Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me, no money is being made off this.
Spoilers: For up to episode 41 of the anime.
The History Books Forgot
There was something about the desert. Something mysterious, dangerous, enticing. Lust spun in a slow circle across the sand, the heat from the day's sun still warm enough to soak through the soles of the thin sandals she wore. The folds of her gauzy skirt rustled against her thighs and the thin metal discs that hung from her waist clicked together in the silence of the desert sunset. Bells tinkled lightly at her wrists. She laughed, tossing her head back and shaking out her inky black hair.
She was too pale to truly pass for an Ishbalan woman, but the light and loose clothing that currently swathed her body lent her a certain air of the exotic. She'd even threaded bronze discs through her hair, and she made soft sounds when she moved. With soft steps, she moved through the streets of dying Lior, the red sunset flaring behind her.
As she passed along silent streets strewn with sand, memories stirred inside of her. She paid them no mind. Memories were no longer new and noteworthy, and they struggled and shifted in the back of her mind like drowning vipers.
She passed through an empty broken doorway, her arm trailing behind her like a dancer's. A hand clamped over her wrist, stopping her gripping her, holding her in place.
"What are you doing?"
The voice was harsh and rough, stone and sand. It sent shivers through her. Lust turned, graceful and fluid, her hips rotating and the discs and bells on her clothing making their soft music.
"I wanted to see you." Coy, teasing. She pouted and bat her lashes and then laughed again. "What do you think?" She swept her arm in an arc, indicating herself.
"How dare you." Red eyes narrowed, and Lust only chuckled.
"And here I thought you'd like me like this." She wet her lips and moved in close, pressing herself against the arm that sought to stop her. He said nothing, didn't need to. The sharp scowl on his lips and the anger flashing in his eyes said it all. Lust sighed and leaned against him, limp.
"You're never pleased with anything," she said, head resting against his shoulder. He didn't push her away.
"Get out of here," he finally said, his hand still tight on her wrist. "Tomorrow…."
"I know what's going to happen tomorrow," she said. "But that's tomorrow. We have tonight."
"We have nothing."
"You're going to be remembered as a killer, you know."
"You won't be remembered at all."
Lust closed her eyes, breathing deep the scent of him. "No," she said, "I suppose I won't. But which is worse? To be remembered as a monster or to be forgotten completely?"
Scar didn't speak. He let go of her wrist and Lust spun out away from him, skirts billowing and flaring about her calves, the jingling of her bells and metal discs loud in the silence. Even she couldn't break through his walls, slip beneath his skin - though she tried with every fiber of her being.
"I'll remember you as you are," she promised him, looking up at the first stars of the night.
"Don't bother," he snapped, and moved out of the doorway, away from her. She watched him go as darkness took Lior, watched him leave her without another word. The night grew cold and dark before she finally moved.
He would leave her again, tomorrow, broken and bleeding and with her touch still fresh on his skin. Broken and bleeding from risking himself for the sake of her. And he would give his life to make the Stone, and history would remember the fall of Lior and the sin of the Alchemist Killer and the deaths of hundreds of soldiers and nothing more. It wouldn't remember that she'd had the love of the scarred man for one brief, stolen moment in Lior. It wouldn't remember the sacrifices that were made in the heat of the moment, the pain and the longing and the tragic culmination of it all. It wouldn't remember his tears or her embrace or the words exchanged.
He would go down in history as a monster, and she would be a brief footnote in the pages of Central, and they wouldn't be remembered at all.