Riza feels numb.

Trudging across the blood-stained sands of Ishval, face gaunt and sunken, tendrils of her hair plastered to her sweaty forehead, she swallows back her tears as she passes the blood-stained rubble, the corpses crumpled and broken and oh God, she's killed them.

As the war wears on, killing becomes as natural as breathing.

She pulls the trigger, squeezes her eyes shut, and waits for the kick. Waits to hear the body crumple, the little choked-off gasp of horror.

Their eyes are wide, crimson, and unforgiving in death.

She lowers her weapon and waits for orders, her lungs are as black as the air they breathe.

After the day is done, Riza flings that cursed rifle away from her and slumps to the ground. The sour taste of bile tickling her throat, she buries her face into her hands and allows herself a tear or two, before quickly composing herself once more.

War isn't spectacular, or beautiful, or satisfying.

It's pure hell.

So why is she here? Why is she ending life after life, shooting bullet after bullet?

Because she has no other choice.

She thinks of Roy and his clean shaven face, Roy and his ideals, Roy and his refusal to break, Roy and his dream.

The dream that he had so much blind faith in that, soon, it became her dream, too. I want to protect other this country, he had whispered to her, smelling a little like sweat and cheap cologne. We can do it, Riza! We can make our dream come true!

And so, she had given it to him. Chosen enough to slip off her blouse and show him those terrible secrets. Trusted him enough to believe that he would use them for good, that he would come back for her someday.

But he never had.

She signed up to join the military and picked up that gun for their dream. Bowed her head to her superiors and allowed herself to be shipped off to Ishval for their ideals, convinced that this was the right choice.

But is this is the greater good? Shooting bullet after bullet, killing innocent after innocent?

She sees Roy Mustang again, on the frontlines, risking his life every day. But not in the way they had imagined it. He stands at the doors of death to strike down others, snaps his fingers to char bone, to burn flesh.

Riza, her eyes lifeless and hollow, wonders what she has done as she stares at his halos of flame, the only thing truly beautiful in this dreary place. In that one instant, she is back to being a little girl, shaking his hand for the first time, gazing in awe at his crinkled eyes and crooked grin. Kissing him for the first time and tasting the wine on his lips, laying in bed and laughing at how stupidly noble he was.

Somehow, underneath the facade of Major Mustang, the strong, merciless leader, she sees Roy, the boy with a heart of gold and dreams bigger than Amestris itself.

And so, Riza vows to always stay by his side.