...what have I done.

She flicks her hand towards the stage and tiny bits of ice proceed to fall from the ceiling. "I don't like this play," she says softly and not so gently to the nervous performers. "Leave now, please."

Quick and eager to please, they all scamper off the stage, stumbling over props and pushing them towards the backstage in their hurry. The sounds of screeching wood on wood and glass scratching the mahogany floor make her eyes narrow in dislike. She flicks her hand again, and this time a shower begins to smatter the stage. "Leave," she says, louder this time. "Faster."

"Perhaps you should give them some time," says the man beside her, his arms folded behind his back. "They are only human, after all."

"As am I, but I am not as slow." She turns her head to look at him. "And neither are you, for that matter. When did you manage to get here?"

"A while ago." He proceeds to move forward slightly to now stand a bit before her. His mouth twitches as one of the performers falls on the stage only to scramble back up in their haste. "I thought we agreed that you would not abuse your power, Principessa."

"I am not abusing it," she states airily, calmly as if she is not affected by his mere presence. "I am merely using it to my advantage." She takes a moment to push back a strand of golden hair. "And who are you to judge me?"

The man chuckles, a sound that makes her heart beat a bit faster. "I have not judged you yet, Principessa. However, I do have that right as your servant, do I not?"

She raises a thin eyebrow. "I don't believe I've granted you that right, Kimblee."

He laughs this time, a throaty laugh that seems to fill her ears. "Of course not. It is a rule in one of your books. Have you not been studying?"

This time she cannot conceal a tiny flush on her pale skin. "Don't be silly. Of course I have." Turning her crystal-like blue eyes to the stage, she distracts herself by flicking little ice crystals down onto the floor. "When can we leave? It's much too dreary in this place. I prefer something livelier."

"What is more lively than a theater?"

"The battlefield."

"Yet, you are not allowed to be there, Principessa."

"I could make a law that allows me to do so." She swivels her body around in her chair and props her chin on her thin hands. "After all, I do rule this land."

"Ah, ah, ah," Kimblee hums, waving a spindly finger in the air, "Do not abuse your power, remember?"

She scowls. "What if I am needed?"

"Then we shall allow you to. In the meantime…" He takes her hand in his, and she shivers at his warmth. "Why don't we go home?"

Swallowing a few words bubbling in her throat, she allows him to pull her out of her chair and towards the exit. As they move, she can feel his warmth radiating off of his body and onto her cold flesh, and she almost sighs with bliss. Do not let go of me, she silently urges. "And can you tell me, Kimblee, who are you to order a Principessa?"

He laughs. "No, I cannot."

Call me by my name, she whispers inside. My name, Kimblee, my name.

She wraps a cold smile onto her face and squeezes his hand tighter. Inside the theater, she wills for snow to fall down onto the stage, heavy snow in thick white whirlwinds. "Then do not."

"Are you loyal to me, Kimblee?" she asks him one evening.

He looks up from pouring her the tea. Long strands of black hair fall down over his shoulder in waves while his golden eyes observe her curiously. "Yes, of course," he says quietly, tilting the pot back up to a normal stance. After a pause, he continues. "Why would you ask such a thing, Principessa?"

She wiggles her fingers in her dainty white gloves, watching the fabric crinkle and un-crinkle at her slightest movements. If she doesn't look closely enough, she can almost imagine that the gloves are part of her very skin. "No reason."

"There is always a reason for everything, be it nonsensical or unreasonable," he states calmly, placing the pot on the kitchen counter. "That is also in your books."

"Have you read all of them?"

"Only when I was fanciful."

She laughs. "That makes no sense whatsoever."

"Hardly anything does." He takes a few moments to settle down on the counter before turning again. "Now, what is your reason?"

She knows that he is practically the only person who can ask her so bluntly and get away with it. "I was just wondering. Being fanciful, I was." She flashes a quick, rosy-lipped smile at him before turning her attention to the tea and taking a few sips.

"How is it?"

"Hm?"

"The tea, Principessa. How is the tea?"

"Excellent, as always," she says calmly before putting it down on the table. She is careful with warm things so as to not freeze them too quickly. "Kimblee, have you ever thought of leaving?"

"Never."

She smiles teasingly. "Quick to answer, are we?"

"Of course." He kneels down beside her and takes her hand. The warmth seeps through and she can't help but reminded that fire always melts ice. Always. "You are my only Principessa," he states firmly, brushing his lips over the back of her glove. "And so you shall always be."

She takes a quick plunge into her courage. "Until death do us apart?"

He is silent.

"Can you not answer me?" she asks, heart pounding in her chest.

The hand around hers squeezes tighter.

"Yes," he says calmly, clasping both of his hands on hers. "Until death do us apart."

It is late at night, and she is standing by her bedside with a bloody, crystal knife. Her white nightgown shines spotless in the moonlight while her hair hangs below her waist in messy, pale locks. The blood on her knife cools and dries on the ice.

"Until death do us apart," she whispers at the prone body at her feet. "Was that not our deal?"

Kimblee chuckles as a little bit of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "Of course, Principessa."

Her gaze hardens into blue-tinted ice. "Do not call me Principessa."

"It was your dream, though, was it not?" He gazes at her calmly as the crimson stain on his stomach grows and grows. "To be a Principessa. To succeed your weaker sister, though you held the power of the congelati cuori." He narrows his eyes. "I have humored your dream long enough, Principessa. It is time to face reality and accept that you will never succeed the throne."

"Why won't you say it?" She lets her fingers slip from the knife and drop to the ground. Clutching her fingers in her hair, she lets them claw through, frenzied as she screams. "Why won't you say my name?"

He is silent, merely watching her actions as his eyes grow duller and duller.

"Say it!" she screams, stamping her foot over and over again. "Say it, say it, say it! Say it, Kimblee, say it! I order you to! Kimblee!" she cries, sobbing as cold tears run down her face. "I'm tired, Kimblee," she sobs, covering her eyes. "I'm tired of this."

He turns his head away, beautiful black hair flowing over the floor. The fire-red ribbon entwines in the black strands, mixing together as if showing Hell fire.

She keeps crying, tears soaking through her fingers and pattering onto the floor. "Kimblee, please. Please." Choking on her words, she can't even feel her fingers anymore. They have gone numb from the freezing temperature they are at now. "I don't want to be a Principessa anymore. I just want…" She can't even speak properly anymore. "I just…I need…"

"To be Winry again?"

She nods, gulping. "Yes," she whispers. "I need to be her again. I can't remember how anymore. I've been the Principessa for so long."

A warm hand wraps itself around her white ankle. She looks down, still sobbing somewhat.

He is looking at her now with his golden eyes filled with warmth.

Whispers. "Smile, Winry."

And she does, heat blooming in her chest and spreading through her whole body. She shudders, gasps for breath as her tears turn to warm water and drip down onto his face.

"I'm sorry," she sobs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I love you, I'm sorry."

He strokes her ankle and continues to smile, even as his eyes fade to gray. "I know."

When she gets up the next morning, she pours herself a cup of tea and sits outside in the garden. Letting the sun bask her face, she sips the tea slowly.

Winry smiles, and fingers the fire-red ribbon entwined in her fingers.

1. Principessa: Italian for 'princess'.

2. congelati cuori: Italian for 'frozen hearts'. An obvious reference to Winry's ability to control ice.

I want to say here that since this was fantasy and a most obvious AU, I wanted to make these two characters purposefully out of character so as to fit this story line. I wanted to have Kimblee fit the stereotype of Flame better than his usual self, as a more calm and collected flame that does not burn whatever he touches. As for Winry, I needed her to be colder, the opposite of what she is in canon. I needed her to be like ice so that she could melt.

Cheesy sounding, I know, but it is true.

This story was not meant to be a story about love, actually. Winry's affection for Kimblee can be taken as either a romantic feeling or a more familial, intimate friendship. This story was actually meant to be about loyalty, and how some are willing to do anything to fulfill that. Kimblee knew that he had to attack Winry to snap her out of her fantasy. And because he was so loyal, he needed to do this for her because he saw how she was being consumed by her own obsessive world.

If this offends you in any way, I am sorry. If this strikes you as odd, I am sorry as well. If you liked it, I am glad and applaud you.

Thank you for reading.