The author was nineteen when her soul was sold to Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye for two pennies. The poor girl had never been the same ever since. She attempts writing occasionally on her doctor’s orders whenever she’s not in restraints.
Roy could've sworn First Lieutenants existed only to invent torture methods for Colonels, but he wasn't about to say that one out loud.
He just carries himself with a certain atmosphere, one that feels like splinters of buildings falling off walls and landing broken or the smell of roasted flesh.
On Thursdays, Riza Hawkeye usually skipped the morning work and went to the office at noon.
Here was the corner where she retreated, reloading her gun as she prepared for another kill.