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i. sloth
Sloth is such a pretty name... it describes her perfectly.
She's pretty and deadly, but calm and peaceful, unlike her siblings. She's smart and oh so compliant... I can see why He chose her while she was alive. The way she lays back, awaiting, submitting completely to whatever I deem necessary. Her eyes take a distant light and it no longer matters if it's me or him or Him or Us touching her, she just stays there... willing lamb to slaughter.
She flows like water, molding to the surface, uncaring of the rough ages, insensitive to the sharp corners. She covers everything and twists to fit the space, settling back with a sigh, unwilling to move unless the mould changes again.
She fits herself against my palm or his or His or Ours and waits to receive, greedily in her lazy contentment. Nothing matters, nothing causes even the smallest reaction in her. I or he or He or We touch her harshly or tenderly, if we are loving or hateful, she takes it all and remains impassive, unaware even, of the world spinning around her.
Her name is Sloth, a pretty name, a name I gave her... a name that proves I owe her.
She's a Sin... but like the rest, she is, before anything else, mine.
ii. greed
He was pretty, you know? Well, not pretty... debonair. He was dashing and handsome and so... so... there.
He didn't left me like He did.
Envy hated him since the start, sensing in him a threat that I didn't fully realize until much later. Sad too lately.
He was always greedy. He wanted it all, all my time, all my money, all my power, all my memories... all my children.
He wanted it all, and I could never deny him, not myself, not my own. Nothing.
When he died, I brought him back, because I knew Death was, surprisingly, not something he'd want.
Envy hated me so much afterwards.
I guess I started losing control of him after he achieved his inhuman status. He figured, rather foolishly I might add, that since he was immortal now, he had no need to bow to me, or anyone else for the matter. He stupidly thought I would not notice him looking elsewhere, touching elsewhere. Even then, though, I indulged him, because he served me still and still pleased me with his presence.
He hadn't left yet.
But he did, or tried to.
And no one, no one leaves me. Ever.
He smirked that summer afternoon, when we met first and he asked my name, trying to swoon me with pretty words. But I was the one to smile, when he was sealed away, when his name became only a whisper of a memory, another button to fuel Envy's hatred, to ensure my children understood who was owner and master of them all.
Greed was always good in bed... but I was always better at poker.
iii. gluttony
He's my child. He's really my child. Mine. No one else's but mine.
Clumsy and simple minded and stupid, but useful. Oh so useful... Better than an independent brat who constantly forgets I am his master. Or legions of unstable Homunculi with remains of their mortal selves still in their minds, torturing them with what they cannot touch.
He's not such.
He's perfect.
Perfectly oblivious of the world around him, centered only in being what I wanted him to be, what I intended him to be. He's perfectly mindless, seeking guidance. Perfectly fit to obey without question, because he has no memories of morals to stop him.
His silly infatuation with Lust can be bearable, only because she's loyal to me and he's loyal to me and they can't do anything if I don't want them to.
I chose each part of him carefully, every form in his body with perfection in mind. I wanted him to be the embodiment of the ultimate need. I planned everything about him, from his mind to his shape to his instincts to his natural helplessness.
I made him so.
He's my sin. Delicately designed to fit my purpose. But first and foremost, mine.
iv. pride
To make a good wine, one must select the perfect grapes. They must be chosen according to their color and consistency as well as the soil they come from. Then, with utmost respect, these grapes must be crushed into a mix proper to the type of beverage it will soon become, sugar and herbs handled under the delicate care of expert masters. A cleaning process, where excess are removed, before the precious liquid is sealed away for years into a barrel, hidden underground in a dark alcove.
Making a good Homunculus, is somewhat like making good wine.
Firstly, you must select a good man. He must be chosen according to his physical attributes and metal abilities, as well as the status of the family that bred him. Then, with utmost care, this man must be killed and then educated into the arts proper to the position he will hold soon, murder and literature taught under the melodious choirs of exquisite music. A cleaning process, where the last bits of humanity are removed, before he is sealed away for years into a prison, hidden underground in a dark alcove.
Like the delightful wine that will be poured into a fine cup once it comes out of its barrel, so will my delightful servant arise from his ashes, turned into the Ultimate tool for my schemes.
He's perfect: educated, well mannered, strong, skillful, deceptively kind... but above them all, he's proud.
After all, he is my greatest Pride.
v. wrath
Wrath is always a dangerous Sin. He is never passive as Sloth, or raucous as Envy, or temperamental like Greed, or calculative like Lust, or loyal like Pride, or inane like Gluttony.
No, Wrath has always been unpredictable.
From the first one, whose bipolar personality made him the perfect asseissin one second and the most pious monk the next and drove me to eventually get rid of him, to the second to last one. That particular specimen had been problematic even while he had been alive and he never quite accomodated to my needs, thus, he had to be dispatched.
So when Envy suggested to leave the child-monster alone and let him grow out of the precarious first stages on his own, I had to admit it was a good idea. I was a few Sins short, of course, but on the upper hand, I had no troubles controlling those that were active and more than one successful mission was performed on that time.
Unfortunately, rather sooner than I expected them to, his sons entered the picture, and I needed my child-monster to work for me.
Wrath has always been the most capricious of all Sins.
He is selfish and whinning and clinging and entirely too uncouth, always doing what he wanted and too damn reckless to be forced into submission and simple orders.
Wrath has always been the most dangerous of my Sins.
...which is why this child with mismatched limbs and broken memories of crying and the Gate could outwit me enough that I am here, prison of my own creation, while he runs free in the world, reckless, wild... untamed.
vi. lust
She was always so beautiful. Entirely too beautiful and entirely too broken. She was my wicked among the wickest, the one Sin I had not felt, but rather instigated.
She was my black widow, with her coy smile and her deadly claws, her naivety was almost endearing.
Lust is the desire that grows into a consuming poison, numbing the mind and weakening the body. Lust is the only one who openly consorts with humans, shares their filth and their decadence, relishes in their loss of control.
Lust is the most human of my creatures, and so, she alone among the Sins dreams.
She dreams of warmth and sun and smiles and a man she remembers but can't name. She dreams of the life she had, could have had, and pretends the memories are but ether that the sunlight will destroy.
She wishes her skin to be darker and her eyes purer, if only so that the last ghost of her past life would look at her with something else but contempt.
Poor, silly Homunculus. Little does she know her failure has been noticed and her transgressions will be punished, in due time.
My little immortal girl with the human eyes, I wonder if your questions will be answered once you're gone?
vii. envy
Some people believe in Love. They believe in bonds made of blood that are supposed to trascend through time and harships. They believe in heartfelt words about support and affection that will soothe them when they fall.
These people are foolish.
Love is but an illusion, a senseles convination of chemestry and pointless emotions that leave the greatest men bitting dust. Men are broken by love, torn and burnt and scattered and forgotten.
He knows what I believe, what I hate, what I feel...
He knows, so he doesn't expect love.
He expects an outlet for his own needs, a window for his violent nature to come free, a new lead to find Him.
He is being used, abused and ignored, and he doesn't care.
He cares only for what he has lost, the parent that abandoned him after he killed him and destroyed him, the humanity that haunts on the rare occation he's quiet enough to think, the blonde hair and golden eyes that make him tremble with hatred.
He pretends and I let him pretend. He lies and I lie back, and all is well on the world.
My son is dead and his mother is gone, but my servent is still there and his master won't abandon him.
So he might not have what he wants or be who he wants, but he has me and my plans, and until he can come up with something better, we have roles to keep us sane.
viii. judgment
This is your fault.
Your children are broken. Your world is burning. People are dying.
It is your fault.
You created the first stone. You made the first wish. You created the first inhuman.
Everything is your fault.
You killed me. You killed your son. You killed your sons.
This is your fault.
How can you look at me, at them in the eye? How dare you to judge me? How dare you to criticize the very methods you taught me? How dare you insult my and his and their memory with your self-righteous complaint?
It is your fault.
You said it was not going to hurt. You said it was not going to backfire. You said you would stay. You said that you loved me, us, them.
Everything is your fault.
Look at the ruins, Hohenheim Elric, look at the broken hopes and the stolen dreams, the demolished towers and the burning stones. Look at it, relish on your doing, on the payment for your dues.
This is your fault.
Look and don't dare to judge us... for you are truly my teacher, the true Master of the Immortal...
It is your fault.
You are the Father of Sin.
Everything is your fault.