Pride & Humility

XVII

My first fanart for this story! Amazing artwork by arneewenn (deviantART) / asaagohan (instagram). The deviantART includes sketches of Elizabeth with Alphonse, and Edward, as well as a sketch of Eliza with Roy.

deviantART link (in the comments):  

instagram link (in the comments): 

Beta: TaintedLetter

Warning: Literal torture, murder, and graphic descriptions. Please, please, proceed with caution if those things set you off.

(óヮò)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Elizabeth found that sitting outside of Maes' hospital room felt like she was sitting on a bed of nails. The following morning of the incident Elizabeth hurried out to the hospital, a yawning Selim trailing behind her.

Unsurprisingly she hadn't been able to sleep on her own the night before, terrified that someone might try to harm Selim. She wasn't able to relax until she could feel Selim's cool shadows beside her to reassure her that he was fine.

Even with his presence, she still had nightmares.

Dreams of turning around and seeing her family covered in blood, and she was too late to save them.

She had so few things in this life that were precious to her.

The idea—the concept—of losing them sent her into a trembling mess of fear, anxiety, and fury.

She had not been the kind of child to be filled with so much anger, but over the years she could feel it slowly growing in the pit of her stomach.

(A mounting confrontation of the things she refused to deal with before, taking form in rage and terror.)

Only one person soothed her, made it bearable and easier to digest.

She held tightly onto Selim's hand at the hospital, her sleepy lifeline leaning on her shoulder and dozing. She breathed in his comforting scent, felt his vessel's heartbeat in the palm of her hand, and could hear the whisper of his shadows inside lazily churning in circles as he slept.

Sitting beside Elizabeth was Maes' wife, Gracia, who had been there since late last night.

She was tired, had bags under her eyes, and a slight tremor in her hands. When Elizabeth had come in at four hundred hours, the two exchanged pained looks. Gracia offered the small girl a strained smile, patting the bench beside her.

Words were not exchanged, because what was there to say?

The three sat on those benches as doctors continued to tend to Maes until the sun had risen.

The first doctor to greet them did so with a tight smile and a firm handshake. "Good morning, Mrs. Hughes, Spring Alchemist."

"Good morning, doctor," Garcia rasped out. "How—how is he?"

"His condition has been stable for several hours, so we feel we can move him out of ICU," the doctor said. "However... I'm afraid we can't say when he'll awaken."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Mrs. Hughes, your husband's brain was without oxygen for a prolonged period of time, and his body suffered tremendous trauma and blood loss," the doctor said slowly, calmly. "It's put him into a coma that he may very well never wake from, and if he does... his cognitive function and memory could be severely impaired."