OMG! This is my first FMA fanfic, please be kind! I don't own anything but Sophira and Maggie Westfield! Please Review! IF YOU HAVE NOTHING NICE TO SAY, SAY NOTHING AT ALL. Thanks!

Enjoy!

CHAPTER ONE:

The sickness hadn't started suddenly. It was gradual. At first the symptoms were like those of a head cold, something that would just pass over time. But they didn't. They got progressively worse until she was coughing up blood and vomiting every morsel of food she had consumed. The doctors didn't know what to make of it. There wasn't a cure. No way to fight it.

Maggie sat at her sister's bedside throughout the entire sickness. She was only twenty-three, far too young to die.

"At least I'll leave a beautiful corpse." Her sister had wheezed a few days before she passed.

She held her hand tightly, like if she never let go, her sister could continue to stay there with her. Sophira was her only remaining family member. Her father was killed by friendly fire during some skirmish in some far away land and her mother had died after giving birth to her. Sophira was all she had left.

And then she was gone.

She died in her sleep. Maggie had fallen asleep, unable to keep her eyes open anymore. Her head was resting on the bed, her hand still clasping her sister's cold and clammy hand. When the morning rays of light peeked through the curtains and kissed her cheeks, she rose groggily. Sophira was still asleep; her eyes closed lightly, her lips parted. Her older sister looked peaceful, like the pain she was suffering for so long had subsided.

A month after Sophira was buried, with full military honors, Maggie found herself preparing for something she'd only read in books. A few of her sister's friends were at Central and unable to visit during her sickness. No one came to claim Maggie and take her into a new home. She was alone.

Chalk dusted her fingers; her dress was soaked from the water she had carried into the living room. Soot stained her cheeks and her thick red hair was beginning to fall out of her braid. She double checked the book; re-reading every oddly curved word and inscription. Her tiny hands touched the chalk circle, then pulled back. Green eyes scanned over the page again. She took a deep breath then placed her hands back down on the chalk.

She screamed, something was tearing at her left arm.