Daughter of Death
I do not own Kuroshitsuji and I never will. . Sadly.
"MMMMAAAAAAAAAAAA!" Arise ran down the stairs two at a time to stop in front of her incredibly plain mother.
"What happened to my red dress? You know I was going to wear that tonight!"
Arise did always have a flair for the dramatic, but there was a part of her that nobody knew. The side that liked to tie her long red hair back and curl up to a good book. (Preferably a romance novel.)
"It is so inappropriate for a girl your age! You're 16 and already you try and look 25!"
Arise huffed. She'd heard it all before, but did she care? Frankly, no. She turned and muttered something about life being unfair and stalked back to her room. When she got back to her room she threw herself on her black and red bedspread, looking up at the ceiling, wishing for a miracle. If only something exciting would happen! Something that made her blood boil and her heart race at the speed of light. After a moment of intense thought she leapt up and went to her generously supplied closet and threw it open. She grabbed her favorite black trench coat and her copy of Hamlet. She looked back at her room once more, than jumped from her window.
Arise had always had good reflexes. She could jump from high places and land on her feet, she was also strong, very strong. When she was in primary school she could beat all the boys at football. Though, she liked different games, dramatic games that ended in a bloody demise of one or more characters. Deciding to make her own excitement, she hailed down a cab.
"Where can I take you Love?"
Arise fixed him with a "You haven't got a chance," stare that she had given so many admirers at school.
"Just drop me off by the mortuary."
The driver gave her a stare that reflected both fear and curiosity but didn't ask any questions. She went over the explanation in her head, she knew what he would have asked, had he been braver. Arise had a fondness for the dead that was disturbing. Whenever her mother and father complained about it she always said she preferred the dead because they didn't talk back. But that wasn't the only reason, oh no. She loved the thought of a cold sleep, where a person was pale and young forever. The fear as they looked their killer in the face frozen forever on their faces. Sure, she liked romantic comedies, but it was the gory horror films that got her going. Don't ask why, even she couldn't explain it. Ever since she was little she's been fascinated with Death, it all started when her mother had found her playing with a dead raven in the cemetery behind their house. Little did her mother know that it was Arise who had climbed up the tree and had caught the bird, wringing its neck and enjoying the feel of the little bones breaking at her merciless touch. Arise shivered remembering it, not from disgust at her own antics, but from pleasure and excitement. The thrills that she got from seeing the eyes of that stupid bird go completely dark and cold.
"That'll be 3 quid love." She shook herself out of her tirade and handed him the money. She stepped out of the cab and sighed with relief at the sign for the would have gone inside to say hello to the crazy man she only knew as "Undertaker", he was the only person who understood her dark obsession. Even though he was probably voted "Most likely to become serial killer" in high school, Arise didn't care, he was her only friend. Arise went around the back and settled down in her favorite corner right by the back door and opened her book, but the excitement of sneaking out and defying her parents had left her drained. Not to mention, though a genius he was, Shakespeare wasn't the most stimulating of reading. It wasn't long until the book slipped from her fingers as she fell into a deep sleep full of red.
"Oh How beautiful! That color is simply ravishing!"
Arise was jolted out of her bloody dream to see a man, at least she thought it was a man, standing before her.
"You really did get the good genes didn't you?" He took a lock of her fiery hair in his hand and twirled it and pulled it gently. Arise's hair was not the normal orange red, it was red red. The color of roses after a light frost and her whole life she refused to cut it, so it tumbled to her waist in great spirals and waves.
Arise wanted to push his hand away as it was cold as ice, even with the black leather gloves he had on, but she found she was mesmerized. The man had green eyes so deep, but with a malicious glee in them that they almost suffocated her. They were also achingly familiar, bringing back memories of warm arms, gentle lullabies and the smell of warm apple pie.
The smell of home.
"WH-who are you?"
The She-male's eyes narrowed in a way that suggested amusement, though his lips pushed out in a pout as he said,
"I'm hurt my dearest darling! Don't you even remember your own mother?"
To Be Continued. . . .