Author's Note: This fic was solely and fully inspired by the atmosphere of Igorrr's brilliant song ''Dixit Dominus", so I strongly encourage you to listen to it.

It's the fourth time Igorrr music inspires me for a Kuroshitsuji fic, it just feels too right in my ears. The title comes from a psalm, which has a distorted and twisted tie as well. For readability's sake, I've taken the name 'Astre' for Our Ciel, while Real Ciel remains with the appropriate name.

Warnings: This takes place in the month the twins were tortured. This features a very traumatized and damaged mindset of Our Ciel /Astre, implicit sexual abuse, self loathing and lots of blasphemy. Please be mindful of these warnings. I do not intend to offend or trigger anyone.

Disclaimer: Don't own Kuroshitsuji.

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"And the Lord said..."

Ciel kept praying in a hushed voice, faltering when Astre did not follow, breaking the tight lacing of his fingers to take the youngest's hand into his own, encouraging him to again rejoin him. He smiled, and the other mirrored him.

He told a story, some other memory like the one Astre had thought of about Father Christmas, mirroring Astre's own attempt at distracting them, but better than he could, taking them outside of that place and into somewhere else nice, somewhere they wanted to go even if they could never return to it. Ciel kept trying and trying until he could get Astre to smile again. He did, and the other mirrored him.

He lulled Astre to rest, holding him close to tell him it would be alright, even if it wouldn't. Ciel wouldn't let him lose hope, though. Always so strong, always so caring... even when he felt weak, even when he wanted to be held more than anything else.

The more days and nights they spent there, the more Astre would find the irking thoughts creeping into his mind; maybe Ciel wasn't actually so strong, maybe he wasn't actually so caring... maybe he just wished he was, longed for it more than anything else. And so he would try and try, until one day maybe he really would be as strong and as caring as he wanted to be.

However, was it not the same, in the end? Ciel was still better, still stronger, still more caring and still hopeful. Still pure.

What about him? He was not strong or caring, and he didn't want to be, not as much as Ciel did. He had never been good enough, and he certainly was not now. Not after what they did. Not after what he wanted to do to them, rip and maim and destroy all of them.

Astre could barely help Ciel, while Ciel would not let Astre go. What did that say of him? He was as filthy and monsterous as them.

"Do you see them like that, too?" he voiced suddenly, his voice hoarse and scratchy in his throat after so long without speaking, too soon after screaming.

"Hm?" Ciel's head wavered slightly, and Astre pressed his lips immediately, realizing he had woken up the oldest twin just as he had probably managed to finally drowse for a few minutes.

"I'm sorry. I-"

"Don't worry. What did you say?"

"I... do you see them like that too?"

"Like what?"

"Like..." Monsters. Insects crawling and then flying, something that at first looked so harmless and trusting turned into something so terryfing and harmful. "I see them as butterflies. Not as people. Even when they just hold my arms, or my legs, or my hair, it burns so much it does not feel like hands. I-I don't know if it helps, or if it..."

"They're not butterflies. Butterflies are good and pretty."

"I know. More like... moths, maybe."

"Moths?"

Astre curled up tighter around himself, feeling useless for bringing it up, feeling worse for having done so, his skin alive and awake with shudders as if it was feeling the burns, the needles that seemed to be shoved into him by the mere thought of fingers, or thicky insect legs, grasping and bruising him.

"I used to love butterflies," he whispered. His voice sounded so weak in his ears he couldn't tell if the tears that caught his eyes were from the memory of the pain, or of self pity.

"And you still will," Ciel replied. "Remember how beautiful butterflies are? Their colours, so pretty and vibrant? Butterflies love daylight. Remember how they looked in the garden, fluttering by the flowers? How bright the green of the leaves was... Oh! Remember when the three of us played in the garden this Summer? How Lizzie was so happy that butterfly landed on her hand? She was ecstatic! It was so much fun, wasn't it?"

Ciel tried and tried, and Astre could and should have given him the encouragement he needed, but he didn't. Not when that happy memory was so easily bled upon, turning that light, bright and colorful butterfly into a bloated moth, drained of colour, heavy and hairy and falling over him during the night. Even that had been mirrored, tainted, corrupted here, in him. Everything is reversed.

He couldn't see, but he felt the sadness fall over Ciel's eyes as he leaned closer and held Astre close.

"Everything will be all right," he said.

No, it won't.

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They came for them some time later. The hit on the metal bars was so loud it startled both of them awake, and Ciel shivered, locking his hand so tightly around Astre's it hurt.

The church was dark and imposing, brought alive by the chattering and by so many candles, they formed wombs of light and warmth, high and far and out of reach for them. They painted warm colours and shadows over the pillars and the statue of the angel of God looming over them, carved deeper shadows over the masks that turned men into the monsters they were.

"My beloved monks and nuns! We have another delightful feast ahead of us tonight! Let us pray to our wicked King, our Lord, and He shall hear and feast with us!"

Ciel's hand was still painfully clasped around his. It hurt even more when they were pulled apart from each other and the painful grip was instead replaced by a gentle and warm touch of a woman's hand. She trailed up the fabric of sleeve until she fondled his cheek and turned a caress into something twisted and painful, the gentleness burning him as much as the violence did when she sank claws into his skin and the others started to pull and rip the rags of clothes, her smiling mouth and her mask dissolving into one as it fell over him, slamming and crashing him and smothering away the light of the candles above.

Moths live in darkness but are attracted to light, normally to burn in it, but if too many of them gather, they can smother the light instead. Maybe that was why the church was so dark, why they would fly over them and pin them to the cold floor so hard, so they would devour the light they clearly thought they had inside of them, playing to their pleasure's delight without burning. He closed his eyes and all he saw were wings, dark and heavy and they felt like needles piercing every inch of the skin they grazed upon. He would try to feel their mouths nibbling at his skin instead of licking and biting, the sound of their rustling would sometimes sound like breathing and groaning, the clammy thickening and hardening of their hairy insect legs would make him shudder and pant and scream, but all that was not enough to make it easier, to make it stop, to help him turn his tears and his screams into something else that was not this, something not real.

He wondered if he had somehow helped Ciel with his story, his useless attempt to make this something else, if he had somehow helped Ciel's mind escape this. He doubted it. He was not as strong or caring as Ciel. He had only managed to taint everything further by destroying Ciel's memory of Elizabeth and the butterfly on that Summer afternoon, all of it turned dark and bloody and full of screams.

Their mass continued endlessly, moths and humans attacking them in turns. They had managed to do what they wanted; corruption of innocence. How they prayed to their God, their Devil, and He seemed to answer them, allowing for pain and blood to run freely and unseen, uncaringly, by Whomever else was supposed to be watching.

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When Ciel prayed, he couldn't join. He was broken, tattered, ruined and destroyed. Even if there were a God, He would not find anything in him to help. Not anymore.

Still, Ciel wouldn't let him lose hope. Because he was strong and caring.

"Everything will be alright. God will help us."

But Astre was not.

"No."

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the end

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Author's Note: The writing of this is meant to mirror the song. So the ending lines were written to the ending, and so on.

Like I said, I tend to be quite inspired by Igorrr's music, and normally my nightmares as well. In a parallel though, this time around the inspirations all come from being wide awake - the song, and the storm of moths I've been having around me lately, with as much as 10 in a single day.

The other mentioned nightmares+Igorrr fueled fics, in case you have time and interest, are: 'Hardest/easiest choices', 'Nightmares' and 'As real as the pain'

Thanks for reading, reviews are welcomed.