A Dance With A Demon

It's nights like this that make me want to cry; when the moon is full and flawless and pale, just like my mother's face, and the night is dark and clear as my father's eyes. I understand I was only a small child, and I understand their sacrifices, but I still can't help but feel as though I could have done something to prevent it; although, I suppose that's a normal feeling. But what is it? Bereavement? Sympathy?
"I am unable to feel those things anymore…" I assured out loud, leaning back in my luxurious satin arm chair which faced a large paned window.
"My Lord?"
I closed my eyes brought my fingers to my temple. Must I always be fawned over?
"It is nothing. Leave me to my thoughts."
I heard the soft swish of my butler's tailcoat as he promptly exited into the hallway, cautiously closing the door behind him. Reveling in silence, I heard many other things: the incestuous ticking of the exhausted grandfather clock against the far wall, the faint song of a nightingale behind the glimmering translucence, my mother's voice…
Come, Ciel. I have something to show you.
I leaned forward in my chair. "No. I will not have this now. Not now…"
Look what daddy's brought you from America - a new animal for your ark!

"Burn yourself from my memory. Leave me alone!" I mumbled shakily, rocking back and forth in an attempt to comfort myself.

Isn't it just magnificent, Ciel? He's almost as cute as you…

I stood abruptly, slamming my fists on the diaphanous glass, tears running down my cheeks like a silvery streaks of lightning from dark storm clouds. I placed my forehead against the constellations, allowing my breath to fog up the glass. "I've been haunted long enough. Your faces cause me nothing but pain. I no longer have the heart to love you, nor the expenses to afford you. You've cost me my sanity, and that is something I cannot – and will not – stand for."

I crossed the room to the decaying bookshelf which held my families' portrait. I picked it up softly, my fingers overlapping the faint ghosts of previous reminiscing. I studied the rotting picture encased within its tomb. My father stood proud, sporting the dress suit he always wore to family portraits, his dark hair framing his light face; his hand was resting on the shoulder of a young boy whom I could barely recognize. Beside him was my mother, radiant and glowing, as she was every time I looked at this photo. We looked like such a happy family – so euphonious and lively.

It made me sick.

I peeled the picture away from its frame, the pigment cohering to the smooth glass. The smell of mold and memories wafted into the room, clinging to the insides of my nose as if drawn to me. I pushed the empty glass frame back onto the bookshelf and turned- my back to the dusty resting place of my innocence. I moved swiftly to my desk again and sat cautiously in my chair, looming somberly over my melting reading candle.

"I have lived this insidious phantasm long enough. I am ready to rid these ghosts from

my soul and set flames to my past. I am the new incendiary. I am no longer the human epitome of ruination. I am no more a coward than I am a child, and I refuse to be mocked by faces which so similarly resemble my own. I am Ciel Phantomhive, and I order you, my loyal memories, to rot in Hell."

With that eulogy and the soft eminence of a gloved knock on the wooden door, I touched the paper to the flame. I watched the color burn out of my parent's skin, trying to believe their faces didn't look similar on this same day, three years ago.