Grell is one of the few shinigami who remember the way they died. It's admittedly not a very clear recollection
it has been centuries
but it is there nonetheless and there are times when Grell can't quite ignore the niggling almost-memory. It is especially difficult
after, after everything ends, because even when he doesn't admit it Grell Sutcliff has only ever truly loved one person, and she was not a man, not even close
when Grell has to chase away the lingering chill of the night by curling inside the Madame's coat where he can imagine her scent
not of blood and insanity and dark, still places, but of flowers and antiseptic
still remaining in the gentle folds of fabric, as delicious as the day Grell first smelled it.
That makes it understandably hard for Grell to stop thinking about her death, or his own. And such gloriously blood-covered deaths they were, even if
pain, cold, Mother it HURTS!
he says so himself. Only the best for his beautiful carmine mistress, after all.
Except that as beautiful as her blood looked on her skin, her accusing eyes haunt Grell and ruin the lovely image of her covered in the dark red of fresh blood
Kuroshitsuji is not my property and I make no money from it. There is a button underneath this, you know what to do.