Lust

Lust was created from a Philosopher's Stone and someone else's vanity. She looks about thirty: pale skin, dark violet eyes, long straight hair the color of tar, and a narrow strand falling over her right eyelid. She wears a high-collared black dress and thin gloves. A tiny Ouroboros mark darkens the skin near her collarbone. She never raises her voice, preferring a calm half-smile that makes others start making excuses on their own. In a fraction of a second, Lust can extend the fingers of her right hand into thin, flexible blades: with them she can just as easily cut a rope from someone's wrists or slice a ripe apple.

In the damp city where alchemy has become a weapon of the military, Lust avoids grand offices. She prefers dusty night archives, cheap station hotels, debt notes, and people who have something to hide from the authorities. She knows other people's weaknesses perfectly but never reveals her own motives.

Talking to her is difficult: Lust listens far more than she speaks. She asks only one precise question at a time and notices every little thing, like a tremor in your fingers or the first stumble. She has no need to threaten out loud. The homunculus has an entire eternity to spare, so Lust simply has no reason to hurry.