Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ The Ghost Woman ❯ The Ghost Woman ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I do not own any character that appears in FMA but I do wish I owned Roy Mustang.

 

 

 

Ghost Woman

 

~*~

 

Albino children were considered omens of hard times by the Ishvalan people, usually because nature was incredibly cruel to force a child with such pale skin to live in the desert and usually something horrible happened after the birth of the albino.

 

Still, Scar was shocked to see the albino woman walking down the street in Central as the rain fell on them both. She was passing him when she stopped and looked at him with eyes that were a soft shade of pink. There was a moment he thought she wasn't the girl from his village, but the way she gave him a sad smile told him well enough, he was remembered. She didn't say anything as she continued on her way.

 

He watched her vanish, like a ghost, however, she had never worn such clothing as that when she lived in his village, so she had to be real. Scar couldn't believe that of all those people from his village, the most shunned and scorned member of their village had also survived.

 

~*~

 

“Ghost girl!” a village boy cried and soon all of the children were crying at the small form lost under various veils and robes. He didn't join in, but he didn't stop it as the small form ran past them, her basket held in hands that were hidden beneath the cloth.

 

“Get the Ghost!” a particularly boisterous youth cried and that's when he did step in.

 

“Leave her alone,” he stated and the youth looked at him a moment.

 

“Do you mourn the Ghost girl?” the youth demanded and he shook his head.

 

“She was coming from the market, she was bringing home groceries, let her,” he stated and the youth stopped. It was well known the `Ghost girl' was only alive because of her blind grandmother's careful care. Most died within the first three years, she had managed to live to nearly ten.

 

He went about running errands for his father when he saw the Ghost girl emerging from her grandmother's hut with a pail. He stopped and watched the pile of robes and veils as it moved toward the goat in the stable. It was very dark in the stable and he watched the robes move up to expose shockingly white hands. He actually stayed to watch as she milked the goat, getting up with a pail of milk that seemed yellow compared to her own flesh. She stopped and turned toward him, her hands now hidden from the harsh sun. He couldn't see her eyes through the veils, but he had no doubt she could see him.

 

He simply continued without giving an explanation for his behavior, not that she would speak, as far as he knew she couldn't even speak.

 

~*~

 

He was in an alley not far from where he saw the ghost when the figure entered the alley and peered around before approaching him with something in its arms. Slowly the figure stopped in front of him, in the darkness of the alley he could still see the whiteness of flesh and the unnatural pink of her eyes. She looked down at his relined form on the trash pile. She threw out the blanket around him, he accepted wordlessly.

 

She knelt next to him, wrapping a familiar piece of cloth around his shoulders before placing the plate on his lap and moving back to lean against the wall. She simply looked at him and he stared at the Ghost before him. He began to eat food that he hadn't tasted since before the war.

 

~*~

 

The festival was run by her grandmother and one of the priests, the food was superb but the people wouldn't eat until it was the right time. The sun set and the prayers were spoken before people began eating. The Ghost girl was beside her grandmother, placing food on the plates in her grandmother's hands.

 

The children and adults would not touch the small figure as she passed, making the ghost feeling more real. He watched as the grandmother placed a plate in the girl's non-visible hands and then placed a hand on the child's head before being led to a place to sit by a priest. The child simply began walking away from the festival.

 

He couldn't fight his curiosity as he followed the Ghost girl. She walked through the entire village, heading toward the temple. He waited outside before following her inside where he watched as she entered the main prayer temple.

 

He felt like a peeping tom as he watched her place her plate on the floor and then begin removing her various robes, slowly revealing arms as white as clouds. No one had ever seen the Ghost girl's face beside her grandmother. He wanted to see her. Soon enough a very normal girl's outfit was exposed and long, wispy, white hair fell down to the small of her back. She sat down before the statue of Ishvala and slowly began to eat, still, he couldn't see her face, just amazingly white skin on her arms and legs and white hair.

 

Fighting against better judgment he crept along the side of the chamber, trying to keep to the shadows. Slowly a face emerged and he felt his eyes widen as he realized that her eyes were not red, but pink, like the nose of a bunny.

 

“I thought I was the ghost,” a quiet voice whispered and he suddenly realized that pink eyes were staring at him from under white bangs. The most amazing things were those pink cheeks and lips, the only color to her skin. Still, her words shocked him and he quickly ran away.

 

~*~

 

She watched him eat, never speaking as he finished the large plateful of food. He looked at her and she studied him. He could see she had changed a lot besides just her clothing. She had filled out in the chest and hips, giving her a very luscious figure that a man could enjoy. Her once long hair was much shorter, cut so it fell around her shoulders and framed the curve of her breasts. Her face was not cold, but blank, as if she did not know how to feel for seeing him, so felt nothing.

 

The light blue business suit gave her shoulders points that gave an intimidating image when combined with her height. The skirt ended at the top of the calf, below the knee and the matching shoes gave her minor height, but the pointed tips again asserted her business-like appearance.

 

Her face was pale Ishvalan perfection. The shape of her face, the height of her cheeks, the line of her lips, and the straightness of her nose, she looked like an unpainted picture of Ishvalan beauty. The shocking white just took away from it and brought more attention to those pink, bunny nose colored eyes. Only the lightest of pink rose could compete for that color.

 

Scar finished his food and looked at the empty plate before handing it to her. She took it back and looked at him, reaching out to touch him. For some reason he thought she would be warm like their home, but she was cold, the tips of her fingers ice against his skin. She traced his scar before brushing his hair with a sad look.

 

He didn't know why she seemed so disturbed, she had been there when his hair had lost its color so long ago. She pulled back and stared at him, the rain sticking her hair to her head, not changing the color at all. They studied each other for what seemed like forever, not a word exchanged.

 

~*~

 

The war was nearly to their village and men were preparing for war, the temple was empty and the treasures of their faith hidden by the priests. The streets were empty at nights and because they were, it wasn't till morning that the Ghost girl could bring word that her grandmother had died shortly after twilight.

 

The funeral was one of the last they would perform, but they didn't know it. The pile of robes that hid a woman was on the ground weeping soundlessly as they buried the old woman in the caves. No one did anything to comfort the shade of a woman, not one kind word, not one embrace. The girl was left to mourn the passing of her only family by herself. He was the last to leave the cave before her and he stepped up to her, his hair already graying on the temples.

 

All he did was place a hand on her shoulder and her sobbing stopped and she looked up at him. He couldn't see her eyes, but he knew they must be wide and red rimmed from crying. She simply stared and he slowly pulled away, his head lowered.

 

At twilight, as he watched the streets, he saw her. She was heading to the temple, as empty as it was, so many still went to it for comfort. He followed her, remembering the night of the festival so long ago, back when he was a scrawny and dirty boy-child. She was still soundless and as graceful as her catcalled name.

 

He stood at the door of the main prayer chamber where the statue of Ishvala stood, too large to be moved. She stood before it and began to remove the layers of robes and veils. The hair that fell free of one of the veils, fell down to her ankles and he felt his breath catch. She was not as filling in some areas, but he had always loved the women with the longest hair and hers was something more than exotic.

 

She was free of her layers, a simple, light brown dress, with the normal long sleeves lay underneath and a cream colored shawl was wrapped around her shoulders. Slowly, she knelt and began to place the ceremonial candles and incense that was used for funeral prayers at the foot of the statue. She lit them and then began to say the prayers.

 

He stepped out of the shadows and slung his rifle onto his back as he sat next to her and prayed with her. He stared at the candles and the foot of Ishvala. She had her head bowed, her bangs hiding her face from him as she spoke the words in that quiet and ghostly voice he only heard once before.

 

They stopped after the last prayer and he followed the path of the incense's smoke up to the face of Ishvala. He came back down as saw her face as she stared at Ishvala with such a sad look.

 

“You should not be here,” he said and she turned her pink eyes at him.

 

“Who is to care?” she asked and then looked down as red began to rim those unnatural eyes. “Who is to speak to me now? Who is to treat me as a human? Why should I even stay?” Tears fell down her cheeks and he stared at her, unable to understand her sorrow. His parents had died when he was younger, but his brother had been there to take care of him. She had no parents, now her only family was gone.

 

“I have no answers,” he said and she looked at him.

 

“I wasn't really asking you,” she whispered before looking up at Ishvala's face.

 

“You need to go back home,” he said as he placed a hand on her elbow and she startled before looking at his hand on her arm. She nodded, looking up at him with sad, unnatural eyes.

 

“Walk with me, please,” she whispered and he nodded as he began to collect her candles and incense. He turned to see her folding her veils and robes and picking up the pile. They left together in silence, walking like ghosts in the night, reaching her hut in the gentle light of the moon. She shone like the Ghost she was called. Large eyes looked up at the full moon as she stood before the door.

 

She paused before opening the door and allowing him in behind her. His eyes widened as he stared at the various tapestries that lined the walls of the hut, colors of thread that must have taken months to perfect the dyes. Each one was more beautiful than the last. Some with obvious mistakes, even with the mistakes they were the quality worthy of hanging in the temple.

 

“Who did all of these?” he asked in amazement as she placed the robes on various hooks on the wall.

 

“I did,” she said as she collected the things from his arms and began putting them away. He approached a tapestry depicting when Ishvala made man, the perfect version was a man who he slowly realized, looked a lot like him. The man in the tapestry was too similar to him that he pulled back and looked to see her placing the incense bowl on the top shelf of a cupboard. He looked at the tapestry to see the four mistakes: the man with two mouths, the man with no heart, the man with skin that was black and too tight; only instead of a pale man, there was a familiar ghostly white woman. “Would you like anything to eat or drink?” He turned to look at her as she stood there, playing with her shawl. Her cheeks were reddening.

 

“I am fine,” he said before stepping up to her. “Would you like me to hide these for you?” She looked at him and at the tapestries.

 

“Thank you, but, they are what cover the windows, if I take them down, I risk the sun,” she said and his eyes widened before he nodded.

 

“Take care, they will be coming soon,” he said and she looked at him.

 

“I am not the one they will be trying to kill,” she stated and then looked at him and stared at the rifle. “Take care of your brother.” He nodded and headed toward the door. They stood, him outside and her inside, the moonlight hit her and she glowed.

 

“You are not a ghost,” he said and she smiled and looked away from him with pink cheeks.

 

“Make sure you do not become one,” she said and then looked at him.

 

For a moment he wanted to show her some form of kindness, it might be the only she'd receive in her life. His hand caught hers and he pulled her towards him in a mockery of what he had once witnessed his brother doing with his love. He held her in his arms, her head under his chin, and her arms between their chests. It was a lovely moment, the feeling of the glowing woman in his arms relaxing into his embrace.

 

“You were always the most compassionate,” she whispered and he slowly let go of her, watching as she stepped into the hut. “May Ishvala protect his perfect son.” She closed the door.

 

~*~

 

Scar stared at her, so different, so familiar, so unearthly. She stared at him and he wondered what happened to her. She closed her eyes and dropped to her knees next to him. Slowly, prayers came from her throat, the prayers said for a funeral and he slowly closed his eyes but he could not make himself join her.

 

“I am not dead,” he stated, the first word spoken between them.

 

“Not physically,” she replied as she opened those pink eyes of hers. “I thought all had died.” It was a statement.

 

“Until today I believed the same,” he said and she nodded.

 

“I had heard about the man with a large scar on his forehead, I never thought I would meet him and know who he once was,” she said as she looked at him.

 

“I saw your hut collapsed,” he stated and she nodded.

 

“Long since abandoned, I left when they first came to the village. No one would allow me into their shelter so I took all the water and bread I could carry and walked into the desert,” she said and he nodded.

 

“I found others there,” he said and she nodded this time.

 

“So did I, but none would take in one such as I, the fourth mistake of Ishval,” she sighed and Scar stared at her.

 

“How?” he asked and she looked at the alley.

 

“I walked till I found a camp, it was their Military, however, I was sick with sun, heatstroke, and thirst. They thought I was one of their injured and I was treated. When I woke I found I was in their country and not Ishval,” she said. “I escaped the first chance I got and with the casualties of war coming and going, they never noticed. I worked for various people before the end of the war. I tried to join some of the small camps but they would not take me, I was nearly stoned to death twice,” she said looking at the sky. “Revenge is not a teaching of Ishvala.”

 

“Ishvala is punishing me and I will do as he wills,” he said and she looked at him with calculating pink eyes.

 

“You believe that,” she said and he nodded. “You are the perfect son of Ishvala, if that is how you see this then that is how it is.” She stood up and turned to leave.

 

“Why did you call me his perfect son?” he asked and she looked at him and he watched her smile. It was lovely.

 

“You need not a mirror to see your broad shoulders, the swell of muscle, the height, or the perfect hue of skin,” she said. “One only needs eyes to see the perfect cut of your jaw, the curve of your brow, the shade of your eyes. And one only needs a soul to feel the pride, the courage, and the compassion in your heart. When Ishvala made man he was aiming for you. Only one that Ishvala turned his back on could ever see the truest form of his perfection. Ishvala smiled when he made you.”

 

Scar looked at her.

 

“You were not the fourth mistake, you were the omen of war,” he said and she closed her eyes.

 

“Ishvala was too happy with you to ever pause to smile in my direction,” she stated and then turned again. “The one called the Life-sewing Alchemist is around the block, there are men in uniforms around the front door.”

 

The Ghost vanished out of the alley, not a sound coming from her heels against the cold, wet stone. Scar got up, he had work to do.