Tainted

White was not his favorite color. In fact, he didn't really have one. Many assumed, however, that he did, and also that that color was blue, but he didn't really hold that particular hue above any other. Really, it was just a matter of what he looked best in, both in his own mind and in the mind of the public, and he quickly found it. Blue: the spectral manifestation of calm and poise; the color of the strong, enduring sea; and the color which cooperated most harmoniously with his eyes and the eternal ring of the Phantomhives—both a deep, regal cerulean.

So why was it, then, that white took such precedence in the gardens surrounding the Phantomhive estate? Many had asked, but no one—not even those closest to the young master—had any idea.

During the early stages of the renovation of the mansion, he'd been asked what plants he'd like to incorporate into the landscape. All he'd known was that he wanted roses, and that they should not be red or yellow. Red, though rich, was and gaudy and reckless; he couldn't imagine taking his afternoon tea among bushes of roaring crimson blossoms. Yellow was far too loud, and indicative of countless emotions he'd forgotten long, long ago; they would mock him as he drank. In the end, he could've asked for any color at all—even the famous Phantomhive blue—but he could only imagine himself surrounded by white.

No one questioned his decision, of course, and even he didn't think much of it, just accepting his first instinct and moving on to more important things. What were frivolities like flowers in the face of all he had to do?

But then there had been his first afternoon having tea in the newly-re-grown garden…

What hit him then wasn't the beauty of the roses, nor the beauty of the garden as a whole, but rather the sheer silence. The gentle breeze blew through numerous trees, but not a sound came from them. Birds ceased to call out from their branches, and any small furry animal that may have accompanied him was kept secret by the bushes. And as he sat, Sebastian murmuring in his usual dulcet tones about the dessert and tea for the afternoon, he became aware of this garden's most fascinating silence: no longer could he hear those anguished voices in his head—the constant whispering of his ancestors. The terrible, beautiful stone wrapped around his finger had gone, for the first time, completely quiet.

These white roses, these countless fountains of sparkling purity—the curse of the Phantomhives couldn't touch what the family had never known.

It had been…wonderful; a strange respite from the constant barrage that he couldn't explain, but instantly treasured. Sebastian had left him with his tea and small, fancy cakes and for the first time in a long time he felt as though he was experiencing true solitude. His mind was clear, his thoughts uninterrupted and uninfluenced by the bodiless voices of the dead constantly gnawing on his consciousness, and all afternoon, and countless afternoons afterward, he was consumed by the delicious loneliness he hadn't known in years.

Not since his childhood had he felt any kind of affection for his mansion, and that affection had burned away long ago. It was now simply his property, a necessity for his life and his image, and that was all it would ever be. Yet, as he sipped his tea and let his eyes wander about the bushes, he couldn't say he was unchanged. He felt more than just 'it was his and it was necessary'; more than just a stoic sense of ownership that made one protect what was theirs.

Here, the sea of the Phantomhives had crashed upon the silky white sands and he had washed ashore, and upon this ivory island, he found the smallest contentment.

"I'm going to the garden."

Claude watched his master rise from his desk, tossing his book aside. "As you wish, my lord," he bowed with an unchanging grin, moving to follow.

"Alone."

The young Earl didn't slow his gait, didn't see the butler's expression falter, and the door was shut behind him before an audible response could reach his ear. He thought, vaguely, that he might've liked to see it waver if only for a second. That constant grin of his was disturbing, and it amused him slightly to imagine the damage he'd just done to it. Frowning despite this, he moved down the hall towards the garden entrance.

Ciel Phantomhive was not content at the Trancy Manor. Everything about it was off, reeking of something he couldn't place—something dark and rotten. It was so bad that he couldn't spend more than a few minutes inside any given room. Not to mention the servants that crawled throughout it: the trio of mute triplets—he hadn't yet learned their names, and didn't really care to try—the quiet, sad-eyed maid, Hanna, and the supposed leader of them all, the 'spider butler', Claude Faustus.

In truth, he really didn't know much about any of them but Claude, as he was constantly being kept within close sight of his too-vigilant golden eyes. No one approached him without Claude's say so, and even when he passed them in the endless hallways they only bowed—which wasn't really a surprise as far as the triplets were concerned. He could assume that they were being met by the venomous gaze of the man at his back. It was a tad annoying, only in that their avoiding of him was simply because of the butler's constantly looming over him, but overall, he didn't really care. Why should he? Let Claude exercise his perceived power over them if he wished, and let them be controlled; it wasn't as though it made any real difference to Ciel. This wasn't his mansion, they weren't his servants, and as long as things got done when he wanted them to, he was indifferent.

At least, he tried to remain as such. It was admittedly difficult to do when Claude was constantly applying his unique form of pampering—kissing his feet and brushing his hair, all the while mumbling things he couldn't completely hear but which made him uncomfortable nonetheless. At times like that, his cool indifference became tainted with a mixture of disgust and a strange feeling—an odd niggling at the back of his head—of acceptance, almost joy, at the attention, which made him feel irritated. At times like that, he became hyper-aware of the stench of the place, of the queerness of its tenants, and of the dislike he'd felt for 'his' butler since the first moment they'd been introduced.

But he refused to leave the noble house of Trancy. He needed a place to plan that was away from the prying public eye and his curious servants…

The sunlight blinded him as he took his first steps into the garden. He paused before the door, holding a hand over his eyes as they adjusted.

Was that really what it was? The fact that even some hint of doubt existed was infuriating, but he couldn't stop himself from wondering just why he was still here? And the harder he pondered, the more he came to realize that he didn't know.

It was like that same force that enjoyed Claude's constant affection. Something foreign and inescapable was keeping him tied down, and it was feeding off this strange, subtle ambiguity that Sebastian's betrayal had planted in him.

In truth, he knew exactly what to do to get him out of here. All he had to do was summon Sebastian and…and what, order him to kill himself? He laughed at the idea, and yet it was an intriguing one. What would happen to Ciel's soul if the demon with whom he shared a contract died completing it? Would it immediately become void if no soul could be given, and would he then simply…not die? No, there's no way Sebastian would've taken the deal in the first place if he was essentially destined to never get the object of the agreement. And thus, they would both remain the way they were: a master and butler, one seeking revenge on the other and unable to exact it, existing apart with nothing to do but live. Ciel scoffed. There was no way he'd allow himself to fall into such a bleak trench of existence.

Which left him back at square one, staring at the sky over the Trancy garden.

Ciel frowned, glaring at the landscape. His head hurt and he didn't have high hopes that the fresh air would do anything for it. Fresh as it was, it still stank out here, as though the very land had absorbed the Trancy poison and given it to the trees and the flowers, which released its caustic aroma into the breeze.

All around him existed vulgarity: a noisy spectrum of random tastelessness, completely without reason—very fitting, he supposed, for the garden of the Trancy's. Nothing but roses; red, yellow, orange, pink, and even soft lilac…Beautiful on their own, perhaps, but ugly in their chaotic placement amidst the constant shade of green. Ciel couldn't help but wrinkle his nose in distaste.

As his eyes fell upon them, they started to screaming. Each color suddenly yelling incoherent obscenities from all sides, their separate voices combining, though each remained distinguishable, into an unbearable cry. His headache grew to a heavy pounding. He gripped his head with both hands, his cane falling to the ground.

"D-Dammit!" he hissed, glaring defiantly at the world despite the pain. And as he glared, the pounding…changed.

Suddenly the yelling of the flowers was drowned out by quiet whispering, somehow more painful than the hideously boisterous foliage. The voices were frantic and incessant, full of desperation, but he could only perceive them as gibberish. His sight and his mind were filled with the images of multicolored roses, their bright colors burning his eyes and searing his brain; a lucid, waking nightmare that was like none he'd ever had on his darkest nights.

Then, suddenly, a single sound broke through the din: a high-pitched giggle that dissolved into squeaky, manic laughter, rising above the low cries and piercing his consciousness with an almost physical stab.

Alois.

"Shut! Up!"

And at his word, everything did.

Ciel stood, listening to the sound of his voice echo throughout the grounds, barely able to hear it over his own heavy breathing. His knees were shaking, but he refused to fall; not here, not now, not because of the voice of Alois Trancy. He scanned the horizon, blinking away the drops of sweat that strayed into his eye, finding red, yellow, orange, blue, mint-green…

They returned, then, those constant, quiet words his diamond breathed in his ear, as normal and ambient as the chirping birds. He carefully bent to retrieve his cane, treasuring the smooth, solid reality of the hollow skull resting at its head. On hand laid upon it, the other fell to his side, limp and forgotten.

A rainbow splashed across a green sky existed before him, muted by his order.

"Where are my white roses…?"

Working title: WHAT IS THIS I DON'T EVEN

...Srsly, I'm not too sure what this is. Inspired by some random questions I had-like, why is Ciel so fond of white roses-and also by the incident in Kuro II episode 10 where Ciel smashes a mirror cause he thought he saw Alois's reflection. I kind of imagined there'd have been a couple more incidents before Hanna did the creepy...eye...throat...thing...*shudder*

I'm sad I couldn't be meaner to Claude Though I did enjoy using the word QUEERNESS I know, I'm so mature. HOORAY DOUBLE-MEANINGS AND STUFF!

Ciel and Sebastian plushies were reading over my shoulder the whole time. I hope I didn't disappoint them XD