The New King's Vow

It was dark in the room on that night. The lightning would occasionally flash to illuminate the gruesome scene. How did everything come to be like this? The veil of red covered the white marble floors. Eyes were glossed over with blank stares while mouths still hung open to reflect fear once endured. The silk curtains that enveloped the columns were tainted with past anguish as the red snakes crept up their fabrics, burning into them the proof that this event was real. That it was recorded.

And the blade shook in his hands as he gazed down to admire his own heinous work. His mother's hair was so very lovely, all free and properly kept. But alas, it was golden treasures of hope, drowned in it's own fear of faith, the red sea. Her expression cursed her angelic features. That of tear stricken betrayal left its mark on her face; an appearance so breath-takingly painful that one might cry as many tears as there were blood droplets on the marble tiles. The tears on her face were serene and pure, but quickly found themselves engulfed in the poison of red. It was everywhere. On her face, lying upon her lavished clothes, covering her hands. But, of all the dear servants and all the dearly slaughtered relatives, red besmirched one entity, far more than all others, on that night.

Yes, on the ground, with her body and hair scattered like a delicately contorted and withered rose, his mother laid cradled beside another. He was not yet dead and he cried for mercy. But not for mercy from the perpetrator of his wounds. He was panting and his hands were splattered with the blood of his wife who had thrown herself in front of him. He took her pale, icy hands up in his and shivered with his last ounces of strength. It was at this moment that one might see the weakness and humility in the voice of a nobleman. It shook like his hands and quivered with the fear that his hope too would be drowned in a sea of hatred and war. He looked into his wife's half closed eyes, their pearly ellipses already glazing over. Then, he looked upon the heavens and prayed with all his might. Mercy. Mercy.

"Please," he quivered, "spare him...Spare my boy—" and then a horrid look and gasp came from his handsome features. His eyes came back to reality and he stared at the face of his killer. The sword was thrust through his heart. Yes. The merciful kill that was never asked for. The man's face wanted to voice words, but he simply laid next to his wife, another sliver of hope lost to the red sea.

The room was not illuminated with any such peaceful light. But two orbs glowed in the darkness that screamed with the hate of one's self. One, of the blue and deep ocean, speaking of what was to be the fate of such a person; despair that echoed through the darkness with such a light that could pierce the hearts of even the gods, tainting their beings with malice. The blue orb glinted with the hope that perhaps what it was viewing was a dream. Or perhaps happiness could still exist in a terrible world with events such as what was seen on this night.

The other orb contained an insignia which stamped upon its surface like the binding to a curse. The sign consisted of a pentagram that stretched to the end of a white circle. This purple orb, along with its insignia, crushed all hope of the blue orb and was a sign of definite truth within the following events. It was the orb that told only the truth. The honest eye of a god. So then, why was it present on such a being? Why was such an earnest glow so ominously sinister in this blood splattered room. Because the truth within was only of hate. The disgusting hate that eats away at the being. One could look into this orb and see the maggots of despair etching away at a soul. Nay, this figure had no soul. So perhaps he'd like to think of what was being eaten as a heart. Then what—at this moment—panged in his chest?

These orbs glinted with hideous beauty. And could it be that their horrid bodies could be the eyes of a face? Yes, the eyes glowed bright upon a face of angelic beauty; a face stained like his mother's with a look of shock and despair. It was a face with full, pink lips and rosy, flawless cheeks. The large eyes were gifted with long, graceful black eyelashes and complimented by a button nose that was adequately quaint in respect to the other elements of the face. A petite figure fit this face. It was clothed in a pure white night gown. The smooth, dark hair of the figure fell in front of his face as the sword in his father's side squirmed with a ghastly sound while it was pulled from his flesh. Beautiful alabaster skin was soiled with blood. He cast the glinting silver sword aside and brought his quivering hands to his face. Their blood covered facades left streaks down his features like the face paint of a demon.

His stomach cringed and he grabbed his white cloaked body, now no longer so pure. He felt a sticky substance as his knees buckled and dropped to meet the floor's surface. The boy looked at his mother, at his father, and closed his eyes tight, running his blue-black locks through with his fingertips. Amidst the blood, the gore, and the bodies of all he loved, a child screamed and tore his being apart as his voice vibrated through the air. His cries resonated through the estate, a single noise that masked all other screams that had been heard that night. It was excruciating, the sound from his heart, infested with hate of one's self. But his eyes would not bless him with the tears to express this extreme emotion. No. He'd murdered them all. He could not allow himself such courtesies. And there was no turning from the reality of the situation; his left eye of royal truth would insure that. A lone child shrieked for deliverance from his nightmare.

But no, I could escape no longer. No one, save my own being, was alive in this manor. I could not pretend that any other had killed them. It was me. It was all me. The scream continued until my lungs ran dry. And then, only then, did my hands splash into the sea of blood. Then, I found the ever cold blade of death amongst the sullen red and forced its silver body from the riches of its last battle.

I sat up, my night gown crawling up with red snakes of blood. My eyes finally tired and filled with emptiness. Something dripped from the surface of my eyelids as I looked toward the chandelier of the ceiling. The ballroom was so very beautiful. And I always did wish for a touch of red to be added to its black and white surface. It was ironic, almost laughable, that the ballroom looked so much lovelier. And from that, I pitied myself with tears that streamed down my face. Not for what I'd done, but for how I truly felt. Monstrous. But they were not tears of purity, my innocence was lost forevermore. They mingled and lost themselves in the blood on my face. And at the moment, a tear that had weaved through the blood dropped into the sea of red. And all was turned into a sorrowful blue. The scarlet on my face crystallized into the ocean. That's what my tears did to blood. Oh well. The room would look okay in blue too.

Heels clacked to the ground and I turned around. He was grinning as wide as the Cheshire, his cyan eyes screaming with fake and evil excitement. Wild as they were, they were also clouded with an emotion that I could not describe. It was chaos, and a complete acceptance of that craziness. Peace was a luxury that must have taken years to attain for a boy of his sin. Over his eyes were threads of gold locks that were tainted, unlike my mother's. Clothed in the most atrocious attire of mid-length shorts and black, Italian leather boots, that tall-postured body of his was practically covered in childish displays of independence. He had something effortless about his features, a mischievous adolescence that just added to the suggestion that he was an untrustworthy figure. And yet he was my partner.

"My, my, you sure made a mess!" he said, hopping over each body lying hacked apart on the ground.

When he noticed the pool of blood about me was blue, he halted in front of the doorway and accused, "Have you been crying?"

"Shut up!" I snapped. Behind me, he laughed.

"Your tattoo will stop growing for now." he informed.

"Why me?" I asked.

"Huh?"

"Why did you have to curse me?" I bowed my head down and balled my hands into fists, my right hand pressing in on the silver ring upon my thumb. The ring was adorned with the blue hope diamond. That was the source of my curse.

"You're cute." his eyes giggled at the pleasure of hopelessness seen in my eyes.

"You're not going to tell me then?" I questioned. He did not respond, confirming the sense of tension in the air. Blood ripped as the silver sword slid upright to hold my weight. The sword was the only thing that shared my burden of this night, the only thing I could possibly trust with my pain. I lifted myself to my feet.

"Your first kill; now we've both done it. Is it supposed to feel this tense, I wonder..." his heels clacked musically as kicked at the bodies I had made motionless. How long had he been doing things like this? Was he so twisted because he tried to shut everything out?

I didn't want to be that way. I didn't want anything to be like this. A crack of thunder fell with the lash of lightning. At that same moment, I swung the blade downward to where it was inches from his nose.

"And what do you plan to do with that?" he asked, frowning now, with a serious appearance.

"What's to stop me from killing you now?" I asked him.

He took his index finger and moved the blade a safe distance away from him, "Now now, I think you've gotten your fill of bloodshed for the night." The heels clacked again and struggled to dodge the sea of blood. Their expensive tips would be tainted with red soon enough. And when his shoe finally reached my blue sea, the heel swam into its ocean and suddenly the blood dissipated into clear water. Now, a single sound echoed through the estate, a water droplet falling into darkness. As the silence continued, the red was quickly overtaken and, radiating from him, all blood turned to salty water. The open plantation windows of the manor overlooked the city, where the lights were always blazing, and the faint sound of a wind-up-box melody was heard from the streets.

Again, the silver blade came to shake in my hand. The blood on my face turned all to watery tears as the boy placed both of his hands on my cheeks. Two soft, warm substances caressed my skin. Why did it seem like an eternity had passed without another human's touch? Blue and purple clashed with the intensity of cyan. A figure drew closer to another, and the two faces were close enough to catch each others scent over the ever present smell of death.

"You know, there's a little lullaby that was sung to every child in this city," he whispered.

"Silence." I replied, this story was far too repetitively painful to listen to again. But he continued with a whimsically clear and child-like voice,

"Ye precious souls, hither to, ye come,

Come to the lap of the adorned one,

let him treasure ye,

set ye upon his knee,

and rock ye 'til light becomes nigh.

'til the broken clock ticks,

'til ye bones crack like sticks.

Come to the lap of the adorned one,

Come to the lap of the king."

I found myself queasy and disgusted as the boy made effort to continue, "You were the soul child to ponder when the king would let the precious souls go fourth from his lap. Naturally, you alone became the servant of the king, would you really want to kill your master."

"I never recalled being declared your servant," I stated.

"Right you are," the boy said, his hands suddenly drawing down to my sword. And before I could do anything, he thrust the sword into his being. The lightning flashed with the sound of a dying animal, ensnared within the clutches of another. His eyes dimmed and his smile was now nostalgic and pained. His vest spread through with red blood, but his touch turned into tears. With a thud, the sea of salt water would be soon disturbed with yet another body.

They called us the Golden Touch Children. Monstrous beings who molded "God's creations" into other things, and were destined to fill the world with only misfortune and death. Yes, I was awakened to this curse by a boy who had the only consciousness that I could never enter. The only one who, as a child, had such a sporadic behavior that I could never hope to predict it; the boy whom I could never beat at chess. The rain outside the estate sprinkled on the windows, and the dark room no longer let in the noise of the sound box in the city. The boy before me was so crafty, I wondered if perhaps I was the dying, ensnared animal. But that's how ill-minded I was, thinking he had underlying intentions to his death.

I stared in horror as the boy's pained expression slipped into near death, "What are you doing?" I exclaimed.

"With my death, we might yet escape our curses." he whispered, and then a husky sound came from his lungs and bloods spilled from his lips. A smile spread across his face as his weight shifted and he fell into the sea of tears.

I dropped down to my knees and forced the blade from his center. No. No. I didn't want this.

"Do you hate me more now?" the boy asked. "Yes. Now you will become the new king."

Water dripped on his cheek and his expression lightened, "Are you crying because I'm dear to you, or are you crying because your fate now is sealed?"

I wouldn't answer, he saw it in my eyes. So he added, "Never mind, don't answer."

"Remember what we talked about?.." his voice was failing him, "You argued with me...About the importance of consistency."

Everyone in the estate was dead now. They looked as if they were all crying, and their clothes looked merely ripped as if a child had run by and accidentally torn them. But it was heart breaking to think that something like this could actually happen. That they were not crying. That they were dead. Part of me was a child stuck in the now, but another was already mature enough to turn an eye to the present. Was that maturity? I didn't know.

Silence was something I wished actually existed. The music in the city stopped, but at that moment, I heard the loudest cries of my soul. No, silence was a bliss that I didn't deserve.

"As Golden Touch Children, we awaken in pairs. The first of us to awaken becomes the master of our team, and, in exchange for becoming the leader, they live with the burden of having to awaken their partner. Together we were supposed to lift our curses...Get rid of these powers. I could never see that happening if I couldn't understand your actions." I said, my voice unnaturally steady. But then I choked a torturous laugh, "And now, you idiot, you've outsmarted me and left me behind."

His blond hair was as beautiful as ever and it glinted even brighter when wet with water. Yes, he didn't cry, even on his death bed. How broken had my partner been? How long had he waited before awakening me? His parents and family were all gone by the time I came to know I was a Child. Now that I thought about it, I had not known anything about him; nothing except what I wanted to see in him. Is that how all humans were, disgusting, judgmental things? Or was I simply not human?

"Each pair of Golden Touch Children shares the same curse; ours was to kill any and all dear to us. If not, the tattoos that radiated from our family rings would spread and kill us at the heart. If we do not find the person most dear to us by our 14th birthdays, our tattoos would kill us." he continued. For the first time I was able to understand why he wanted to hear this at his last hour. What better than our fate to describe his life? The proper words for this boy's goodbye were as twisted as the smiles always plastered on his face.

Another foreign liquid seeped from my eyes and landed on the blood of his cheek, turning it blue. But then clear. And then, confused at what shade it should be, the speck of blood evaporated into nothing. How children such as my kind would wish to be like that blood drop; if we were ever conflicted —from whatever our curses entailed— we could just disappear. Somehow it sounded so much more peaceful than survival. I promised myself I wouldn't cry. But I guess I was still a child somewhere in the back of my being.

"I'll see you shortly, partner." he grinned, "Don't cry, it makes you look ugly. And, you know, every Child can die twice. This isn't the end..." his voice failed as he tried to speak. But then he shook his head and realized what he said didn't matter. It was his fault for stabbing himself in a place where he'd bleed to death.

With his last breath, the boy reached up and traced his hand over my cheek. He smiled and whispered, "Ciel Phantomhive, you are the new king."

The thunder cracked and his body was finally reaped of motion. The white room had nothing but tears strewn through its walls. This was the boy's last touch. And when he uttered my name, I could have sworn that hell was laughing at my fate. The king of the cursed children. What a lovely parting gift. My partner was always like that, cruel and blunt.

I motioned my hand to his face and pulled my palms over his dead eyes. But I was always the merciful one. His eyes closed to offer some sort of peace. But peace never suited him.

"Sleep well, if only for the night...Alois."

And in the white room, the color red once again seeped through its quarters, with the Golden Touch of Tears now gone from this world. But alas, that single crimson puddle could not reach the curtains. It would not be recorded.

Author's Pleasantries:

Well hey there one and all! This is RukiaRocks returning from an absence of almost 10 motivating months of moving schools, finding friends, losing a father, and living my life away from writing. As of 2011, I have written a grand score of 0 fanfictions and have updated 0 of my stories. This fic, and Mortal Masters, are the only new fanfictions I've come out with since I entered my new school. Don't get me wrong, the people at my new school are way cooler than those Christian hypocrites at my old school. :) But life's just been catching up to me recently.

((Concerning the single two words above that seemed to edge into the minds of a few of my readers, it is in my best interest to inform most people of my apologizes. However, I did not mean to cause any mental harm to anyone. There have been people who have so said I will "burn in hell" because I don't believe in their religion. I felt it only fitting to dub them with the religion they so proclaim and the title 'hypocrite', for does not the Bible say that the followers must be tolerant? At any rate, I was only directing the comment at those who so besmirched Christianity's name. It is by no means that I am insulting everyone that belongs to the religion(I have quite a number of friends that are Christian), but, since they felt it appropriate to bring up my beliefs in their insults, I put my foot down and did the same. For defending myself in a composed manner, I do not apologize. "Un-witty" comments must be matched with insults of the same caliber. And, as I had put up with the insults for 8 years prior to this, I believe I am entitled to burning a little steam. However, those who felt offended, I do apologize, for I did not mean to spread any hate.))

With my step dad's recent disappearance from my life, I have fallen out of romance and my old style of writing. For you returning readers of mine, this fanfiction will not be like any other you've read. I've changed my writing style and my preferences in terms of tone and mood. Word to the wise: Yaoi will be included in this fic(Both Cielbas and Cielois), if it continues. I have designed this chapter to stand on its own as a oneshot if the Kuroshitsuji audience does not cater toward reviewing. :) I need at least 9 reviews to continue this story.

That being said, you new readers might want to review if you want this story to continue. I'll love you forever if you do.

Yours truly,

~*RukiaRocks*~