Yeah so I got this idea from a stupid movie and it kind of took on a really cool mood. This was meant to be a test so I really have no plot yet but I'll get one I swear.
Alright basically this is a kind of twin Ciel theory spinoff because I like the idea but don't support it + a weird Six of Crows (PM me we can scream and yeah this guy is totally Kaz sorry not sorry) style but anyway it's really cool so read it.
So anyway, enjoy!
My dearest Ciel,
I hope you have had a pleasant summer. I can already feel the chill of winter in my old bones. The heat may be gone, but I can practically smell Christmas in the air already.
I did not contact you only to discuss the weather, however. I have heard tell of a young man by the alias of the Golden Fox. We do not know much about him, so I am employing you. He is neither friend nor enemy, so do use caution.
I hope to hear from you soon.
Regards,
Queen Victoria of England
XxxxxxxX
A cane taps evenly with every step. Its scarlet ruby eyes glint in the evening sun. He flexes bare fingers over the head and waits.
It is dark here, stuffy, and makes his nose hurt. He settles in an overstuffed velvet divan and rests his cane between his knees, folding hands patiently over his lap. He doesn't like his place, but that doesn't mean he can't wait.
It doesn't take long for his host to arrive.
"Ah, you finally came," Lau greets warmly. He stands.
"Well met, Lau."
"Your sticky fingers didn't catch anything on the way in, did they?"
"Not yet." He taps a finger against the gold fox of his cane. "Do you have what I asked?"
"Indeed I do, my lord." The boy flinches a little in his cloak. "My my, did that strike a nerve?"
"Do you have what I asked?" The boy repeats. He holds up an envelope bulging with money and presses it into the man's hand reluctantly.
"Lord Ciel Phantomhive is who you want." The man looks down at him and raises a hookah pipe to his mouth. "Try not to pick anything up on your way out. We all know just how slippery a fish you are."
"Thanks, Lau." The boy rocks in his shoes.
"And thank you, little fish."
"I prefer fox," he comments, turning away. "The golden fox."
"Oh ho," Lau laughs, blowing smoke. "Why a fox?"
He holds up his cane in one hand. "I liked the design."
There are stories mothers tell their children to frighten them into bed early or get them to eat their greens. Do not pout or monsters will get you. Eat your food or the Boogeyman will get you. Demons come out after dark, so you better be in bed.
They are real.
They are the children hidden away. The children born with sores on their faces or features missing, or withered bodies, or decaying skin. The children pale from lack of sunlight, with no names to speak of, the children who are sworn into silence.
He was born into silence, in a locked room. The walls were bare, smooth stone. The floor was metal. There was one window, that looked out into a garden with honey light and colorful flowers. Sometimes, the other boy would play there, with an animal he learned was called a dog.
The boy looked like him. They shared the same moonstone hair and sapphire eyes and alabaster skin. Sometimes, he would imagine he was that boy that ran and played with the dog-animal in the honey sun. Sometimes, he would imagine he boy would come up to his room in the attic and play with him and tell him stories of the outside.
He was ten when it burnt down. The roof had fallen on him but when he awoke from unconsciousness, he simply crawled his way out.
He explored. He learned. He met a magician's son named Ezra who taught him to pull a coin out of thin air and tease a deck of cards. He met a banker's son named Percival who taught him how to add and subtract and to keep his money.
Ezra died of scarlet fever. Percival fell into the Thames.
He became a glutton for knowledge. He knew Ezra and Percival were too kind, so he hoarded what he learned.
He taught himself to pull coins from pockets and purses. He practiced the art of talking and moving at the same time, how to take a man's scarf off his neck and his hat off his head, how to take pies and bread from a baker's pan. Then, he learned valuables and that people wanted them, so he learned to take them and make money.
Next, he learned to steal information.
He learned secrets. He knows what people do at night, behind doors and curtains and walls. He learned how to bluff, where to step, and he perfected talking. It came slowly, but it came.
Finally, he learned reputation. He learned stories. He learned to make them up and spread them. So he spread a tale of a thief called the Golden Fox and his telltale golden cane. He told the tales of monsters, of children lurking in the dark, and he became their master.
He became the Golden Fox, the demon of the Thames, the puppet master of London, the king of the underground. It suited him well.
But he needed something more.
He remembered that boy from the garden under his window.
XxxxxxxX
He raps his cane hard on the solid wood. The manor is impressive, majestic even, in the flattering sunset light.
Almost immediately, the door swings open, and a tall man in an impeccable suit answers with a bow.
"Greetings, sir. I am the butler of this estate. May I help you?"
"Is this the Phantomhive residence?"
"Indeed it is."
He braces his cane against the ground with both hands and says, "My name is Ezra Percival Phantomhive. I need to speak to the Earl here."
As always, review/like if you want more! This was kind of a bad idea I think so... You know.