Ciel occasionally wondered how his life had become so twisted, so destroyed; so broken beyond repair. When he looked in the mirror he saw no one, only a cruel reminder of who he was supposed to be.The only reminder that he still drew breath was the constant throbbing in his right eye. A sign of his sins. A sign he had turned his back on god, on his family. The thought disgusted him.
He would sometimes wonder if he could go back in time, would he be able to change his fate? Would his hands be washed of blood? His mind free of guilty thoughts? But it wasn't as simple as that. He couldn't go back, not now. He had come so far on his own. He was no longer the weak child that would cry out for help. He was strong; brave. He had power. The ring on his thumb was proof of that. His survival was proof of that. But at what cost?
For a demon nipping at his heels in hunger, waiting for the perfect moment to strike?
For the people who once looked at him with contempt to suddenly praise him because of his wealth? Because he was a lier?
No, he didn't want that. He simply wanted to be treated like a human being. He wanted to be treated like a son. His father always told him he was bad luck. How fitting for a demon wearing the mask of his father to say the same thing.
Ever order he gave was obeyed without question. He reveled in the power it gave him. To have such a powerful being under his control; his mercy. To act on his violent impulses was a blessing as well as a curse.
He was afraid he was loosing himself to the darkness inside of him. He could tell that filthy demon was enjoying watching him suffer.
But even as he lied on the filthy ground, blood running down his chin, nails scraping through the dirt and feeling his life slip away, he wouldn't give the beast the satisfaction of seeing him in agony. No matter how his family felt about him; how he was a spare.
Bad luck.
Never meant to be born.
He was a Phantomhive.
He wouldn't go down without a fight.
And certainly not without bringing down a few people with him for the ride.