A/N: The second and final part of my sentence challenge. Thank you so much for reading!

Icy:

Up here in the North, it was colder than Kimblee liked to admit, and Envy's hand against his cheek did nothing to stop the chill in his blood.

Immaculate:

Envy was always astounded at how Kimblee's coat stayed so white, despite the explosions, besides the blood and dirt that spattered in arcs across the sky.

Unbearable:

It hurt, it hurt, and Envy didn't know what "it" was or why, why it felt like their insides were being ripped apart and being twisted in opposing directions.

Realm:

"Yeah, I'll let you be in charge of something, I think; maybe where Central used to be, and you can be the king of that castle."

Worship:

It was a hollow feeling, realizing that all that you wanted was his undying allegiance, knowing that you wanted him to revere you, adore you, because nobody else would.

Burden:

It was obvious now that he just wasn't fit for the new world order, and that he was only a sentiment that Envy continued to cling to for no logical reason.

Agog:

Now that was what excited him–the anticipation of seeing what would happen next was almost too much to bear, and he knew that gaining favour with Envy was the first step of his journey towards that future.

Harmony:

Envy's laughter blended with the explosions in such a harmonious way, and Kimblee wished that there was some way of writing the sound on paper, so that he could play it himself in the absence of the real thing.

Poetry:

He rattled off his state information–dates, titles, and the like–in a perfectly rhythmic, even way that Envy almost found hypnotic despite the blank look on the alchemist's face.

Heartless:

They weren't incapable of love; neither of them were broken by any means, but there was really no reason to be weak and merciful and soft, and they found solidarity in each other through that notion.

Scream:

Kimblee fell asleep that night in Envy's shadow, lulled by the sound of ten thousand souls crying out for mercy.

Written:

He tried to write it out, to make sense of his thoughts, but somehow, for the first time in his life, was strapped for words, unable to eloquently explain the swimming colours in his brain, to explain why he felt the way that he did.

Silver:

The moonbeams peeped in down through the grates in the roof, and Kimblee watched them with interest, wondering how often the homunculi were able to go up and admire the night sky, or whether they were bound to remain down here with their Father for all time.

Blinded:

Why couldn't the others see–Kimblee wasn't their pet or anything of the kind, no, no, he was their close associate, somebody to order around and make use of, and nothing other than that.

Spectre:

There were no ghosts of the past for either of them–at least, none that they would admit to.

Stoic:

Kimblee could be at death's door and he wouldn't complain; he would only laugh, or, at his worst, wouldn't make any noise at all, and Envy half wished that they had that sort of stoicism, and half wondered what had driven that habit into the human.

Mist:

Envy would drive him to work every morning, and they'd follow that same routine path through the morning fog, going to the same place, following the same route, in comfortable silence together.

Brooding:

Envy could see Kimblee's dark look in the rearview mirror, and laughed quietly to themselves, because it was so funny to see how much the fact that one Ishvalan had survived his "work" affected him.

Elusive:

He'd get so close to actually getting somewhere with Envy, so close to finding another way to understand how their mind really worked, and then they'd put up yet another barrier, getting angry, pulling away, telling obvious blatant lies that he was unable to counter regardless.

Unkempt:

Braiding, it seemed, was yet another one of Kimblee's hidden talents, and Envy mock-grudgingly let him play with their hair, the carefree tangles being tamed by Kimblee's careful fingers, and plaiting them into something personal that Envy wouldn't have thought to shift on their own.

Chaste:

It felt good to sit here with him, warm and quiet, with their head on his shoulder, half-asleep and knowing that he would stay here and wouldn't leave them behind, or do anything that they wouldn't want, and that they were both at this comfortable point with each other that neither had ever attained with anyone else before…

Delirious:

Kimblee didn't like it at all, because it was a thought that he couldn't control, and he was quietly panicking, and he must be ill because otherwise he would be able to control his thoughts, wouldn't he…?

Confess:

"Envy, I have to say that… it's not… it's not just a matter of observation for me anymore."

Flawed:

Envy's worldview was horribly inconsistent, and it drove Kimblee mad to think of the thousands of contradictions and hypocrisies that Envy nonchalantly shrugged aside ("Well, you're not an ordinary human," et cetera ad infinitum).

Enraptured:

Now, really, he didn't have to react that positively–but Envy couldn't help but feel flattered, as Kimblee stared wide-eyed, grinning broadly up towards the huge monstrosity that was Envy's most despised form.

Buried:

Envy hated it, but the growing realization that Kimblee was important to them was growing more and more difficult to subdue.

Battle:

In the few rare, very rare moments when they could actually agree on something and have a plan of action, they were an unstoppable team, and no Ishvalan warrior or no gun from Aerugo could put a scratch on either of them.

Orchid:

The old rhyme for babies meant nothing at all, but Envy viciously ripped petal after petal from flower after flower—one of them would surely tell Envy what they wanted to hear.

Grandiose:

Xerxes, which Envy knew all about and where they had apparently lived, seemed incredibly ancient, foreign and colossal, although Kimblee had no doubt that Envy's fantastic tales were fabricated.

Hidden:

It didn't matter what they shifted to: as soon as Kimblee had gotten a look at their eyes he could somehow always tell that it was them in disguise, and those "Is it Envy?" guessing games had stopped being funny for Envy ages ago.

Wicked:

"You have to see that I'm a heretic, while you're repulsive in an inhuman, monstrous way—there's a difference, dear."

Trial:

"One mistake and that's it—Father only likes perfect beings, after all, and amusing as you are, I'm not convinced that you're all that."

Staggering:

The difference between what he saw now and what he remembered was astounding, and Kimblee could only look with horror at the thing shivering in the jar in his hand (horror towards the creature, or was it towards himself for ever having admired such a thing?)

Passion:

It was almost a pity, Envy thought carelessly, that nothing that they could do could ever have the same effect on their alchemist as that accursed Stone.

Forest:

He was… blinded, as hard as it was to admit as much, but, forced as he was to go through Envy for most of his information, it was nearly impossible to separate the image of that grinning figure from the larger goings-on of this conspiracy.

Beguile:

Envy had to smile in that deceptively innocent way, had to stand just so that the wind brushed their hair just barely against Kimblee's face, had to tell all of their ridiculous tales in that voice, and they knew perfectly well what they were doing, of the way that they were trying to rob him of his rationality, he was sure of it.

Whisper:

"I hate you… so much…" Envy choked out in a whisper, not knowing whether the words were true or false, or somewhere in between.

Placid:

Envy hated his calm, logical responses to their every complaint, and the way that he would just stare when he didn't approve of what they said, and… and the way that he would sit there, unmoving, and put an arm around them and just listen as they cried into his shoulder.

Glove:

One hand reached tentatively for the other, and the other silently accepted the gesture, and the fingers of both hands, bloodstained and guilty, intertwined, and it was remarkable how well two hands of such different sizes and strengths fit together…

Leave:

Envy had made their stance clear, and Kimblee refused to stay where he wasn't wanted.

Sky:

"I love sunsets—that sky just brings back so many memories, doesn't it?"

Necklace:

"I'm only wearing it because Lust insisted on it, so don't feel special, Crimson," Envy muttered, rolling their eyes, fingers playing at the thin silver chain, and managing to somehow look adorable despite their dour expression.

Sentimental:

It felt like something out of one of Lust's sugar-sweet fairytale books, Envy thought dazedly as they stood there, arm awkwardly outstretched, and as Kimblee knelt before them, pale eyes staring up Envy's arm, his lips lightly pressed to Envy's hand.

Throne:

"There's a place for you, I promise" they would say, grinning carelessly, but Kimblee already knew that his chances at being remembered were slim, that he was only one among many favoured people vying for power after the Promised Day—assuming that he survived at all, that is.

Sea:

His eyes weren't blue enough for anything; they couldn't be compared to the ocean (too pale) or the sky (they were almost grey—not nearly blue enough) or aquamarines, or sapphires, or anything, but they were distinctly Kimblee, and that was… good enough.

Wander:

He'd only be here for one day before going off to "fetch" Scar and Marcoh, so it only made sense that they'd drive around the town together, see the sights, reminisce, just for a little while.

Myth:

"Homunculi," he murmured, "are theoretical, artificially created, fantastically powerful, astoundingly beautiful beings."

Season:

He died, quickly and pointlessly, like all human deaths, and thus ended a season in Envy's life, a small span of a very few events, a time that would never come again.