Chapter Three

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At the age of seven, I had caught a field rat with my bare hands, while I was out in the woods that surrounded Dante's manor. It squirmed and squealed in my grasp but I refused to let it go. Not realizing what I had done until seconds afterward, I had squeezed the field rat too tightly, and it had died in my hands.

I remember being devastated. I had taken a life with my own hands. I had killed a living being. And for the longest time, I was so conscious of every move I made; when I stepped on the plant, did it die as well? If I didn't watch the ground with every step I took, would I accidentally squish an ant?

Yet, funnily enough, I felt no emotion at all as I prepared to leave the house I had lived in for as long as I remembered to kill once again. Admittedly, I had never taken a human life, but in all reality, what was the difference between a human and a field rat?

I was in my bedroom, staring at myself in a mirror and running a comb through my long blonde hair.

My room was small and dark. It was lavish with lace curtains hanging from the bed canopy and the window, and most everything was dark-colored, such as blacks, and burgundies, which I liked. I was rarely ever in my bedroom; I usually spent time outside, in the backyard, or the woods, as long as I didn't go out too far. As I've said before, I was under no conditions allowed to leave the manor's grounds.

Crossing the room to the chest of drawers, I opened the top drawer, and thought about packing a change of clothes. Finally, I decided against it, silently pushing the drawer closed again. Would it look suspicious to the Fullmetal Alchemist if he went through my knapsack and saw clothes? Wouldn't that imply I had been planning on traveling?

But then, I found myself wondering for the hundredth time since I left Dante in the kitchen just over an hour ago how I would meet this State Alchemist in the first place. How would I even pick him out from the crowd? I didn't know what he looked like, his age; I didn't even know his real name. Was Dante intentionally making this difficult for me? Why couldn't she just tell me who he was, what his real name was, how old he was, what he looked like? Would it be too boring to make this simple? Was she getting a thrill out of giving me a hard time?

And, on the topic, how the hell would a fifteen-year-old girl such as myself have any hopes of deceiving a probably-forty-something year old man with intense training and a military background? This whole thing seemed like a suicide-mission. (I, of course, wouldn't understand the irony and complete truthfulness of this statement until much, much later, but you as the readers are welcome to smirk inwardly and cynically say to yourselves that I'll soon see just how correct what I had just thought really was.)

I snatched up the small, black knapsack from the otherwise spotless floor of my bedroom. I stuffed inside of it a hairpin, small pad of paper, and a knife—the first things my hands found.

I couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement. I was finally leaving this place, my sanctuary. I was leaving Dublith; leaving this house…it thrilled me in an unexpected way. Under the sheer glee was the smallest, most faint trace of guilt. My joy would inevitably result in someone else's death. Whether or not I dragged out my vacation from Dante's home as long as I desired (which I fully intended to do), eventually, a State Alchemist's—the Fullmetal Alchemist's—blood would be spilt.

However, Fullmetal and his long-lost life were not of importance of me. He would die eventually, anyways, why should it matter to me what the cause of death was? The only thing right now that mattered was that I was leaving, finally.

I had already dressed. I won't say I was spoiled, since most everything that filled my wardrobe was a hand-me-down of Dante's, but nonetheless, the plentiful supply of dresses was hardly scarce in generosity. Or amount, for that much. Unfortunately, I doubted a ball gown was the appropriate choice for an outfit if I were to be going out. Would simple slacks look too casual? Would a skirt look too formal? On one hand, clothes specifically reflected my personality. For instance, if I wore a pink skirt, I would look more feminine than if I wore a black skirt. If I wore pants, I would look more comfortable in my surroundings, which may give the expression that I had planned to be out for a while, which could tip off Fullmetal of my intentions, or at least that I had planned on meeting him.

Sighing, I plopped down, right there on the floor, and laid flat on my back, staring at the ceiling. Perhaps I was looking too far into things. Did I honestly expect this Fullmetal—whoever he was—to profile me simply by what I was wearing? "Hmm, she's wearing one white sock and one black, she must be an assassin," I said in a gruff imitation of a manly voice, making myself smile.

Despite the continuous fluttering of my heart, like an energized bird in a small cage, which had been very active since I had learned I would be leaving, I felt calmer than before as I lay on my floor. Stretching out with my arms above my head and making myself as long as physically possible, I held the position for a moment or two before relaxing the now tense muscles.

This was it. I was out of here. Dante had said herself that I was allowed—no, implored—to take my time with Fullmetal; she had clearly said to be sure I was under his 'veil of paranoia' (or something along those lines), before I murdered him. I'm sure he wouldn't mind much if I took, say, at least a few months in the open air before slaughtering him and returning home.

It was very generous, after all, that I would allow the Fullmetal Alchemist to live a bit longer after my strict instructions to kill him. He'd be very grateful when I told him I had saved at least a little while of his life before taking the rest. I could picture it now: the horrified, disbelieving expression of the Fullmetal Alchemist as I told him that he was going to die—I frowned. No, I could not picture it at all, since I hadn't the slightest idea what Fullmetal even looked like. I envisioned the expressions I hoped to see, but the features of the face that wore them were blurry and unclear.

You may be thinking right now that I was an awful, disturbed, vindictive little girl for getting a thrill at picturing my victim's last face before his untimely death. What can I really say in defense? Awful, maybe. It certainly wasn't good that I had no known conscience to give me the squirmy, uncomfortable feeling of doing something wrong. Disturbed, indefinitely. Could you honestly say that you wouldn't be; even after being brainwashed for thirteen years by as evil and despicable a woman as Dante? Vindictive, of course. Remember, Envy was my idol at the time. Who could adore Envy as I did and not be vindictive?

Eventually, (although I cannot give you an accurate time, because I hadn't kept track of how long I stared at the ceiling), I stood up and decided I couldn't afford to procrastinate much longer. Underestimating Fullmetal, I deducted that no one, not even a State Alchemist like himself, would be able to profile me by what I was wearing. I chose comfort over the other option, and shimmied out of what I was wearing to pull on khaki colored slacks and a simple white button-down shirt.

Hair. This was the next challenge that stumped me. Later, I would laugh at how hyper-vigilant I had been about such trivial things, like what I wore and how my hair looked on my first meeting with the Fullmetal Alchemist.

I pulled my long, light blonde hair into a high ponytail, tying it back with a red ribbon. My bangs fell back onto my forehead, along with a few stray strands that hung by the sides of my face.

As if he had timed it perfectly, my bedroom door opened and in trailed Envy. "Here's a tip," he said nonchalantly, and I turned around, prepared to soak in every word he said, so I could replay them back in my head when I was alone in the real world, and needed closure. Little did I know that once I was out there, I would never be alone again, and I had been most alone here, in Dante's manor.

"A tip?" I inquired, looking him straight in the eyes and marveling at their color—a light amethyst. "Fullmetal's an alchemist," he began, and I regrettably cut him off. "The Fullmetal Alchemist does alchemy? Why, I would've never guessed." I said sarcastically.

Envy acted as if he had not even heard my comment, entering my room farther and plopping down on the bed. "Fullmetal's after the Stone." He got straight to the point. I frowned. "The Philosopher's Stone? But then, he must be useful to Dante! Why would she want him killed?"

"Because he has failed to meet her requirements," Envy replied, which I translated as, 'she asked him to make her the stone and he said "piss off"'.

"So…should I encourage his target of making a Stone?" I pressed. Envy hesitated. "Ideally, the perfect scenario would be a completed Philosopher's Stone and a dead Fullmetal Alchemist."

"So…I stick around until he makes the Stone, then kill him?" I made sure. That sounded awfully disappointing. Allow the poor Fullmetal guy to make his precious Stone, and then kill him? And steal the stone, even? What an awful, disturbing, vindictive thing to do.

"That would be ideal," Envy repeated, "But not necessary. Dante just wants him dead; you don't need to bring back a Stone as well."

"With all due respect," I said slowly, "Would you mind me asking what Fullmetal would want with the Philosopher's Stone?"

"What every other human wants with it," Envy spat, "Power." Of course, back then I didn't know he was lying. I wouldn't realize until later that the Fullmetal Alchemist wanted to use the Philosopher's Stone for quite possibly the most modest reason in existence. Nevertheless, back then in my bedroom with Envy, I was disgusted. "Right. I could've guessed."

Now I had a new passion for killing the State Alchemist. He was just another greedy, power-hungry monster that lived up to every stereotype the homunculi distributed to humans. "Are you ready?" Envy stood up. I nodded, "Yeah. What exactly is the plan, anyways? Where am I supposed to go?"

He grinned a vicious, ecstatic, terrifying smirk. "You'll see."