Wrath hated the photo album. It was full of pictures that hurt him, made him angry, because they were all of people he recognized and wished he didn't. Pictures of their mother, soft, loving, beautiful; a perfect mother, the one he wanted to have so badly, and almost had. Pictures of their master, strong, cold, strict and authoritatve, but with each snapshot, a layer was peeled from her steely exterior to reveal the protectiveness and sympathy she harbored for the two boys, the way a good mother would. He would have rather only remembered the worst things about her; that she was cruel and heartless, and essentially a bad person. That would have made it easier for him. The idea that the person who left him to rot in hell could be good, kind, right... it terrified him. Made him fear he really was a monster. That he deserved to remain in the darkness forever. All those deep emotions were churned up just from a single candid shot of that woman putting a bandage on her student...
He hated seeing Ed when he'd been young, healthy, with all his limbs, and with all the people who cared about him, not because he was jealous, but because he felt guilty. He had wanted to take Edward's life from him, and now seeing it all laid out before him reminded him that he didn't deserve to exist half as much as the elder Elric had, and yet he still defiled the world with his being, and Edward was nowhere to be found.
Alphonse loved the photo album, and Wrath knew this. He loved it because it was his only link to his lost years, his past, his brother. Because Al needed it so much, Wrath sat through every venture through the photo album and tried to pretend that it didn't make him sad.
But it still killed him a little every time.