036. Hell

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"Brother…"

The emptiness stretches out for miles, eons, frequencies, without a molecule of color except for the dulled golden of Alphonse's locks.

Voices wail from The Gate.

Jet-black, ethereal hands poke between the crack of the doors.

"I'm taking you home, Al," Edward whispers, grasping those bony, brittle wrists, rubbing his thumbs over Alphonse's papery skin. "For good…"

.

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FMA isn't mine. EXTREMELY SHORT BUT I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS ABOUT THEM. Thanks for reading and any comments/thoughts appreciated