This story has had parts rewritten for better coherency. If you read it a few weeks ago, you should read it again. Well... skim for places that are unfamiliar to you. I didn't know where this story was going when I first started it, but now I have a better idea. "The Blood of Children" is also in the middle of a rewrite. I plan to have it up by the beginning of December.

Author's Note: This is Elena Marcoh, and that's all that you're getting out of me right now. No, she's not going to end up with Ed or Al or any of the main characters. Don't you worry. (Romance really has nothing to do with this story.) She's an odd sort, and I've tried to make her somewhat realistic. She gets hurt, she gets her ass kicked, she does stupid things, she's not always prepared. She's as human as possible. This follows the manga and not the anime, just so you know. The manga is way better than the anime, anyway. And, yes, you guessed right, folks! This story really isn't much about Ed, Al, or even Roy and Riza. It's about two people (who are really one) and their priorities, and how those priorities switch from being themselves to being other people. Think of something bigger than yourself. You are One, and we are the World.

The author's only food is reviews. It's all she eats. You don't want her to STARVE, do you?

The author does not own the universe of FullMetal Alchemist, either. She only owns Elena Marcoh and Spite. The end.

Begin.



*A harsh dry wind swept over the landscape. It sucked the moisture from everything it touched, leaving chapped lips and cracked earth. A perfect cerulean sky lay over the red-brown earth, not a single cloud to mar its loveliness.

But all of the beauty was lost on her. "Miss, hurry up!" A voice called from behind her. "It may not look it here, but it's almost winter in Xing. We need to leave before the snows close the mountain passes."

Hear that, girlie? Better hurry up if you wanna escape. Her steel teeth ground down in a silent snarl. She turned away from the plateau and the view over the Ishbal it afforded.

"Shut up." she muttered furiously.

To shut me up you'd need to rip off those Stones, hun. You're not of a wanting to do that, are you? If you do that, you die. She limped stiffly back down the rocky trail as if every bone ached. She yanked on her burnoose and sand-colored cloak over her ragged uniform to protect her new white skin from the sun. Her eyes watered and burned from the brightness of the sun and sand, but she refused to close them. She would be strong again. Her body- no matter that it was new- was hers. Forget her head. She had to share it with that annoying schizophrenic phenomenon that called itself "Spite".

She suddenly tripped, body seizing up involuntarily as she tumbled down the rocky slope, coming to rest with a nasty crack against the side of the caravan. "Miss!" Someone's feet crunched in the rocks as they ran over to see if she was all right. "Missy are you all right?"

Elena heard a pop as her elbow went back into its socket. She saw sparks and the tiny cuts in her body closed up and disappeared. "I'm okay." she said politely, allowing the caravan driver to help her to her feet. But inside she was screaming.

WHY DIDN'T YOU WARN ME? She shrieked as she hopped up onto the driver's seat beside the friendly merchant. WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME ANYTHING? I'VE STUDIED ALCHEMY! I CAN HANDLE IT!

No, you can't.

Oh joy. You've got something smart to say now?

I've existed since Cain and Abel. You've existed for eighteen years, counting the nine months before you were born. Your body is mine, now.

I still control it.

But for how long? Before you know it, I'll have taken over like a pathogen.

You're only schizophrenia. You're a creation of stress from the battlefield. Something that sounded like a sigh echoed throughout her mind.

Think what you like. I can wait.

"So, Missy, have you got family in Xing?" The merchant slapped the backs of his oxen with the reins.

"I think I still do." The traveler sighed through her burnoose. "Think we could make a quick detour through Rush Valley?"

"I dunno, Miss, it's..." but his protests died when a fat wad of cash was procured from an inner pocket. "Of course. We'll have plenty of time."

I need someone to sort out this damn stiffness. She settled back into her cloak, closing her eyes wearily. Thanks a lot, Dad.

Thanks for damning me.



She never thought that the first time she would be back in Central would be for a funeral.

A lone bugler was giving rise to a good old military farewell. Many people turned out to pay their respects; all of them in uniform save for two.

There was the man's poor wife, handkerchief clutched in one hand while she held a little girl –no older than three- in the other. Tears poured down the woman's face as the ground rose up to bury her husband. "Mama, why are those men burying Papa?" Those people who were near enough to hear the little girl's words shuffled their feet. A few disguised sniffs as coughs.

"Elicia…" the woman began, but her lips were trembling.

"Please, if you bury Papa, he can't go to work!" The little girl was crying, now. She probably didn't understand. Children at that age never did. She would be asking for days where Papa was and why didn't he come home to see her? Then it would have to be explained over and over again because children were wise in that they didn't accept truths that they didn't like. "Papa says Papa always has lots of work-" her mother grabbed her and held her close, shoulders trembling violently.

"Shush, Elicia. Just… don't…"

The bugle's last mournful notes trailed off into the bight sky. Regrets were offered to the widow and soon everyone had gone save for one man.

He took off his military cap and shoved a hand into his pocket, walking right up to the grave. A fresh wreath of flowers lay at the base of the white marble headstone. "You've gained two ranks just by dying in the line of duty. Brigadier General, hn?" he said quietly. "You said you'd support me from below. What're you going to do now that you've gone higher than me? You idiot."

"Do you dislike being the only one stuck at colonel?" He whirled around and took a few quick steps back, unnerved at how the woman seemed to have suddenly materialized beside him.

"General Marcoh," he said by way of greeting.

The woman- a girl with old eyes, really- didn't look at him. She wore a similar dress uniform to the Colonel's, save that she wore the tan overcoat, wrapped blazer, and spats of the Ishbalan campaign. She sported a cap like his; her ink-black ponytail twisted up beneath it. Merry red tear-drops dangled and danced from her earlobes.

"I'm no General," she said vehemently. "Just likes Hughes is no General. Once you're dead, ranks mean nothing." Suddenly, she looked up and gave him a weary smile, dark circles underneath her tired blue eyes. "But I got past Colonel before you, Mustang."

"If you're dead, you shouldn't be here." He turned once again to gaze upon the new grave. It looked so impersonal, so uniform. It looked exactly like every other plot in the soldiers' cemetery.

"Well, technically, I AM here. See? Sixteen rows down and to the left." It was too far away from him to see easily, but he knew it was there. He'd passed it and stopped at it many times before.

"Fine, then. People will wonder why a dead seventeen-year-old Brigadier General is here. You haven't aged at all. That's not fair."

She grinned metallically at the headstone, looking exactly as she had years ago. She hadn't aged at all except for her eyes. They were old.

"I'm actually twenty-four, now. Blame my youthful appearance on good genes and moisturizing."

They stood in respectful silence for a few minutes before Marcoh broke it. "You finally fixed your hair for the occasion, I see."

"If you're not going to accept your rank of Brigadier General you can't carp about my hair."

"Colonel?" He turned around again. It was Lieutenant Hawkeye, overcoat draped over one arm. He could feel the slight breath of wind as the one-time Brigadier General disappeared. "Are you going to come? It's getting cold."

"In a minute." He answered. "You know, we alchemists are horrible people."

"How is that?" Her voice was weary from emotional strain.

"We set laws for what is and is not possible, yet we go ahead anyway. Right now I'm trying my hardest to figure out a formula for human transmutation."

"But it can't be done, Colonel." She looked confused.

"Yes, it can't be done." No, it can. The proof had been standing next to him not five seconds ago.

He fixed his hat back on his head, gazing up at the sky, pulling the brim down over his eyes. "It's raining." He said with a small note of surprise in his voice.

"Sir?" The sky was perfectly clear.

"This…" A tear left a silvery trail down his freshly-shaven cheek. "…is rain."


A/N: You may notice that a sizable chunk of text is missing. That is on purpose, as Elena's character needs to flow better and have some more predictability. She flip-flops too much.