"Complete your next job as quickly as you can – I want no hesitation. Do what you have to do, and in the manner I have expressed. If everything goes according to plan, you will get your payment, as promised."

Those were the very words that sent me here. Though to any other passer by or eaves-dropper, they would have simply sounded like the conclusion to a perfectly normal, though be it possibly shady business agreement. Words a simple manager would have spoken to an inferior employee, however, still upholding some ounce of respect. In fact, the very manner in which they were said, and the rather bored yet snobbish tone that was used, reminded me of an old friend of mine. I could actually envision dear, sweet, innocent William's face as those orders rang throughout my head….

"Pfffft…." I stifled back a laugh. Such an image was simply entertainment for my rather tired and irritated mind. It would never occur, of course.

As if William would ever ask me to blatantly kill someone.

Well, not without some sort of logical and dull reason, at least.

Yes, those select few words were about as far from a "normal" business agreement as you could get, though it was disguised as such, so it was no fault of those oblivious mortals for not catching on. You see, my dear reader, I am no ordinary employee of any ordinary business. Swap the first "ordinary" with sadistic and the second "ordinary" with deadly, and you're probably about right. Now, don't react like that, my sweet reader – I can see you shiver with repulsiveness at both of those words; you act as though you may catch the plague from simply seeing their very presence. Ah, but you mortals are easily predictable when it comes to manners such as this. You squirm away from whatever is not natural, or that which is deemed "strange" or "different". Which is probably the reason why I hate your kind so much. But, let's get back to me.

The organisation, if it can be called that, which I was currently in the employment of, was known by many once. A group of shady people called The Silencer's, who derived from the outcasts of normal society. Many years ago, when I could still feel such a fleeting thing, the very name would send shivers of fear down one's spine. The common people feared them like they would the devil, whilst the Noble men and woman of London often used our services against one another; they were usually the only ones who could afford our services anyway, for we were not some charity group. Though, for the skills and performance we provided, it was a rather fair deal. But even then, to associate yourself with The Silencer's was to associate yourself with the devil himself. And that description wasn't so far off the mark. Vampires are hellish creatures as well, I'll have you know.

Usually, our business existed of settling petty disputes between noble families and rivals. Whether it was eliminating a brother who was in line to the family fortune, disposing of an abusive partner who quite frankly had it coming to them, or removing rival competition from a specific line of business, the job was usually conducted by one of us. And I'm not lying; it usually was only one of us. And that person was usually me.

Nowadays, however, The Silencer's are nothing more than phantom whispers on the wind, an urban legend, the tale mother's tell their children to get them to behave.

"The Silencer's are always watching you, children. And if you don't behave, they will snatch you away in the dark of the night." That's what they would say. We became nothing but memories to some, and paranormal beings to another. Some claimed that we never even existed at all. Though this is an utter lie.

Oh, how I remember the good old days, when my fellow assassins and I had the entire city within our grasp, everybody and anybody's soul at our disposal. It was like being a god; having control over everything and everyone. Contract after contract came in, gold was flowing like wine into my pocket and luxury was a daily lifestyle. But it was not to last. One contract – the details of which I will not go into now – went horribly wrong, with absolutely disastrous consequences. Namely the extinction of all but three of The Silencer's, me included. Those of us remaining tried our hardest to rebuild the family we once had, but to no use. We hardly worked together anymore; each of us had gone their separate way after the incident. I sometimes saw the others from time to time, and we would speak of days gone by, or how life had been treating us. Don't get me wrong, our services were still needed, and we were still rather wealthy individually. After all, as long as there are mortals who can still feel emotion, somebody will feel revenge. A thirst that needs to be quenched. But that is a tale for another time.

I shook my head lightly, trying to clear my head of distractions that could compromise the mission. The bitter wind that echoed through the night whipped at my exposed flesh, and yet I welcomed the cool sensation; it helped me regain a sense of reality, and remind me why I was perched like a raven on top of this tree. The emerald bristles of pine partially blocked my vision, but it was a small price to pay for being invisible to any passer by or inquisitive gardener. My silver eyes were trained on the large estate about a half a mile in front of me, and my ever so slightly pointed ears picked up the sound of classical parlour music and party chatter. The estate itself was a rather large and ancient looking structure, yet modern touches had been added here and there. Row upon row of flowers and bushes decorated the garden splendidly, and yet, there was something almost forced about their beautifully tended appearance. In all honesty, I was ever so slightly surprised about the rather good quality this place was in – considering whom the master of this place was, I had doubted he would have been able to maintain it at all. Though, on second thoughts, I doubt it was he who actually did the maintaining; more than likely it was his numerous, underpaid servants who went about completing the work. And a fine job they had done of it, too.

Realising I was once again becoming distracted; I sighed, and got up from my sitting position on one of the trees many branches. Crouching in an almost cat-like stance, I bent my legs as far as I could, and then set my sights on the large marble patio on this side of the house. Counting softly inside my head, I got up to three, before I leapt from my hiding spot, soaring clean across the gardens to land without so much as a whisper on the hard floor. My double bladed samurai was wrapped up in fine silk on my back, so that the flawless silver would not make a single sound until it was unsheathed, and thank god for that - the clattering of the metal would surely give me away to suspicion in an environment such as this. Taking a step back to examine the rear of the building, I scanned for a way in. I did not trust any of the doors on the ground floor – it would be more than likely they would lead to an encounter with one of the staff, especially this far back from the main hall. The front doors had been a no go from the start – even imposing as a guest would not have worked due to my appearance. Talking of which, I took a moment to brush a strand of my crystal white hair back, brushing it out my eyes. Biting my bottom lip purely out of habit, I took a guess at the furthest window to the right on the second floor. With a run up, I jumped again, and proceeded to stick my nails into the brickwork for support; landing directly next to a pane of spotless glass.

Risking a look inside, I took note of the furniture, and realised it was some sort of study. Papers were stacked neatly on top of a large desk, book shelves lined the walls, and the place just had a tidy feel to it. Figuring that this would be a good place to start, my hand crept across the glass, before finding a rather weak and shakily placed pane. Smirking, I flexed my hand and pulled my glove off with my teeth, revealing pale flesh and razor sharp long black fingernails. Running my now bare nails along the edges of the glass and the wood holding it in place, I went around all four sides and then, after reapplying my glove, placed a covered palm against it and pushed lightly. The pane popped out of place, yet before it hit the floor, I used my lean and slender body to the best of my ability, and slipped through the gap and into the study, catching the glass before it could move an inch. After gracefully putting it back into place without so much as a single trace of it ever being disturbed, I pulled back my cowl and took a deep breath, taking a moment to warm up from the cool night air – the light material I had on to assist me in my efforts in keeping silent was not that good at keeping my body heat to a maximum.

Strolling casually over to the desk a few feet away, I scanned the pieces of paper that were covered in endless lines of text detailing business deals and social affairs. Not that I doubted myself so much as to make such a mistake, but I let my eyes flicker to the signature at the bottom of each of these pieces of paper – and indeed, they read the name of my target in scripted handwriting. About to take my leave to search the rest of the premises, I went to turn away from the many documents.

But that was when I saw the line of handwriting.

And it caused my entire body to freeze up with shock.

Underneath the signed name of my target was another line – the typical "Signed in the presence of" part of the text. And on the dotted line accompanying that line of text was a very unique scrawl of handwriting – one I had only seen once before, belonging to one man, if you could call him that. That kind of scripted writing would be almost as hard to replicate as it would be to copy currency. But the name was different – from what I could remember, it had be far shorter last time. I couldn't help but whisper it gently, and it felt alien on my lips, like it a foreign language. That single piece of text held so much power over me, yet I shook it off. Surely, it may have been the same handwriting, but it could not belong to the same man? Of course not. My mind was simply playing tricks on me; of course time would have produced someone whose hand flowed the same way his did. And yet, my heart wanted to believe the familiar scrawl belonged to him. My dear, sweet-

A sudden burst of music made me cut my thoughts short and forced me to draw my eyes away from the paper to the study's only door. I could only assume it was time for the final dance, and that meant my time was running short to find my required destination specific to my contract. So, leaving behind the papers with the name that threatened to stir up my past, I went over to the door, only to discover it was locked. Rolling my eyes in frustration – for how protected did a simple study need to be? – I whipped a single silver lock pick out of my pocket and set to work on the door. In a few seconds it was swinging open on its hinges, and I stepped out into a vast and gothic looking corridor. Shutting the door behind me, I made sure to relock it using my skills, and then I set off down the dark hallway, sticking close to the walls and creeping in the shadows.

Ten minutes. That must have been how much time had passed between me leaving the study and being where I was now. And I still wasn't anywhere near my destination. For the love of a reaper, how big did a mansion need to be for a single person! And this was just the second floor alone! I never quite understood the obsession the Noble and wealthy had for having everything they owned being based on size. Their carriages had to be bigger, along with their houses, their horses, and in the case of the Noblewoman, their dresses. It was my bet it was all due to social insecurity, and though it may prove to be a comfort to those better off, it did not make it any less foolish than I believed it to be.

For the billionth time I took a right, and once again came to yet another corridor plagued with shadows. How much further did I have to go? Though I suppose I could consider myself lucky – my time sneaking about could have possibly quadrupled if I had gotten lost. But I had memorised the blueprints of this place when I was first chosen for this assignment some months ago, and the layout was still fresh in my head. Sticking to the shadows, and looking back into my memory, I knew that I was not that far from where I had to be. As I turned left suddenly, I spotted the door embedded in the walls, calling out to me, beckoning me inside. Smirking, I moved as silently as I could across the imported Persian carpet until I was directly next to the door. Hearing the party coming to a close downstairs, I reached into my pocket yet again, before gently twisting the brass handle – yet, it would not open. Not that that surprised me – this was my target's private chambers, of course they would be protected.

Taking the lock pick in my hand, I crouched and faced the keyhole, setting about to work. This lock took a fair bit longer, but not long enough for the sound of the party downstairs to cease. The lock clicked, and the wooden door creaked open; glancing around the hallway to make sure there were no witnesses, I disappeared into the chambers, pulling my cowl back over my head, and locked the door behind me.

With my cowl now covering my features, and the dull colour of my attire, the shadows of the room made me invisible. Scoffing in disgust at the obviously expensive furniture decorating the room, I looked up at the ceiling, past the chandelier at the beams up above. A small smirk appeared on my youthful face, and with a single, graceful jump, and a flex of my hands, I was clinging effortlessly to the ceiling, my fingernails once again embedded in the brickwork. I made sure to keep my cape flat against my back, and my hair out of my vision. My feet were placed firmly against the ceiling, giving me the built up force to pounce if need be. I could start to hear another song playing downstairs, signalling that despite my usually correct assumptions, the ball was not yet over. Oh well, I thought to myself, Might as well get comfortable. So, assuring my grip on the ceiling was secure, I closed my eyes and rested my head against my chest.

Now, all I had to do was wait.

The sudden clicking of a lock and the opening of a door caused me to snap my head up and my silver eyes to flicker open. The muscles in my arms and legs automatically tensed, ready to fight off whatever threat had just entered. But then I remembered where I was, and relaxed ever so slightly. Eyeing the door suspiciously, I awaited the entrance of whoever was in the hall with a soft smile of my lips. Although I knew this was the chambers of my target, the visitor could well be a servant, and I would have no trouble disposing of them if I needed to.

However, I was not disappointed, as a darkly dressed boy of around thirteen stepped into the room, navy blue hair perfectly combed and his clothes free of creases. The eye patch on his right eye gave me assurance of who he was, and the sword on my back seemed to burn through the material with a need to feel his blood on its blade. But that thought was quickly pushed out of my head when another figure appeared through the doorway. My breath hitched in my throat, and my ribcage became increasingly tighter around my deceased heart. It was him. The signature had been his, and his alone. No impostor had stolen his handwriting; there was no coincidence that defied logical possibility. His hair, his skin, the way he held the candelabra so gracefully, and his very aura screamed out familiarity. My head started to ache, and my nerves felt like they were burning with the pure realisation that it was who I thought it was.

That was going to make things harder.

"Your speech tonight at the ball was rather inspirational, Master." Those were the first words I heard out of his lips which were seemingly set in an ever present smirk. His voice was level and calm, but I knew what he hid under that façade. But, then I heard the sentence again in my head, actually concentrating on the words and not on the way his lips moved.

Master? I thought, one of my eyebrows quirking up in puzzlement. Surely someone of his stature had not fallen so low as to humbly serve insignificant mortals? Then I remembered that he was not like me, and the requirement his species had. And, judging by the way his young "Master" seemed to not care about his presence at all, and the look of calmness on his pale face, I guessed I wasn't the only one who knew his little secret. That would sort of make sense, if there was some sort of deal between the two. A lifetime of servitude in exchange for his very soul; that seemed like a fair deal.

But still, he was a butler? That wasn't really amounting to his full potential in the slightest.

The young boy who he referred to as Master glanced at him over his shoulder, looking rather bored, his facial features lined with exhaustion.

"You and I both know that it was simply for the public, Sebastian." Wait, what? Sebastian? What kind of a name was that? It screamed formality. "I have no intention of doing such things – I'm busy enough as it is." He continued, running a single hand through his hair, pushing it off of his face. "However, if you wish to keep my image up, there would be no harm in you organising the events. It is something you claim to be good at, after all; and it's your job." He added rudely. My eyes blinked rapidly at his tone of voice – how dare he talk to a supernatural being in such a manner as you would a measly peasant! Flickering my gaze over at Sebastian, I noticed that the look on is face was the same as when he had entered the room – calm, collected and at peace. That surprised me a little.

"Of course Master, I shall set to work on the organisation first thing in the morning." My eyes widened even more. He was agreeing to run errands for a boy of no great significance, simply because he was told to do so?

There were a lot of things I never understood about Sebastian. His compassion towards his victims being one of them – the other his attraction to cats. Seriously, for a creature of his kind, that was just plain strange; it almost defied the laws of the universe.

"But, for now, let's get you into bed. You need to be up early to commence business, as there are documents that need to be filled out before noon tomorrow." Rage filled me at the very attitude of this young boy – he came across as a rather ungrateful brat. The Noble blooded never ceased to amaze me with their antics.

The sound of rustling bed sheets made me snap my head back straight, and stop my wandering thoughts and naughty giggles. Focus, you're on the job! I mentally scolded myself for becoming distracted for a few minutes, as something could have easily gone wrong, or I could have been spotted, all without my own knowledge. But, thankfully, luck was still on my side as neither the boy, who was know curled up in bed, or Sebastian, who was standing by the door, had noticed me.

"Goodnight Master," The butler said, bowing gently, before turning to leave the room. He paused, looking back for a moment, and dread filled me at the thought he might have sensed me. However, he simply turned away again, before closing the door gently, disappearing into the dark. That surprised me actually – I thought he would have at least carried a candelabra. I knew he did not need one, but it would be highly suspicious if he was wandering around the manor late at night in the shadows. In fact, I could have sworn he came in with one….

No matter, I had a job to do. Loosening my nails out of the brickwork, I strained to hear the breathing of the target below me. It was steady and deep, signalling that sleep had already claimed him. A smirk played at my lips as I pulled my fingernails out all the way, and dropped to the floor without so much as disturbing the dust on the carpet. Creeping over to the bed on which he lay, I studied the form before me. He could be no older than thirteen, as I had already assumed, yet something about him said he was far more mature than his age implied. In that way, he reminded me of myself, the child I was a lifetime ago. And that made me frown slightly; the thought of disposing of someone who might share the same I qualities I once possessed at his age making me feel sorry for the poor boy.

What a waste.

However, I wasn't here for sentiment, and so, without further hesitation, I grasped a bottle that was clasped to my belt and pulled it out ever so gently. The liquid inside was a dark green, emerald almost, and it sloshed about quietly as I withdrew it from its place amongst other potions and gadgets. This small bottle, this liquid - this was my real weapon. The sword on my back was both for decoration and for when I ran into trouble that a simple poison would not be enough for. And, unlike some of the other weapons I owned, the sword did have sentimental value.

This little green concoction was of my own design and making, a product of my many years practice at alchemy. With eternity at your disposal, you might as well find a few hobbies to help past the time, correct? Though the making process for this poison was rather simple, the effect it had was deadly. One drop of it in your bloodstream, and it would cause all of your cells to go into a frenzy, turning against each other, and destroying your immune system completely. After that, it poisoned your blood, and with your immune system down, it caused a fever to course through your entire body. After five minutes of slight spasms, the liquid set into an almost jelly like substance, closing of your arteries and causing your blood to stop pumping, killing you much like a heart attack would. After another five minutes, when time was certain you would be dead, the poison would dissolve back to its original state, and self destruct, killing it off. This meant there was never a trace of it even being in your body, giving the morticians and suspicious bystanders the conclusion that the death was of natural cause – your body simply shutting down in your sleep, a heart attack. No mess, no suspicion, and no worries for those who had specified the kill. Competition was eliminated without suspicion due to the circumstances of death, and everything moves on. Business is better for some Noble, and the total amount of gold in my pocket becomes heavier. Easy.

That was what I had planned for the boy in front of me. A nice, peaceful death with no possibility of it being blamed on someone; it would look like he had simply been stolen away in his sleep. No problem at all. So, I let my right hand uncork the bottle softly, and I bent down so I was next to his head. The cowl covering my face prevented my breath from reaching his skin, which could possibly wake him or give away my position. Lining up the bottle with his ear, I bid him farewell out of decency and began to tip the bottle's contents towards his skin.

Then the bloody door opened.

"Apologies Master, I simply forgot my candelabra. If you don't mind I'll-" The butler stared at me with wide eyes, taking in the scene before him. Crimson orbs settled on my creeping form, the possessive stance I had over the boy, and then the bottle in my hand that was continuing to tip the glass towards the face of my victim.

That was all it took for his instincts to kick in.

And the same went for me.

Within a moment, his dark form came launching at me form the doorway. I pulled the bottle away from the boy – its contents were too precious to lose by just letting it drop – and ducked underneath his arms that were flying for my throat. As he soared over me, I rolled underneath him, my legs tucking into my chest tightly. I heard him hit the wall, but he quickly regained his composure and spun around to face me. From my position on the floor, I pulled my legs underneath my self into a crouching position, and waited for his next move – all emotions and memory of him wiped from my mind.

I didn't have to wait long until he struck again.

He came at me again, this time with more precision and grace. Expecting this, I leapt into the air, aiming to go over him and kick him from behind. But after my first move, he must have realised by my speed that I was no ordinary killer, and his reactions were far more suited to someone of my species, now he knew what kind of foe he was up against. His hand reached up to lock itself around my foot, and I yelped in surprise and pain as he pulled me down hard. My face connected with the floor, and I felt my nose crack, but I quickly retaliated as I rolled onto my side, barely being missed by a piece of polished silverware being thrown at where I once lay. Swinging my leg around, I connected with the back of his shin, and caught him off guard, causing him to fall forward. Reaching up a gloved hand, I grabbed his shirt as he came towards me and threw him to the side violently. He went sliding across the floor into a bookcase, and manuscripts and many other pieces of literature went flying around him as the wood shattered upon the impact. My hand flew to my thigh before he had time to move, and pulled a dagger clean out of its sheath. With quick yet careful aim, I sent the blade slicing through the air, sure to meet the head of its target. But at the last moment he moved, pulling himself up, and the knife embedded itself in the woodwork behind him. Growling in frustration, I went to pull another knife from my leg, when he picked up one of the shelves that had come loose from the bookcase and threw it at me. Jumping over it, I thought I had escaped impact, but my foot caught on the edge of the wood and sent me tumbling to the side. Loosing my balance, I fell onto the rug, but not before the knife in my hand went at him. But because of my loss of balance, the throw was slightly messy, and it missed him yet again. Forcing me a smirk as I twisted over on the rug, he took a step forward. My head was sore from the impact, and it only took me a second to recover, but that was more than enough time for him. Going to stand up, I was knocked out of all breath when his body weight came crashing down on top of me. His hands gripped my wrists above my head, and his hips straddled my own, his knees by my head. Smirking, he reached underneath me and grabbed my sword, sheath and all, and pulled it up to his face. After examining it for a few moments with slight admiration, he tossed it away to the side.

I spat at him, yet he only chuckled. "My, my, feisty, aren't we?" He said mockingly, and in reply I simply pulled up my leg to knee him where it hurts. I made impact on something, and he grimaced at my force, before staring at me again. And pleasant surprise filled his eyes as he saw mine were now a rich crimson. "What wonderful eyes you have, my dear. Tell me, what exactly are you?" His question did have some curiosity laced into it, but I didn't care in the slightest. He had me furious, and that was not a good thing. Turning my head to the side in defiance, my nose touched the flesh of his knee. "Well, that's not very polite. I'm simply asking a question. And, considering the position that you are in, I wouldn't think it very wise to argue." His eyes gleamed with violent intentions, and the grip on my wrists hardened. I wasn't going to play to his game, however.

"Won't you at least give me a hint? I would hate to dispose of a creature that might be worth preserving." He cooed, looking down at me as though I were inferior. I scoffed silently. If it was a hint he wanted, it was a hint he would get. At that moment, I opened my mouth, only to reveal a set of razor sharp teeth and a pair of vicious looking canines. Reaching my head forward suddenly, I bit down on the flesh of his leg, feeling my fangs sink deep into his flesh. He yelped in shock, and I pulled away roughly, taking some skin and clothing with me in my mouth. Spitting it at him, I pushed up, and using his confusion to my advantage, kicked him off of me. He went into the wall, cracking it upon impact, and slid down it, hazy eyes looking at me with anger.

I walked over to him softly, and in one swift movement, lifted him up with a hand around his pale throat. He stared at me, coughing slightly. My eyes bore into his, and to this action, his reaction was not what I expected. He smiled. Staring at him in confusion, my grip on him slackened, unaware of what he was smirking about.

"It is not often I find an opponent getting the better of me." He said, voice raspy. "You fight rather well, my dear. It has been far too long since I have had an interesting, and challenging fight. Seeing as I seem to be the one who has lost, may I have the pleasure of knowing the name of such a worthy adversary?" His words cut into me, and the way he spoke suddenly reminded me of whom he was. Only he could make losing sound so graceful, so elegant. Only he could be that polite to an opponent who was trying to kill him. And only he could smirk like that. Letting my eyes roam for a moment, I saw the damage my violence had caused, and instantly felt regret in my stomach. The crimson faded from my eyes, and my grip loosened even more until I was barely holding him at all. I was about to speak to apologise, before another voice sounded throughout the room.

"SEBASTIAN?! WHAT THE DEVIL IS GOING ON!?" A voice yelled to our right. Instinctively, I let my head snap in the voice's direction, and saw the young boy clinging to the bed sheets around his body in fear. I had no idea how long he had been awake for – probably since the start of our fight when his butler hit the wall – but he was now gazing intently at the pair of us with his eyes full of question. Wait a minute…. His eye. The one that had been covered when he came into the room was now on display, the eye patch on a nightstand next to the bed. And I couldn't help but stare. His iris was decorated with some strange pattern that I instantly recognised as the one that was hidden on the back of the demon's hand. It was his mark; which meant I had been right. They had made a deal. But who on earth was he shouting his question at? There was no-one called Sebas….Oh no. He meant Sebastian. That was when I remembered.

Sebastian. Fight. I was fighting Sebastian.

Damn it….

Just after I had realised my mistake, I felt a gloved hand wrap itself around my throat and swing me around into the wall. My brief moments of distraction had been more than long enough for him to get the upper hand in this situation, as could be seen by my frame now being firmly up against the brickwork. Sebastian's face was but an inch from mine, and his eyes were glowing brightly in the dark.

"I apologise for the disturbance Master, but I caught this person here trying to slip you some poison. An assassin no doubt, judging by the way she is dressed, most likely hired by one of your many jealous rivals." He leant in closer, smirking, before adding another sentence. "Although, I wonder where they found a Vampyre…"

"Well? Sebastian, dispose of them!" Ciel said, a little calmer now that he saw his demonic butler had everything under control. He was glaring at me as though I were some filthy peasant, which I took as an offence. Squirming under the butler's grip, I was gasping slightly for air. Sebastian continued to stare at me, and I got a rather unsettling feeling, which was increased by his next words.

"If you don't mind, Master, I would much like the see what the assassin looks like before I dispose of them. They did put up a good fight, after all, and it would seem like such a waste to not know the identity of such a worthy opponent." Sebastian's breath tickled my flesh, and I heard Ciel grunt in the corner.

"Very well. I witnessed most of your little "dispute", and she did almost seem to match you with her skills. I would be lying if I didn't say I was also slightly intrigued." His young eyes were still fixed on me, but it was not him I was worried about. It was the man – or being – in front of me that was causing me distress.

"Thank you, Master." He replied with a soft nod, and then, with his free hand, he reached up to grasp my cowl gently between his fingers. Smirking, he gazed at me again, pulling me slightly away from the wall, before pulling down the material harshly. I yelped softly as he caught some of my hair, but regained my composure when I saw the way he looked at me. My crystal white hair spiralled down my shoulders, with my gleaming silver eyes practically glowing in the moonlight. The porcelain flesh that covered the trained muscles of my body glistened with sweat as it dripped down my brow, giving my skin a waxy sheen to it. My face was not one to be forgotten, and now the two people who I least wanted to see it – my victim and my lost love – were gazing at me intently. Ciel had an expression of slight puzzlement on his face, taking in my ghostly appearance. When I gave him a polite nod, and tore my eyes away from him to Sebastian, I instantly regretted it.

The look of hunger and amazement in his eyes was too much for me to bear. I saw the disbelief etched onto his features, and I couldn't help but chuckle at his rare lack of speech. He stuttered softly, before swallowing deeply, and finally finding some words,

"Y-you…." He whispered, so quietly it was only because of my heightened senses that I managed to pick it up. A gloved hand slowly found its way to my face, and brushed some stray hair out of my eyes. "I-it's y-you…."

Smiling softly, I placed my own hand on top of the one cradling my face, and leant slightly into his touch. I fixed my silver eyes onto his now dying crimson ones, and spoke softly.

"Hello Sebastian, my sweet…."

Then my previously dormant hand connected sharply with his face.

A/N: Seeing as this is the first piece of work I have ever posted online, reviews are much appreciated. I will accept constructive criticism, but please, no hating in the comments. I do not own Kuroshitsuji, or its characters, but I do own Esmeralda Mandetta and the plot of this fanfiction. Thank you for taking your time to read this, and if you enjoying the story so far, why not check out my other Fics?

(P.S: Any person caught hating on Sebastian will be set on by a pack of raging Fangirls. You have been warned...)