I didn't particularly like her at first... no, that came later. It's one of those things that slowly creeps up on you as her character is developed over a span of fiftysome episodes. But over what's been a little over a year, I've gotten to know her well. She was beautiful, playful, darkly charming, mischievous, determined, stubborn; what you could call selectively... not blind or selfish, but simply uncaring--and these things are enough to make her seem evil to others. But she was also patient and affectionate and desperate for something that, in the end, she could never achieve.
Maybe I'm just too stupid to run away when I see the inevitable coming. There's something about that enchanting almost-villainy, poisoned by the pure humanness of the heart behind it, that enslaves my heart and mind. The impending tragedy of the broken and manipulated screams out to me when no one else can hear it... and I sharpen my well-used sword to raise it once again in defense of the doomed.
Did I love Lust? Yes. Not the way that many people would assume. With most, it's more of a protective, motherly/sisterly emotion instead of a romantic one. My deep attachment is the shackle that keeps me tied to that type, even when I can see them begin to wind along the path of self-destruction. I can see their pain when no one else either notices or decides to acknowledge it.
So did I love Lust? Yes, I did. And that is not something I'm ashamed of.
I'm unable to help my affection for Fullmetal Alchemist's wretched collection of homunculi. I can't really hate any of them, no matter what they have done--not even Wrath, for his role in her death... They may lack human souls (at least in the view of the series' creators and main characters), but they're burdened with something just as painful: Human hearts and memories. Brainwashed by that damned bitch Dante, they can't help but be corrupted by her desire and their own overwhelming need to become human and gain what they lack, no matter what the cost happens to be.
You could never sell me on immortality. Never. Maybe lasting youth, but I wouldn't be able to bear living forever or even past my natural span of years. And to be tormented by such an awful need for so long... I don't think I could stand it.
No matter who says it, I refuse to even begin to believe that Lust and the others don't have quite a bit more than a vestige of humanity. Just look at them--for all Greed's cheerfully self-admitted shortsighted selfishness, he had a much bigger heart than he would like to be accused of, with his adoption of the military's chimeras. Pride, Dante's pliable tool, has his own wife and child. Sloth openly admitted that if exposed to Trisha Elric's memories for much longer, she wouldn't be able to help loving Ed and Al. Wrath was once a perfect innocent, and even now is driven by his complete terror of the Gate and adoration of Sloth. Envy feels deserted by Hohenheim, and his own wild, out-of-control hatred wells from that deep sense of abandonment (which I can understand quite well...). Gluttony is probably one of the more innocent homunculi, with his candid childishness and purehearted love for and attachment to Lust--and of course, he will wind up being one of the most pitiable of the victims.
Lust... well, she was the one who wanted to become human the most, and she probably was the closest to achieving that goal. The only thing she lacked was the body (I REFUSE to think of her as soulless); by the end she had realized full well the bind she was in and the gravity of the things Dante had made her do (thanks largely to Scar). Her final betrayal of the others and her willingness to join forces with Ed, though it led to her destruction, was probably her redemption as well. At least in her case, more than just me were alerted to what she was really like... beneath it all.
It happens to them all, but I love them just the same.
I know how stupid it is... but I can't help but feel like this is my curse--applying both to me and them, as though it's my love that becomes their doom as well as their doom that begets my love. And I can't help but wonder what kind of woman I am, that everything I touch is blighted by my own affection.
So they die, and my guilt grows.
And yet I still love.
I had a good long cry when it happened (as I usually do, at least when I'm alone). My masochistic preferences allow me to glory in my ability to grieve even as I feel that awful pain. It's things like these that actually really do make me grateful that I didn't cut myself completely off from emotion, desensitizing myself when all the bad shit happened to me back then. And it still is creepy that when it came down to it, it was that hard for me to cry. My little Jumi complex was not very good for my sanity, but at the very least I can cry for their sake. They deserve absolutely nothing less and probably a lot more...