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In Dreams
In dreams
When he sleeps, he can almost remember.
He's not sure why he needs sleep, but he does.
But Alphonse Elric doesn't question it, not really. It's one of the few things that makes him feel human.
And he dreams. Dreams of a circle; dreams of flashes of light; dreams of dark hands and wide eyes leering from an open door.
Dreams of a shapeless form, laughing and ripping everything away from him, and then dreams of patterns and flashes and equations and --
And then he wakes and it's gone, faded like his memories. And before it's gone, before it slips through his fingers, he struggles for it, for the power in the memories, for something to repay what he has lost, some part of him screaming it's only fair, he gave up so much, he should get something back, it's the law of equivalent trade, give him something to make up for this empty shell, for--
And then it's gone, and there is a whisper of voice saying that the answer is the gate, he saw it, too, but if he remembers he can never go back, he will have to pay for the knowledge, equivalent trade, and then--
And then he wakes.
And does not remember.
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