The eyes looking back in the mirror are haunted, empty pools of gold.
It was too much to hope for. This is payment for my sin; for the blood on my hands.
I am haunted.
I wake up in a cold sweat, and the shadows created by the streetlight outside form monsters in the shadows. They are like Truth; thousands of grubby arms and hands and fingers reaching for me.
It already knows me, but it desires to possess me.
The Truth is all-knowing. It sees my fear, my doubt. It whispers my failure in the blood-tinted dusk of each passing day.
Each night I am filled with despair, with the knowledge that I have failed again. The cold loneliness is like the hollowness of Al's armor.
But there is another like me. Ishbal stares back at him from the shadows on the nights that he lies awake.
The others believe he is simply lazy. But I know the Truth. It haunts him, too.
We despair.
And we hope. That our actions now will somehow wash away the blood on our hands.
Perhaps. Perhaps not.
We have yet to truly pay the price.
Equivalent Exchange.
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