The sun rose quietly over the green, dew-covered fields of Risembool, casting a soft golden light over the small houses dotting the landscape. From the balcony of one house in particular, two little green eyes could see nearly everything, from the rolling hills and heavily forested mountains in the distance, to the humble wooden sign down below that creaked slightly when the wind blew strongly enough.
The little girl frowned at the surrounding beauty, pulling her jacket collar a little higher up as she tried to disentangle herself from her thoughts. It was nice here, true enough... it was just so quiet. To a child who had spent nearly all of her young life in the hustle and bustle of Central City, and, for that matter, most of her time under the roofs of some rather... energetic... people, the peaceful silence felt alien, even stifling at times despite the wide open air.
Still, she could see why her remains of a family would want her here instead of her birthplace. Even at this young age she could see that Central just wasn't safe anymore, what with the war, the overtaxed military trying to step up to the plate, led by pompous, incompetant windbags who were probably going senile and dragging the whole country down with them-- or so she had heard from several friends, during one of their usual debates over politics when they thought she was asleep.
But she didn't need the colorful descriptions... not when she'd seen firsthand the brutality and violence that fellow human beings would inflict on one another just over a difference of opinion. The child shuddered, once again remembering the events that had brought her here, to this balcony, this little town. Seven years ago she had been the darling of Central Headquarters... now, when people heard her name they would either cry, smirk or become very angry, depending on how they had felt about her parents.
Now, she had loved her mother and father. Truly, she had. She just hated being judged on who her parents had been, rather than on her own self. Part of the reason she had allowed herself to be dragged out here to Resembool (or Hicksville, Amestris, as she had so affectionately dubbed it) was that nobody around would have known her family.
Yet even here she felt herself judged. She was another little orphan that the Rockbells had taken in; really, Winry did seem to have a knack for bringing friends home. There was a lot less death out here in the country, and she often found herself the object of pity and the trigger for old memories, sometimes of a young pair of brothers, sometimes of a younger Winry, sometimes, even, of some poor, forgotten child they might have seen in the streets while on a trip to the capital.
And she resented it. She felt sick and tormented by the constant whispering behind hands as she walked by; if they weren't talking about her parents, they were talking about everyone else in her life. She was always angry with the people who tried to define her by the tragedy of her family, bitter at those who would give her pity or patronizing looks, and even more frustrated with those who did neither, because she knew that they wanted to.
"Resentful" was a decidedly good way to describe her at the moment, she thought. Resentful at anyone who tried to pretend they understood, because they didn't. Resentful at anyone who did understand, because that meant she might not be justified in her rage. Resentful at her sisters, who had only subjected her to more of the same, for all they had tried to protect her. But most of all, she resented her father, for having been such a great man and having doted on her so much, then sticking his neck where he shouldn't have and starting this whole parade of tragedy and loss. Stupid Dad, everything was fine until he had left... Stupid Mom, everyone had actually started to heal when she left too. What girl needs idiot parents like that, anyway?
But for all her hateful words, she did still love them. She still missed them terribly, still sprang out of bed in the middle of the night, screaming for daddy to wake up and for mommy to please, please open her eyes...
No. Now was not the time for that. She had to be tough, or at least look it. She'd heard that Edward Elric had not cried at all during his own mother's funeral when he had been only ten, so what gave her the right to get all mopey now? She would learn not to get affected by the staring and the sad looks. She would learn not to care.
I already don't care, she thought firmly to herself as she glared defiantly at the beautiful sunrise. I don't care.
Elysia Hughes had been through far too much to let herself care anymore.
A/N: Yes, that was Widduw Elysia-chan... if you don't get what happened, try reading it again. I'm thinking about doing something else, maybe have Elysia write letters to her father as everything happens... because there's more to it than what she briefly mentions here. If enough people want that, then I might write it.
As I said before, she's not the main character of the bigger fic, but she's one of them-- her relationship with Winry and her issues over growing up without parents are a big part of the story.
Review please!