Author's Note: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist
He surveyed his work, every last detail of it. It took a painstakingly long time, and he did it all by hand. He sweated for seventeen and a half hours, laboring over ten-by-ten foot room. He had a mammoth smile on his face and tears in his eyes.
The room was a Gothic style, with dragons procuring from three of the four walls. Huge arches dominated the ceiling, and the circular stonework that covered the floor was magnificent. Rings encircling each other dragged your attention to each one in turn. Runes were inscribed at precise points, and many of the circles had several chords. An infant's crib rested in the center, red and black in contrast to the gray that covered the walls and floor. Crimson claws reached from all four posts, gnarled ebony bridgework across them. The room was filled with other baby supplies. A seemingly sporadically placed changed station rested to the right, a currently empty toy chest was placed next to the wall, and a tower of stuffed dragons, dogs, and other animals stood precociously in the back.
He leaned out of the doorway, a relatively simple black piece, to call his wife. When she did not answer, his voice increased in volume as his yelled again, which emitted an angry squawk and hurried footsteps from the woman in question. Looking cross, she strode in next to her husband, hand on a prominent bump near her stomach. She glanced over her child's room, turned, and, grinning sweetly, said one word to her husband before he blacked out from a hit to the head.
"No."
He awoke some time later with a bruise on his head and a wrench next to it. He sighed at her poor taste and called his brother for help in demolishing and, seceding that, rebuilding the room.