her? Did he still love her?

'Does he really hate me, or does he love me?' I thought to myself, looking through my dark room, and in my minds eye, I remembered his answer. The answer that I came to hate and despise because it was so true.

"Not you...but her."

I snorted, crossing my arms beneath my large breasts. I had the perfect body and he had never succumbed to me. Ever. What could he want that I didn't have?

I knew what I looked like with my black-emerald dress on, and without it. I knew how tempting my bodice was, how alluring my voice was...

And yet, he was blind to my body, deaf to my voice, and ignorant of my feelings.

Feelings...

That made me feel a surge of anger. My master said that I can only feel Lust. Only constant sexual desire and want. But how was it that I felt angry and betrayed at my 'master' for her constant lies, and disgusted with my fellow siblings? How was it that I felt both envious and understanding towards my elder brother, Greed? How did he overcome his fear of our master and betray her? What was freedom like? What was it like without her rule, and the constant fear that I felt whenever I saw her?

How was it that I felt such happiness, joy and absolute euphoria whenever I saw him? How is it that I want to comfort him when he is sad? How is that? I am a homunculus, a fake, a phony, a false human. I have no real feelings, no soul, no spirit, no real conscious.

My very being is a sin, a dark being that is a disgrace to all creations by God. By Ishbala. Every breath I take, every move I make, every time my artificial heart beats, I mock the very center of my universe. I cause him pain because I look like her, sound like her, walk like her.

And yet...there was only one time he opened his heart to me. And in that moment, I was ready to give up my broken, shattered soul to him, and possibly everything else. I watched as he cried tears that broke my heart. I watched as he told me his true feelings.

I watched as he looked at me, and not through me, and in his eyes there was something that was not hate, or disgust.

It was love.

It was just a brief flicker, barely noticeable – but I've seen it. It made my heart soar and made me feel like all my nerves were a live wire.

Also, he wasn't seeing me as a copy-cat of her. He looked at me. My broken self. My sinful being and cruel ways. He loved me.

I smiled in my room, all by my lonesome. It wasn't a cruel smile that always made it's way on my face as I killed my pathetic prey. It was one of love. I touched my lips as the smile stayed there. It was incredibly pleasant, and strange. My face wasn't used to it, using unused lines around my eyes and the corners of my lips.

And in his last moments that he spoke to me, before he left the smaller house, before he went to his death, his sacrifice, he spoke to me.

"I'll be waiting."

I stood up, hearing the steps of the Full-metal boy. One metal, and one of flesh. I sighed, and briefly looked back in my mirror. My hair, my body, my face, it was all the same...And yet, there was a difference there. Something indescribable.

I shook it off and stepped out the door, coming face to face with the scowling face of Edward Elric. I nodded at him and we took off.

One last thought was in my mind before I head off to my unbinding death.

'Wait for me.'

So, there it is. I know that there are lots of fiction's out there that are like this, but please, review. I want to know how you all feel about this, and if I should write a second chapter, but in Scar's point of view, you know, before he...**Sobs** died.

Phanny out!