Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist and/or any of its characters.
Crimson.
Her eyes were crimson sunsets. Neither too dark like the sweet, thick blood that is oozing down her mouth nor too light like the pink hearts he would give to his dates on Valentine's Day. They were unflawed. There were no embellishments to her beautiful and dark red gaze.
They were absolute.
Those eyes that watched his every move and action. Those eyes that can pinpoint like a hawk in a battlefield. Eyes as sharp and dangerous as a knife. One wrong move, you're dead. Yet those eyes now held the loyalty and unrestrained devotion. Blonde wisps majestically cascade down her face, swathing her in a golden embrace. The dark firmament and the luminous moon could not compare to this angel before him with red eyes and blonde hair.
His hands fastened themselves to her face, gently swatting the gold strands around her.
A torrent of tears gushed down his face. His angel was dying. Life was evanescent. It was transient and ephemeral like everything around them. Nothing was perpetual. But why her? Why, of all people who deserve this more than her, Why her? Hasn't she suffered enough? Hasn't she gave everything for his dreams to live? Has she not justified herself enought to merit euphoria and the little pleasures in the world?
She had suffered so many hardships in the past. She became an adult at a young age. She joined the military and served under him for most of her life. She's only left with the smallest pleasures. Doesn't she deserve to live?
A small tear, almost like a dew, plummets and crashes down his nose. There was nothing in those eyes anymore. No loyalty, no devotion. Only love. The last of the wonders she couln't achieve.
Her eyes slowly close and before she slip away into the dark and horrific catacombs of the Keeper, she slowly lower her lips to meet his in a last moment of carnal union. And before he knew, his angel slept the Sleep of Forever. Their bodies entwined, she lay dead on him. He grips her body tightly and cries by the crook of her neck. Her head lies limp by his shoulder, her hand on his face.
And to the dark sky and quiet wind, a wail rose supreme over everything else. It echoed throughout the whole silence, leaving nothing but pain in its wake. An everlasting reminder of the sacrifice and devotion of the woman known as Riza Hawkeye to her friend, superior and lover: Roy Mustang.
In pain we sleep
In death we mourn
Cries from the deep
The dark gray morn
-Alessandro von Einzenberneg