A/n: A little something I thought up of after reading the latest chapters of Black Butler. Please review and enjoy.
Obligatory disclaimer: if I owned this series, I would not be writing fanfiction for it.
Do you want to hear a story?
I know a lot of stories; I've been alive for a very long time, after all, and I've met so many different humans.
I could tell you the story of a young woman, cursed from birth with a missing leg, who joined a circus and fell in love with a man who never loved her back. I could tell the tale of a foolish prince who left home to find a woman and ended up losing everything. I could tell you about the despair-filled madam who cut up women and ripped out their wombs.
But I think I'll tell you my favorite story. Yes, perhaps that is the story you truly want to hear.
As most stories do, this one starts once upon a time, as cliche as that may sound. And once upon a time, there was a little boy. He was the second born child of a noble house of England, smart and clever. His mother was a beautiful blonde woman and his father a cunning businessman. His older brother was to inherit everything, but this did not cause a rift between the brothers; in fact, they loved each other very much. He was a sickly, fragile thing, but he was happy.
Sadly, nothing lasts forever.
One day, someone set fire to the boy's home, and the boy watched everything he loved burn. The boy's parents died in that fire, charred to a crisp. But that was not the end of the poor boy's misery.
Don't look so sad. What kind of story would this be if that was the end, hmm?
Some of the men who attacked the boy's home decided that they wanted to make a little profit on the side, and what better way to make a small fortune than to sell the poor children on the black market.
Don't spout denials at me. Greed dwells within every human heart. Believe me, I am somewhat of an expert on such matters.
The two boys were bought, and by the worst sort of people too, no less. A demonic cult wanted some sacrificial lambs, you see, and decided the two boys were the best possible offering. Of course, the boys needed to be prepared before they were sent to the alter. They needed to despair, to rage, to be absolutely miserable; that way their suffering could call forth a demon.
Now, now, don't be so skeptical. That's one way to ruin a good story, so put your modern beliefs to rest and just absorb yourself in the story.
The cult took the children by force and without warning before branding the children like cattle and locking them up in cages underground, letting them stew in their pain and misery.
You have such a disgusted look on your face right now. The world is never kind, you see, not even to orphaned children. Especially to orphaned children.
One day, the cult decided to host a ceremony to summon a demon. Almost all the members were present, dressed in blood- red robes and moth-like masks. A summoning circle was inscribed on the ground, just yearning to be used. All that was left was the perfect sacrifice. The boy's elder brother was chosen to be offered first. They dragged him, kicking and screaming, out of the cage and away from his little brother. They pinned him down against the alter. The knife came down, mercilessly. The brother's now still body laid, bleeding, on the alter. The boy cried out, and something heard him.
You see, the cultists were successful after all. A demon came, all black feathers and crimson eyes, the color of the brother's freshly spilled blood. The boy reached out his hand to the demon, and the demon accepted, took the boy's pale hand into its own clawed counterpart.
The boy made a contract with the demon, one not nearly as fragile as the contracts humans make amongst themselves. The first thing the boy told the demon to do was to kill every last cultist. And the demon did gleefully.
The contract, you see, required the demon to obey the boy's every order. The contract would end when and only when the boy's wish was granted. The boy's wish, you ask? Revenge. The boy wanted revenge on the people who did that to his brother and him. Not just the cultists, but the men who attacked his home, and the people behind it, and the people who let them get away with it.
And of course there was a price the boy had to pay. Nothing is ever truly free in this world. After the boy had his revenge, he had to give the demon his soul.
It took a while for the boy to track down the ones responsible for his suffering, even with a demon by his side, but track them down he did. It took a few years, a few years of biding time, waiting for the enemy to strike once they realized they hadn't succeeded in wiping out his family, as a nobleman and his ever loyal servant.
The once kind boy grew cruel during those few years alone with his demons, both literal and figurative. The lives of others meant nothing to him beyond their possible use. While it is true the boy cared for those who were close to him, strangers were as valuable as a cockroach were they not useful.
Did you know the boy once ordered his demon to burn multiple children alive for their own good? This is the sort of cruelty I refer to.
Yes, the boy grow cruel. He also grew ruthless and cynical, his intelligence used as a weapon to rip apart his prey.
On one fated day, the boy's revenge was completed.
You look excited now. Do you think the boy would try to find a way out of his fate? Do you think the boy would deceive a demon and play it for a fool? Do you think this story will end with the boy being rid of the demon and finally finding a way to live happily in the present?
Don't be so ridiculous. This may be a story, but it is not a fairytale.
The boy fulfilled his side of the bargain willfully, like a noble befitting his status. Considering how young the child was, it was almost admirable that he'd face death calmly and without fear. The demon took the boy's soul from his body and laughed. No one heard from the boy or the boy's butler again.
The moral of the story, you ask? Why, there is none. How stupid a question.
Why did I tell you this story? Well, that's a better question, at least. But, haven't you noticed? You haven't, have you? You were always a slow little girl, weren't you? I don't know what he ever saw in you. Ah, don't look so shocked. Everyone is thinking it.
Since you still don't seem to understand, let me ask you this: when was the last time you saw your former fiancé?
No, no, no, not your Ciel. No, that one's still in the manor, being looked over by Undertaker no doubt. I mean my little tyrant, the one you used to care about so deeply. When was the last time you've seen him? It's been a while, hasn't it?
Ah, yes, now you seem to understand, if the tears in your eyes are anything to go by. Now, now, Miss Midford, crying only serves to make you look more pathetic than you already are.
What was that? Not even I can make sense of your sniveling, milady. You hate me? Why? Because I took your love away? Why, don't you remember? You gave him up for the Undertaker's moving corpse. You left him so cruelly too. He was concerned about you the entire time, and you left him without a second thought.
Who am I? Why, Miss Midford, we've known each other for years. Surely, you didn't forget my name in the brief time we haven't spoken.
What am I? That's a better question. But it's one I've been telling everyone the whole time. You see, I am simply one hell of a butler. Quite literally.
I am a demon. I eat souls, and his soul is the most delectable of them all.
First sadness, now anger? Cease this pointless attacking. Nothing you can do can harm me. Nothing you can do will bring him back.
Why did I tell you this?
Why indeed.