Oh man, you have no idea how hard it was to write this. They took Kuroshitsuji off MangaFox and OneManga. Because now it's licensed in the US. "Oh yeah, let's take all the chapters down and make it so it's a pain in the neck for fans to read new chapters just as they're released!" MY GOD! It takes so FUCKING long for them to release the stupid books!
I apologize, I'm in a super-bad mood.
I was crying when I wrote this. I think I got way too involved in Madam Red's character.
Please note: The Manga I used spelled her name like Ann, but I will be using Anne because it's just so much better and I love Anne of Green Gables.
I was planing on making this story longer, but it just wanted to end. It told me, point blank, "Stop writing me, this is a perfect ending."
Madam Red. That was what everyone called her. She realized with a pain-filled gasp that her entire existence on this Earth had been shaped by that man. From her favorite color to her choices in life. She could feel her last breaths coming. She knew it was the end. She could feel the blood flowing from her chest. She wanted to cry. She wanted to ball up in a corner and cry her life into nonexistence. She realized that she hated herself.
Her sister was the most amazing person she knew. She was dazzling in both personality and appearance. What she lacked in heath, she made up for in personality. She was the nicest, kindest person Anne had ever known. From the way Rachel tilted her head when she smiled to the way she would grope Anne's breasts, she loved everything about Rachel.
"That man." Anne didn't even know where to begin. She supposed that it all started when he told her that her hair was "beautiful, just like the color of red spider lilies in full bloom." Just thinking on that moment made Anne want to burst into tears. She loved that man. He told her to have confidence in herself, just like her sister. Thinking back on it now, she guessed that the reason that she loved him so much was that he was so much like Rachel.
She had always, always, always, hated her hair, but one sentence turned her heart a whole 180 degrees. Soon after, she cut her bangs and began wearing red. Red. She supposed that it must have been obvious to everyone that she was madly in love with Vincent. She didn't really care.
Anne was so stupid not to realize the growing relationship between Rachel and Vincent. She had been blinded by her love that the thought had never crossed her mind. So when she walked into the room that day, she was shocked to find that her two most beloved people were to marry. She had been so shocked she couldn't even try to cry. She hated herself. She hated herself for loving the man her sister married.
The baby Rachel bore was the most amazing thing Anne had ever laid eyes on. He was so precious, so fragile. Anne immediately knew she had to protect him as if he were her own. But this "perfect" moment was riddled with hatred and envy. The moment Rachel said "his nose is just like "That man's,"" Anne was filled with so much anger she wanted to smash this precious child against the wall.
From then on, Anne denied herself. She wouldn't think of her feelings for Vincent. She would try as hard as she could to block out her feelings. She went to those hateful, ludicrous parties she despised. She worked harder than ever, earning her doctor's license, and pouring all of her being into work. She put out a semblance of a content, happy person, but she was still filled with anger and hatred.
Ciel grew, and Anne's love of her nephew grew, but the love could never fill the hole in her heart. She played with him weekly, constantly visiting her sister. But she always dreaded seeing Vincent. Whenever she saw him, she felt the hole get bigger, and more and more alone.
She wanted to die.
Soon she met a man. He was a wonderful man, but he could never make her feel whole again. He was honest, and amazingly pure. He was too good for her, and she knew it. She told him upfront, "I have a man I can not forget."
He replied, smiling warmly, "Even so, I do not mind."
He was an amazing man that gave her a child despite her never being able to truly love him. She felt dirty, shameful, like a piece of trash. She hated herself.
One night, while she and her husband were walking the streets of London, a horse carriage went out of control. It was a gloomy night, like any other. But Anne was feeling more in love with her husband than any night before. She was quickly approaching her due date, and her child was giving her the best swing in mood she'd had since she first began to love Vincent. As she was crossing the street, arm in arm with the man she was learning to love, she heard the horses. They quickly galloped down the rode. He saw them first. He threw her out of the way, but it was too late. They were both trampled.
"Is this what it's like to die?" she thought, her whole body aching and clammy.
When she awoke, her whole body stung as if she was covered with bee stings.
"Fuck," she whispered.
She soon found that her husband was dead, and she had had a miscarriage, and there was no chance of her ever having another child again. At first she felt nothing, as if she was completely numb. As soon as she was alone again though, the dams broke and the tears flowed freely down her cheeks and spilled off her chin, falling silently on her blanket. She sobbed for three days straight, not even trying to be decent in front of the doctors or nurses.
Rachel visited her daily, cheering her up, but Anne's hatred for her sister grew as she spoke of Vincent and Ciel. When she was gone, Anne was plunged back into her habit of staring unemotionally across the room at the wall. She wished she had died. She wished that they had never done the stupid operation, and just let her die!
She hated herself more and more as she began to hate her three most beloved people more and more.
She was convinced this was the Lord's punishment for her sins. Her punishment for coveting and lusting after her sister's husband.
She was forced to go to her nephew's tenth birthday party when she got out of the hospital. Her original plan had been to become a recluse and never see or think of Rachel, or Vincent, or Ciel again, so as to punish herself.
The carriage stopped.
She got out.
She saw the mansion.
She hated the color red.
She hated the color crimson the most.