The other homunculi had nowhere to turn. Neither did Envy, but he knew he didn't want to be around them. He didn't belong with them, with their violet eyes and their soulless eyes.
Soulless…
He didn't want a soul. He liked being a monster, not having to justify anything he did. But there was no other explanation for his eyes.
Winry's body was gone, but there was still a dark stain of blood on the furnace and the ground around it. He laid Dante's body in her place, and looked around at the ashes and remnants of walls. With these new eyes, he could imagine the walls and roofs, the Elric brothers playing (although Alphonse's face was a blur), Sloth – no, her name had been Trisha – supervising them with a soft smile on her face, and in his study, Hohenheim.
He didn't hate him anymore – because Envy was a monster, birthed by a monster, and he would always be a monster. He pitied him – he was not immortal, no more than Dante had been, not without the Philosopher's Stone.
Envy lay down in the ashes, looking up at the clear blue sky with grey clouds slowly encroaching. He closed his gold eyes as the rain came, feeling it drum against his skin.