A/N Two days late *shaaame* D: but I managed to slog through and get it done yay ^_^ laptop's aliiiive now, so all is well again, me drowning in schoolwork not withstanding.

Previous reviewers:

Anne Camp: naw, being punny is fine, in fact, I'm convinced that Barry's name itself is Arakawa being punny, since the katakana for Barry's name (BARII) is kinda similar to the word barabara, which is a word used in Japanese police reports where the victim has been dismembered or chopped up. ^_^ I kinda couldn't slow down because of how much stuff I have to cram into these remaining six chapters dealing with Pride being Selim, but I'm glad you felt the super speeding was ok ^^

D12T: Aww shucks, that's real nice of you ^_^ and yes, poor Lust : (

Moofy-Fan: The melon returns~! I always wanted it to come back sooner or later, so then seemed like the best time ^_^ I like Wrath and Pride's relationship toooo, but I'm worried about how it's gonna go down when they start living together and competing for Mrs. B's attention D: Yep, so bittersweet that last scene, but I did want Lust and Pride to have one final scene together that ended on a really final note just to be sure ^^

Shade40: You know it~ I'm happy someone caught that, I don't even know why that came to me as I was writing, I just was like "hm, made up relation" and boom, Yzma came to mind immediately ^_^

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Oh, just a quick warning everyone, if you see this 'ſ', it is an s, it appears at the beginning and middle of words, but not at the end and not for capital letters ^_^

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Sin's Child

Chapter Fifty-Four: a Necessary Home away from Home

March 2nd 1913

It had been a while, but at the same time it seemed like only yesterday that he did this. The sensation was as ever familiar and a tad unusual even after all these years. Pride trickled his way along the brightly illuminated walls, not making a sound. He slithered past Sloth, still digging, almost two years away from the Promised day and he still hadn't finished. But Father had reassured him that Sloth would complete the tunnel at least six months before the Promised day arrived, so Pride didn't concern himself with it. Father would never be wrong about something so imperative to his Plan.

"HELLO, PRIDE…" Only the smallest pause and a quick ripple along his shadow was the response, and Pride carried on past him. For now at least Sloth was of less importance. Soon enough he slowed as he found them, the two dozen or so humans working ceaselessly on the tunnel floor, far too busy to notice him watching with a single squinted eye as it drifted through his shadow. He didn't really see the point of it, but if it helped Sloth work more efficiently Pride saw nothing wrong with it. Such menial work was the only thing humans were good at anyway, laying tracks for carts to pull the dirt from the tunnel away. Besides, when they were finished setting down all the track for this part of the tunnel they would become obsolete, overworked and of no use to anyone anymore, nothing more than intruders after that, and Father would not mind, no, Father would praise him for his initiative, if he were to simply dispose of them all in one moment. A tiny excited shudder ran along his shadow, all the way along until he felt even a minute twitch in his container however many miles away.

Something tugged at his split consciousness from afar, dragging him back towards it with the utmost urgency despite how calm and even the voice echoed along to him. Seeping back into his container as gently as he could, he looked blearily up to who had pulled him back. Sitting up straighter from his dazed slouch he smiled.

"Good morning, Father."

"Good morning, Pride. I have interrupted your observations because I have a new, far more pressing issue I wish for you to attend to. "

"Yes, Father?" He pushed himself to his feet without a moment's notice, waiting patiently for whatever Father desired of him.

"It pertains to Wrath. As the Promised day draws ever closer I am…concerned, and I believe that, as Wrath was created from a human, his residual human characteristics may reemerge and he may show a certain reluctance as time goes by. I believe this may be some relation to his affinity towards his human spouse." Pride nodded, part of him should have seen something like this coming, they should have never allowed him to choose his own wife who he could get pathetically attached to, especially not if Father feared that it would make him anything less than completely devoted to the plan.

"As such, I am instructing you to undertake an observation, monitor Wrath's behaviour from now until the Promised day. For this I want you to covertly take your place in Wrath's household as the adopted child of the Fuhrer. This will allow you to spend a great deal of time around Wrath. You will report any unusual or disloyal behaviour to me immediately, do you understand?" Despite the perilous, tenuous situation Wrath's potentially treasonous actions may cause should they prove to be true, Pride smiled inwardly at Father's new use for him, something that only he was capable of doing.

"I understand, I will observe Wrath during my stay there impeccably."

"I will arrange adoption papers to be forged by Lust soon enough, so discuss the proposal with Wrath under the pretense that it will help the morale of the public if the Fuhrer is considered to be a caring father. Do not let him believe anything otherwise as to your motives. I expect the very highest standard from you, Pride." Father would have never accepted anything less from him, and with that always in mind Pride nodded again, and bowed low before him.

"Of course, Father."

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March 14th 1913

He didn't say a word, didn't look up, didn't force a smile or a frown, didn't anything. He had mourned, or rather pretended to mourn, once before, but that had been a fleeting affair that had lasted a brief hour or two, and such would not be suitable in this case, where he was expected to maintain his façade until the Promised day. For now he would remain apathetic and confused, like a child in his situation should be.

Wrath's wife watched him with sad eyes, like she didn't want to believe it even now, even after he was here and everything would soon become official. Perhaps she could not understand how such a tragedy could befall such an innocent, carefree child as he was, that it was somehow unfair and he should have been immune to those kind of things. Pride hadn't been there to see Wrath explain what had happened but knew he would have relayed the information to her in the most appropriate and sympathetic of ways, one that painted him in the most pitiable, wretched light that would capture any woman's compassion. A fire was what had been agreed, the sudden conflagration that had consumed the Fuhrer's only living relatives' house in a single night, and the parents of dearest Selim with it, leaving the poor child all alone with naught but the orphanage to go to. Nothing more than that had been necessary, and it was a testament to her naivety that he sat again in their tea room now, though alone this time, ever so alone and confused with tears pricking behind his eyes. It had been far too easy. Looking lost without his doting parents at his side on the couch he glanced around, shoulders slumping as he didn't find them. So soon after the terrible accident it was easier to say that he didn't know yet, and there was no time better than now to question what was inevitable to come out. Pride wearily raised his head and chanced it, the smallest hint of something hopeful ringing in his voice.

"W…Where's Mother and Father? Are they still at the doctors'? Did they get hurt in the fire? Can I go visit them? When will they get better?" With each question Pride could see every wrinkle form around her mouth as her frown deepened, and her own tears of the greatest sympathy began to form in tiny droplets. From the other chair Pride could see Wrath's poisonous glare, not that she would ever notice it in the state she was in. Did Wrath not understand that this was all necessary? He may have been toying with her terribly human emotions, but it all part of what ignorant and painfully naïve questions that were the norm for a child in such a situation. She cleared her throat, trying to keep her composure, and leant forward.

"Selim, please listen now. This is very important." Pride pushed himself to sit up straighter, blinking, confused at why she had suddenly become so much more serious and sombre. Wrath kept glaring. "Your parents were hurt in the fire, hurt very much. I know that the doctors must have tried very, very hard to help them the best they could, but…" Her mouth twisted tight into a distraught grimace. She didn't want to say it, but if she didn't say it now Pride doubted she'd ever muster up to courage to ever again. He knew that she could remain composed though, even in her occasional outbursts of rage she had managed to control herself soon after, such trivial a thing as death should have been easier enough as well. " They died, Selim."

"How, they were fine until the fire, how did they get sick?" A child of eight, no matter how unintelligent, should have understood the very concept of death, so he only focused on the why, for without the why of it all he would only come to blame himself and surely she could not allow such a thing to befall him in the midst of the tragedy. Shaking her head slowly she stepped around the table, coming to sit beside him, brushing at his cheek and making him look at her.

"They didn't get ill, Selim. It was the fire. They're gone. I'm so sorry that we didn't tell you sooner." Pride didn't say anything for a moment, waiting for it to have probably sunk in, and as it did his eyes widened in a mix of devastation and disbelief.

"Who…who will take care of me? If they're gone then I'll be all alone!" He cried out, hysterical, denying it in any way he could but always knowing. "I can't stay here, I want to go home!" She was patient, attentive even, and again she reached out, trying to ground him in what was real and comforting.

"We will look after you, Selim, we are family after all. We only want to take care of you and ensure that you'll be happy here…" He didn't want to accept, wouldn't accept it, and he pulled roughly away from her, huddling up into himself on the other side of the couch, getting as far away from her as he could. With any embarrassment or shame pushed aside the unbearable anguish overwhelmed him, and he wept into the couch's arm. As if knowing it was pointless for now to attempt anything more she let him be, and the room fell into a deathly silence.

The silence persisted in its perpetually uneasy and yet somehow appropriate state for longer than was tolerable. The tears had slowed now, and from his inconsolable ball on the couch Pride remained as morose as he was expected to be, eyes down and roaming aimlessly from one thing to another, anxious and jittery and so utterly crushed that any action was more trouble than it was worth. He could feel her powerless, pitying gaze on him every so often, but never daring anything beyond that, as if she had already realised how futile her efforts would be. Here again, in this room where he'd only ever been the once, what she thought to be so suddenly after the death of his parents, nothing could be achieved in the way of comforting him tonight. He forced out another tear, sniffing as if trying to stifle his pitiful sobs.

A shrill cry from the cuckoo clock tore through the silence. Still his head hung low and sullen, ignoring the noise and whatever time it was, it was of no consequence to him nor should it have been.

"Oh, eight o'clock already…"

"It's eight o'clock? But I always go to bed at seven...Mother would always tuck me in and…" Another tiny sniffle at the thought, loud enough so that she would hear it. She inched her way across the couch, and from the corner of his eye Pride could see Wrath's gaze following her, intrigued almost.

"Well, today's been a busy day, and we didn't know what time you used to go to bed." Wrath's wife leaned close to where he was turned away from her, patting at his back gently. "But that's ok, you can sleep in tomorrow, you must be so tired, travelling all this way." The pat moved along until her arm was wrapped across his back, growing bolder and rekindling her previous efforts of comforting him. "Come, I'll show you your room and you can have a nice rest. Would you like that, Selim?" He didn't move his head even a fraction towards her, but still murmured a reply, voice cracking again.

"…O-ok." She helped him to his feet, arm still around him. They passed Wrath by without a glance, there was nothing that needed to be said to him, to notice him would have been more peculiar than simply ignoring him.

Outside the door she took his hand, easing him along with that soft smile of hers same as it ever was, but it was marred, fractured a hair with worry for him for some strange reason. He wasn't even her child so why did she care? What would she gain from pretending she cared even the tiniest bit for his well being? Pride couldn't understand it in the least, but settled for distracting her with more melancholy actions as they took slow, cautious steps down the stairs to wherever they had chosen his bedroom to be. His shoulders shook and his head sank low again. He turned away from her, not wanting her to see his pinking cheeks and his still flowing tears. No child would want to be seen crying, nor would any human wish to see such a pathetic spectacle. Pride flinched away as she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, and her feeling it stopped and knelt down to his level.

"It's ok to be upset, you know, don't feel as though you need to bottle everything up." She cooed it in a quiet, gentle whisper, like anything louder would be too much and make everything worse. "We won't be angry at you for being sad; we only want what's best for you." How could she not mind his childish, idiotic theatrics, how could she completely abide them without a word as if it was the most obvious thing in the world? Pride just nodded glumly like it was the only response he could muster at her…unexpected behaviour, and she continued on showing him to his room, settling into the silence again as if nothing more needed to be said on the matter.

All the walls of the corridors were dull and plain and identical in every single way, white with the smallest hint of pearl here and there along its wooden borders at the floor and ceiling. The tacky, human uniformity of it all was almost sickening in contrast to how the quaintly decorated tea room was. How Wrath or his wife managed to navigate such bare, drab halls at all was beyond him, but given how and where Wrath was raised a part of him could understand the choice, however misguided a choice it was.

It was because of the monotony of white walls that Pride almost appreciated the change as they reached the dark mahogany of his bedroom door, the deep, rich brown appealing to him in its complete incongruity with the pure white surrounding it. With something that might have been a smile now she pushed the door open for him, ushering him inside.

The room was…acceptable for a bedroom, he supposed. He'd only ever had Lust's bedroom as a comparison on how all bedrooms should be as far back as he could remember, but this was nothing like Lust's used to be. Its previous use as merely a spare room among the dozen of others scattered along their house was obvious even through the darkness, still bare around each wall and in every corner. It felt oddly barren and desolate, and Pride forced down a shiver at the strange atmosphere of the room. Despite its size the vast empty spaces reminded him of his old bedroom, the only bedroom he had ever had back in the facility, cramped and suffocating and every inch of it wrong. He needed to fill it with the appropriate, childlike furniture as soon as he stopped 'mourning' if he was ever going to be believed that he could exist in such a room. Assuming his shuddering to be a senseless fear of the dark or something so human like that she turned on the electric light, setting a hand on his shoulder as if to reassure him.

"I know it looks empty now, but we hadn't the time to arrange it properly, and we didn't know what you liked. We can go shopping for toys and books whenever you like it's no trouble at all. We can even paint the walls if you want. Would you like that, Selim?" She was so unsure, so fearful that she was not behaving as she should in her role as a mother that Pride began to question why she ever desired to be one in the first place. The fact that she persevered despite her apprehension and tried her utmost to ensure he was adjusting was interesting at the very least though. But Pride thought nothing more about it and tiptoed into the room, a quiet ripple of curiosity bobbing in and out under the surface of his fear and longing, and the complex mix of emotions expected of him forced him deeper into his act, more than he had ever been required of before. The idea of it being anything more than effortless was still completely absurd.

One of the only disturbances to the bare bedroom was the bed itself, and for one of perhaps four items in the room itself it certainly created a presence about it, one that formed enough of a feeling in the room to negate the overwhelming emptiness somewhat. Its existence was probably the only thing that had prevented her voice from echoing hollowly about whenever she spoke. From this distance all he could discern was the plush, thick green quilt that draped over each side, bunching up in unsightly creases where the four oak posts of the bed frame shot up towards the ceiling. Thin cotton drapes of a darker green wrapped around the bed frame's canopy like vines or a serpent constricting a tree or its prey. The ends hung limp at its corners, and the design itself made it all too apparent that this was never purchased as a child's bed, but if it was such a recent purchase then why would they even…? Did they buy such a thing for him intentionally? Its size was evidence enough as it was, even widthwise it stretched to ten feet, and while that was far too large for an adult or two never mind a child did they wish to spoil him like this? If they could have ever had a child would she have spoiled them in this way as well?

"We bought you some pyjamas too, don't want you sleeping in your clothes now, do we? I hope they fit well enough." Pride glanced around and suddenly noticed the blue-purple blob at the foot of the bed, folded neat and perfect into a square. "I'll leave you to get dressed, and then I'll tuck you in, Selim." He watched her make her way outside, like she should, it was completely normal for him to be expected to dress himself, he could dress himself. But being given the option, the privacy of doing so was simply…

"Thank you." The words tumbled out from his lips before he could bite them back, and he flushed in embarrassment at the absurdity. How could he have thanked her for such a thing, such a thing that was in every way expected and the norm? She gave him a look at the peculiar remark, but mouthed a 'you're welcome' and carried on out the door. She had probably expected unusual behaviour as his method of grieving, but he would not be making another mistake like that again.

Pride dressed quickly and efficiently without a word, laying his clothes out beside each other on the bed and tucking his shoes just beneath its legs with his socks inside. The smooth, silk like cotton of his pyjamas clung to his skin as he buttoned the shirt up. He had never worn pyjamas before, only his nightgown, and the sensation of not-quite trousers brushing against his leg as he moved was a strange, new, but not unpleasant one, and in the dank and cold March weather in the currently absent Spring he felt he might come to appreciate it.

"I…I'm ready now." He called to her, the quiver in his voice still more than noticeable, still imbued with all the sadness that was expected of him, that should have been anticipated in his first night away from who and where he had been raised with someone who would soon take to calling herself his mother. Any adult would have seen that the fragile child he was pretending to be would have acted in such a manner. No matter how much this constantly anxious façade irked him, he would maintain it in his usual perfect way. Until he was considered to have gotten over the mourning period and was free to melt instead into his usual cheery default on how children were perceived to be at all times- happy and innocent and in every way selfish.

She stepped into the room again, stepping past him and folding the covers back. As if she knew her place and how inappropriate it would be she made no attempt to pick him up, to embrace him in any way, and gratefully Pride slipped into the bed, all the while deftly avoiding her where he could. The mattress sank marginally, almost unnoticeably beneath his weight, molding around him, a soothing cold seeping from the quilt and the mattress itself into his clothes and enveloping him in an instant. A perfectly relaxed sigh had escaped him before he even noticed and all he could see was her relieved, tranquil smile beside him.

"Do you want me to leave the lamp on for you, Selim?" He wasn't afraid of the dark, how could he be? But given his situation she might have anticipated such a thing, why would she have asked him otherwise? Pride accepted what was necessary, forcing his own dopey, hardly nervous smile as she pulled the cover up under his neck.

"If that's ok."

"Of course it's ok, Selim, there's nothing wrong with being afraid of the dark, especially since it's your first night here." She chanced a slight ruffle of his hair, and he allowed it without complaint, yawning as she did. "I'll let you sleep now." She tugged gently on the string of the lamp that sat innocuously on the end table, it glowing softly, its light and the light of the ceiling blending together. "Goodnight, Selim." His eyes having fluttered closed of their own accord he merely heard her leave, but thinking it impolite to not reply he whispered after her, a boyish, tired whisper, but it was better than nothing.

"Goodnight…" Whatever words of address he had concocted throughout the day and had deemed adequate died in his throat, fading away unspoken, where they were erased from his thoughts immediately after. 'Mother' wouldn't do, he was mourning for his old, real mother, to consider her his true mother so soon would be far too unusual, but what else was there? For the moment it didn't matter, she would not think anything wrong; she'd only assume that he was too tired to continue talking. The ceiling light faded out, and she closed the door with a barely audible click. Snuggling further into the mattress and wrapping himself tighter in the covers, Pride let his act drop slightly, and relaxed completely in his new bed.

His bed? No, this wasn't right.

With a barely restrained scowl Pride pushed himself up, kicking the covers away. The bed may have been comfortable, and perfectly cushioned and supportive in every place imaginable, it may have been bought just for him and his role as their adopted child, but why should he be so complacent? The floor had been perfect for him in the past, in the same way a completely different bed may have been considered adequate for him, and as such this new bed was inferior. The idea that he would simply change his standards was foolish, and at worst unbelievable. Through the corner of his eye he could see the shadows flickering in the lamp light, just his own pale ordinary shadow, but even so it was distorted. He could imagine his own shadows snapping at the air, grinding their teeth in disgust at his previous acceptance, at the fact that he had even considered sleeping here on the first night. But even then the smallest part of him wondered what it would be like to sleep in such a bed, even just the once. Pride forced the feeling away with a scoff, it was all ridiculous, he did not need a pillow or a quilt or a mattress to sleep. He was not so maladaptive.

Sliding out of the bed they had bought for him, Pride lay down on the carpet. He could feel the sturdy wooden floor beneath it pushing at him, and that was fine. Curling up again, he set his head down on his hands as a makeshift pillow and forced himself to sleep.

In the morning Wrath's wife found him in a huddled, shivering ball under the bed.

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April 9th 1913

Days had passed, blending into a week or so, and slowly Selim had began to calm, and though still in the depths of what seemed to be an endless mourning, was well on his way be coming a true, if adopted, member of the Bradley family. At least, Pride had told himself so, as was the routine he had set for himself, the little baby-steps that would bring him out of his melodramatic act and into something that was less constantly degrading.

Like he had assumed she had been far too quick in noticing the minute changes in his mood over the past few days. She'd been watching him, as he pottered about, exploring what would be his new home (no doubt she was planning to arrange a personal bodyguard for him to be hired once he calmed enough to trust her), still frightened of everything, but it was a quieter fear. After his unusual behaviour on the first night, Pride had heard her opening the door to his bedroom and peeking inside every hour or so after she had tucked him in, ensuring he was still nestled where she had left him and was content there. Not wanting to make it a cause for concern Pride had relented, and now wrapped himself tight in his soft bed cover cocoon. If he was being forced into sleeping there he had might as well make the most of it. A few days shy of a month after he had first entered her life in a more permanent position she had wished to get to know him better, to bond with him and allow him to settle in.

As such, she had proposed an outing, just the two of them. Having become particularly bored in his lack of routine outside of being stuck in his bedroom and amusing himself by imagining where his furniture would go once they went shopping he agreed wholeheartedly without hesitation, and what choice did he have, really? If he didn't start settling in she would think him odd which would be most counterproductive in his own task of monitoring Wrath. One afternoon away was worth gaining her trust of him being nothing but a normal, if still troubled child.

Though, in his rush to agree to proposal of an outing with her without asking where she was proposing to take him had resulted in him being here, of all places.

"Now, as you can see here, this is one of our interesting pieces, given that Samuel Morse who created it later when on to greatly help the military with his Morse Code." The gallery curator gushed enthusiastically as he led them to the new painting. Pride had heard of this one once before, but seeing it here was strange, and he thought that someone who had a passion to paint suddenly deciding to change professions was odd."To have such a range of talents is certainly admirable, and still we think highly of his art even after forty years after his death, a true testament to his talent. Of course, such quality is what we expect here," He motioned towards them both, but more to Wrath's wife with an obsequious smile, put on. "and nothing less that that would be expected to be presented to the First Lady was well, and we hope that you will enjoy your stay here this afternoon." Pride brushed off the flattery, had he not been with the Fuhrer's wife the human would have not even looked at him never mind addressed him with such respect.

He had never taken her as one for art; despite her love of simplicity with a hint of slight detail Pride hadn't thought that she would be interested in the elaborate paintings of years past. Then again, whatever social life she must have had when she was younger would probably have been erased when she married, and she was probably too smart to be deceived by sudden hangers on wishing to raise their social status by being friends with the Fuhrer's spouse. In her lack of anything to do he didn't blame her for becoming interested in culture and other high class events, but even then he couldn't be sure whether it was a genuine fancy or merely an attempt at a suitable afternoon outing. Whatever the reason Pride could tolerate it for now. They passed a few more paintings, elaborate and beautiful in their own way, and having no skill at art himself he could appreciate it, even if they were only the humans' attempts to have something that remained after they had exhausted their short little lives, lest everyone forget about them. Humans would always be so desperate to create meaning to their existence to spend all of it devoted to their art.

The curator stopped in front of another painting; no doubt something he deemed important but was really of little importance outside of what the rich considered of them as far as standards went.

"Now, here is a particularly special painting, one we only recently received in fact. It was donated to the gallery as a gift from the prince of Aerugo in hopes of perhaps quelling the rift between Aerugo and Amestris in the wake of the Second Border War conflict."

"That was back in 1911, Selim. You might have not heard of it." She murmured to him, and Pride nodded with a smile at her informing him of such, chirping a 'thank you' back.

"While we do not know if a peace treaty between the countries will ever be formed, we are still very grateful for the gift- one of J R Arderne's masterpieces is always a welcome addition to the gallery." That name, why was the name familiar? Pride knew it before he even dared to crane his neck upwards and see, but he couldn't resist. Part of him wanted to see, just so that he would actually believe it.

There it was, there she was. He dwelled on the painting for far too long, his gaze boring into every brush stroke: the pure white of her dress, the vibrant, sparkling sapphires on her perfect silver tiara, her violet trim. He had never seen it complete before, never set eyes on it but even so it was flawless. Had he not been more sensible he would have sworn it was her, the way she used to be, caring and obedient and undoubtedly his and his alone. "Arderne was the official artist for the Royal family from 1676 up until his death in 1715, and this was his final official work for them." Pride wandered up to the painting itself- there was a large, dirty brush stroke along the left side, marring the whole picture, as if something was painted over on the original canvas. Beside the finely crafted gold frame was a small glass box, a photograph inside a corner of the back of the canvas, what the artist had wrote there when he had completed it. More curious than he should have been he squinted to make it out, like he needed to know what he had been deprived of for so many years yet had never felt a need to until now.

For her betrothed before they are to be wed. - Joſeph Robert Arderne, June 30 1693 .Our deareſt princeſs Sylvia, aged ten and nine. And her ever adored friend, age of centuries paſt and doubtleſs thoſe yet to come, the Great Sage's child, Pryde.

He froze, an icy chill darting up his spine. How could…? Why had he even…? How could he have been so stupid as to write something like that, or to have the audacity to place him in the painting for all to see?!

"We have also moved her final letter to the painting, as we thought it appropriate to hold all our paraphernalia on the royal family in one place. It is here if you wish to read it." His morbid fascination with the past still consuming him Pride wandered over to the other side of the canvas and leant closer to the second glass frame.

November 2nd 1730

To my deareſt Pride,

It has been ſo long, far too long ſince I ſaw you laſt, far longer than I ever wanted. I have left you ſo alone for all this time that I only hope that you may come to forgive me. There is no true or ſuitable explanation for why I have deſerted you ſo, I have even neglected your Father, which I ſhall ſpend the reſt of my life repenting for. But I ſhall not worry you with my peſſimiſm. I wiſh I could have ſeen you at my Coronation, but I ſuppoſe that you would have been buſy with Luſt and your Father, I know they have been taking the greateſt care of you, moreſo than I ever could. At leaſt this letter begging your forgiveneſs bares a conſolation, as I ſhall be returning to you for a few weeks with Antoine and Selim. I have ſpoke of you to Selim ſo much, and he is ever ſo excited to meet you finally. He is only eight years old now, and you know how I was at that age, ſo long ago now…

Antoine took more time convincing for him to allow us to viſit you. It's ſtrange, he doeſn't truſt you, but I know that once he meets you he will realiſe that all his horrible aſſumptions are completely untrue. I am undoubtedly certain that Selim will be a wonderful friend for you. Hopefully one day we can return to you forever and he can ſerve your Father better than I. I know you will treat him well once he becomes King, but merely thinking about that time ſaddens me in the moſt ſelfiſh way, as I would have deſerted you forever by then. Even ſo, my only wiſh is that you never forget about me, and that you know how much I treaſure the times we ſpent together.

I muſt go now, Selim will want me to ſay goodnight to him, he only deſerves the beſt on his birthday after all. Do not be ſaddened, Pride, for when this letter arrives I ſhall ſurely only be days away from the time I ſhall meet you again in perſon.

I wait on bated breath for the day when we finally meet again, Pride.

-Sylvie

Baring no expression one way or the other he turned to the curator, ever the ignorant, but eager to learn child he was.

"Who was she writing to?" The curator smiled again, as if he had been waiting for him to ask that all along.

"Ah, now that is a question that has been under dispute for many years now. However, we have established a suitable theory as to what had possessed our Absent Queen to write letters to this 'person', little one. You see, when she was a young child, younger than you are now, her cousin, Mary, who she was very close to, died, and in her distress she fabricated a friend to replace her." He should have always known she had been using him for selfish, human reasons. "We believe this friend to be her embodiment of Amestris itself, a young boy her age whom she called 'Pride'. There is evidence in this as she refers to him as the son of the Eastern sage, of which Amestris is a creation, and her constant wishes to return to 'him' while she was in Aerugo." But if she cared so little why did she seem so anxious in her letter?

"This imaginary friend helped her through her grief, and later on she began to create others like him to represent other parts of her troubled mind. Seen here, there is Amestris's 'Father', her obligations towards Amestris as Queen, and 'Lust', her desire to produce strong, healthy heirs to inherit the throne after her death, which given her difficulty having children was understandable. As you can see she even requested that Arderne oblige her and draw her manifestation of her friend in her portrait when she was nineteen years old. However, her husband was very displeased with such childish behaviour and demanded that he be removed from the portrait, hence the large brushstroke here where he was painted over. One must wonder what he looked like, but most have agreed that he was blond, the same as Mary was, and wore the green that eventually became the flag of Amestris once she was Queen." It didn't matter, it was all in the past now so why should he care in the least? "These delusions plagued her until her death it seems, as she was still writing to her 'friend' even so late in her life. I believe it was fitting though, for her to die in Amestris with her family, even in such circumstances, for a least she had been returned to her friend after all, even in a metaphorical sense." He looked quite pleased with himself at having relayed such a theory onto him, teaching him the arrogant human suspicions of what she used to be like. It was better that they believe such things rather than know anything of the truth, what did he care if she was vilified to be point of being considered insane? It was simple, he didn't care, he didn't…

Water droplets streaked down along his cheeks in warm, slow globs. Pride wiped them, and only realised what they were as he saw them sparkling on the back of his hand. The sight of them only forced a sudden sorrow to stab at him, and a pained sob burned in his throat. As always she rushed round to his front and knelt down, cupping his cheek.

"Selim what's wrong? Did the painting upset you?" The tears still pouring in an uncontrollable stream he shook his head.

"It's not that…it's just…Sylvia and her son, how did they die?" They could be explained now, explained and explained away, she wouldn't think of questioning it once she realised what she'd done. It was all her fault, bringing him here.

"They died in a fir-Oh…Selim I'm so sorry, if I'd had known this painting was here I'd have never asked you if you wanted us to visit here today." She pulled him tight to her chest, hugging him close and tousling his hair. Pride let her, blinking hard and burying his head in her shoulder.

"I want to go home." He could call it home just this once. Pride wanted nothing more than to huddle in his room at the shame of how childish he was being; even through his act it was unacceptable.

"Ok, Selim. Let's go home now."

It seemed that settling in would take longer than they had both expected.

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Was the letter thing an excuse to use the long S a whole lot, probably, but I'd had this letter written for a while and never got a chance to use it, so I wanted to use it here ^_^ Also I wanted to highlight how Sylvia's letters would get misinterpreted over time and that people have started to believe that she was simply mentally unstable, which is really bad for her, but good since it keeps Pride and the rest nicely under wraps as they should be ^^

Next chapter will be on time I promise, I wont be lazy again ^_^;