Why? Why was this happening to him?

Calcipher… he was a homunculus. An artificial, manmade human. So why was he crying?

The tears streamed down his porcelain pale face and marionette-red cheeks, dripping from his chin onto the cold floor. For a moment, he was afraid; afraid something had gone wrong, that there was a mistake. He used gloved hands to press against his own chest, feeling his ribs move as he applied pressure and the gentle thrumming of his heart as he evened his breath. His hands searched and searched, rubbing and kneading along the soft silks and delicate fabrics of his uniform. There had to be a reason.

There had to be a reason why he cried. Why rain made him sleepy. Why the wind in the trees sung sweetly to him when he listened. Why he understood the world better than the stray cats and flowers he tended to.

Under the alchemy of his existence, the curses and the bones and the guts and the gore, there must have been something there that his master did not create.

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