Authors note: So, if you hadn't guessed, this story is inspired by Oscar Wilde's 'Dorian Gray'. To anyone who has read the book or watched the film, I would just like to state that this fan-fiction will stray off the actual plot quite a bit, but only to add interest and character development, as I dislike veering into the lane of 'OOC' too much. For this reason, I'll try my upmost to keep all characters in character, and, if one does display an emotion they might not show in canon, I'll leave a note at the end explaining it. However the basic plotline of 'Dorian Gray' will be the same.

I'd also like to point out that I will be using a full display of 'Kuroshitsuji' characters, and little to no OC's. Any OC's seen in this fan-fiction will be nothing more than 'props' or small characters.

Also, I would advise keeping a close eye on the time frame of each section, as this story will do a lot of time skipping near the beginning. It will even out pretty quickly though, so don't get down-hearted! Each chapter will be named with its prominent time frame so it's easier to navigate.

As a last note, in Wilde's 'Dorian Gray', hedonism plays a big part. To those who are unsure of what hedonism, and hedonistic practices are, here's a summary:

Hedonism is a school of thought which argues that pleasure is the only intrinsic good. In very simple terms, a hedonist strives to maximize net pleasure (pleasure minus pain). In contrast to the philosophy, the commonplace use of the term hedonism often refers to a lifestyle oriented only towards selfish momentary pleasures. In this sense the term is often used pejoratively and interpreted as a sign of decadence. The term "psychological hedonism" is the basic assumption that humans are psychologically constructed in such a way that we exclusively desire pleasure.

Disclaimer: The concept of 'Kuroshitsuji' is not mine, nor are any of the characters used. If I, by some miracle, did come into possession of 'Kuroshitsuji', I would litter it with so much fan-service you'd be sick.

The Picture of Sebastian Michaelis

By PerfectImpersonation

March 21st 1896

Burning. Everything is burning. Engulfed by a potent red flame, licking at my ankles, biting at my fingers. It's everywhere I can see. The thick wallpaper's curling, fraying as it desiccates. The beautiful mahogany table is charring, creating a sickening crackling sound as strip after strip of it collapses; falling like rotting skin away from the bone.

The smell in here is putrid. Like burning flesh, or bowing wood. It wafts around, driven by the heat of the fire, and fills every corner, every nook and cranny of this god forsaken room.

God forsaken. Much like me. The gates of heaven have closed now, locked and bolted for ever more. Nothing can save me, and no one would try. It's just me, only myself to blame, and only myself to curse. But that's ok, that fine, because all who surround me burn anyway. All who touch me are driven to the same insanity, pushed to the same cliff as me.

But no more. Tonight, these flames shall rewrite my past, and steady the future I'll never have. Nothing would give me greater joy… than to know all my imperfection shall be released, and in doing so, this nightmare will draw to a close.

Unclean. Unwanted. Unnecessary. Someone had once used those words to describe an acquaintance of mine. Though, would they not be better suited to me?

It's painful; the fire. Though the ghastly flames haven't touched my body, not yet. They're in my soul, permeating it with such velocity I can hardly keep up. They're engulfing it, coating it, surrounding it.

That blasted picture. Borne from only my absolution of conceit and desire to remain beautiful eternally.

There's a prickling on my skin, its skin. The fire's reaching a new height.

January 7th 1872

It was midnight, the moon reaching its peak in the sky, its permeating light casting an eerie blanket on the scenery beneath it.

No stars could be seen, nor clouds in the sky. Only the steady swirling of the London fog and the steadily glowing windows of one house. London was asleep, wasting the night away in blissful peace, awaiting the rising of the sun, and the start of a new day.

But in the East of London, centring in the now infamous Cable Street, muffled music and shrouded lights can still be seen, glistening in the otherwise dark and dreary alleyways. Although the outwards appearance is that of mild disruption, inside tells a story of complete and utter chaos.

Of course, chaos is defined rather differently around here, with the lively hubbub of the day now dispersed. To everyone who gathers around Cable Street, and to those who enter the ever-lit house in the centre, chaos is the purest perfection.

Chaos is swirling colours; chaos is the dizzying sense of aloofness felt whilst drinking. Chaos is laughter that can't be located, and chaos is the world tumbling around you as you stand. It is pleasure and madness; it is an over-crowded room of drunks and an empty bottle of wine. And inside this cocoon of madness raged a fierce battle of fire and ice. Everyone in the room was a strong hedonist, and all believed in enjoying life to the full; finding that one true pleasure. Naturally, this sparked an array of soul rotting methods, some of which would be frowned upon by the day's standards.

There was drinking, dancing, smoking, prostitution, an onslaught of vibrant colours and an undeniable sense of lust floating in the thick air.

In in the middle of it all, was a man. A dark haired, bright eyed youth of no more than 20. He spun, twisting his way through the room, alcohol in hand and spirits high.

He was fast, darting around in a drink induced haze, smiling coyly at anyone who caught his eye. He moved to the centre of the room, through the masses of dancers and into the middle of the floor. Already hands were reaching for him, their twitching fingers desperate to find purchase.

But he dodged them all, swerving and side-stepping away from them as he moved. Eventually, a middle-aged man jumped to stand directly in his way, blocking his path with his big, beefy arms. The youth faltered, halting so as not to collide. His ruby eyes glanced over him, eyeing his small hat, cigar chewing lips, heavy coat and thick shoes.

A small smile slipped across his face, forming slowly as he grabbed the hat and placed it on his own head. The beefy guy before him frowned, the cigar drooping to accommodate such a movement.

The young man smirked now, the expression holding all the schemes and allure of a demon as he placed a hand on the man's cheek, brushing across his face before taking the cigar and placing it in his mouth. He took a long puff, making sure to blow the smoke in beefy's face before throwing the hat and moving on.

His dress shirt fell in disarray around his shoulders as he moved, the buttons either broken or missing. His claret red tie dangled precariously from his neck, occasionally swinging towards the rumpled waist coat at his elbows as he lifted his arms. His hair was feather soft and falling down his face, framing it; a corrupted halo of ebony. Though his most striking feature's, by far, were his burning red eyes. They shone from his pale face like precious stones, carrying every thought in his head, or gesture of his arms with such a refined finesse for his age.

Sebastian's head spun; his vision a compiled canvas of vibrant yellows, fiery oranges and luminescent reds. He stood - half naked - in the middle of a room, his right hand grasping an empty bottle of wine and his left convulsing pointlessly by his leg.

Hands slid all over his body, some in his hair, around his arms, and others roaming over the expanse of skin his shirtless attire permitted them to. His head lolled back, lost in the intense tenure that raked his body.

The string ensemble provided a lively background for the huddle of people gathered around him, and produced an almost metronomic pluck, a beat to which they all moved too. This was what he lived for. The heady lull, the masses of people surrounding him, encasing almost. He was the latest catch, the new favourite, and he loved it.

Smirking, he moved his body, turning on his heel to face a rather beautiful redhead - her arms having been dragging across his back. He inclined his head, extended his arm, then grabbed her and pressed their bodies together. A lewd sound escaped her mouth as they kissed, her hands flying to find new purchase on the waistband of his pants.

Noticing this, Sebastian pulled away, smiling coyly at the now disappointed girl as he backed off. Chuckling slightly he dropped the empty wine bottle he previously held and made his way towards a reforming crowd, and a light-haired male who, unsurprisingly, was dancing erotically against another body. They were both obviously drunk, but as was the norm on nights like these.

Fine wine went hand in hand with their hedonistic views, and being sober throughout the night was a feat no man had achieved as of yet.

Recently nights like these were coming in rapid succession. The need for the ultimate pleasure becoming overwhelming. Euphoria was what Sebastian now sought, and it seemed, the closer he got, the farther it seemed. Yet every night he would still hold this hedonistic charade in his own home, in the hopes that his aspiration would soon be met.

It used to be a club, a ruddy bar, that he trailed along too, desperate for a release from the stuffy life he led. But it wasn't enough. No satisfaction was found in drinking cheap beverages and wasting the night on loose prostitutes. So, true to form, he replaced the bar for the dazzling rooms of his own capacious house.

For him, money was no longer an objection, so anything that could go bigger and better, inevitably would. His 'house' was now little short than a mansion, and his 'gatherings' were little less than masked balls.

Upon reaching the male, he smiled, waiting for the blue eyes he stared at to focus enough to realize who was coming. Smiling lazily the blonde detached himself from his partner – who promptly fell over from lack of support – and sauntered towards the raven-haired male.

Now fully immersed in the sea of bodies, the two engaged in a vicious kiss, callous hands winding together by their heads. Sebastian was losing it, the expensive wine he had previously downed taking its toll on his now shaking frame.

His head was light, his legs like jelly, and his skin practically burning, the only escape from the heat being the cool necklace that hung from his neck.

But this wasn't any old necklace. It was a secret, a lie that must be protected. It was the key to his soul. And it was beautiful; a thin, diamond encrusted chain holding a matching gold key, its old edges chipped and broken, and its colour weak and fading.

Contrary to the norm, its apparent old age only added to its beauty, and Sebastian would usually hide it under his shirt from fear of it being stolen. Tonight, however, that was impossible; his shirt in ruins and all other means of distraction washed away by drink.

His eyes slid shut, the garish décor around him and ostentatious laughing only fuelling the pronounced ache in his head. A firm slap to his ass sent a jolt up his spine, his current partner pausing to glare half-heartedly at the intruder.

By this point, Sebastian didn't care who was with him, as long as that peak of euphoria was reached, and as long as his night ended well. The room spun for a second as he was swivelled round, a brunette now placing feather-light kissed across the expanse of his neck.

A low, guttural growl was emitted – surprisingly from his own voice – as a spider-like hand flitted over his skin, massaging in places and teasing the now flustered young man.

No heed was paid to the key dangling from his neck as Sebastian lost himself yet again in the heaven-like countenance of the others cool touch. He was dizzy now, dizzy and fading fast. In no time at all, he would be splayed across the floor, face down in a puddle of his own vomit.

That couldn't, mustn't happen. For if it did, his moment would be lost, and his high would never be granted.

More people had gathered around him now. A male, hanging benignly from his shoulder, a female gripping his hips with a fierce intensity, another female winding herself around his legs, and the blond from before draping his arms around Sebastian's neck.

All this lust, all this passion collected and projected into one room. This was perfection. This was heaven on earth, this was…

And then it ceased.

Where was the comforting weight of the key on his chest? Sebastian's breathing faltered, it was as if a bucket of cold water had cascaded down his face, or ice had been shoved down his back. His neck snapped to the right, then the left, dark hair flailing out as his eyes scanned the surrounding faces. His gaze travelled to the floor, perhaps it had merely fallen off, or the chain had broken.

The world shifted from its hazy alignment to one of perfect clarity. The heady atmosphere dispersed, and with it the lust, the passion and the euphoric scene as a whole. No longer was Sebastian in a beautiful haven of vibrant colours and lewd movements.

He could see everything. Absolutely everything. The prostitutes dangling from the banisters, displaying their 'wares' to the room. The usually well composed gentlemen of the age gavotting around, half lucid and barely staying upright with the weight of the wine they drank. The scores of people clambering and climbing to reach towards his own body, the way they grappled and grabbed for a chance to even touch his skin.

He saw the abundance of wine bottle's littering the floor, and the way they dripped their alcoholic insides out onto the expensive carpet below. And last of all, his eyes caught sight of the poor, unfortunate soul that dared to lay a hand on his necklace.

His necklace.

Finally, his frantic searching met an end. Sebastian let out a deep sigh, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

The offender was a man. He was fairly well built, with medium length, light brown hair tied messily behind his back with a blue bow. His clothes were in an atrocious state of disarray, with his waist coat hanging off one arm, and his shirt off the other.

His left hand gripped the dangling key around Sebastian's neck with determination as he lifted his head to address him. Normally, Sebastian guessed the man would have been about a head taller than himself, but a night full of drink and lust caused him to stoop quite dramatically.

"Oh, would you look at that," The man's voice was low and seductive, like velvet or honey. As he spoke, he lifted the chain to dangle in front of Sebastian's face, a lazy smile adorning his mouth, "I hold the key to your heart."

Sebastian's eyes widened and an uneasy shiver prickled along his skin. He's touching it. He's holding it. He can't… I won't let him take it. He mustn't. He won't!

The words previously spoken to him resounded in his ears, a raw compulsion to smash the strangers face in rising prominently to the surface of his thoughts. Sebastian moved, his figure jerking away from the masses of bodies surrounding him, and towards the imbecilic man that dare touch his key.

They collided, and crashed unceremoniously down to the floor in a heap of intangible limbs and disarrayed clothes. A scream could be heard, a clatter of wood and glass, and the music stopped. The whole room grinded to a halt, all eyes trained on the scene before them.

Sebastian shook his head, attempting to force his vision to cease its infernal shaking. Once he could see enough to gage his surroundings, he looked downwards, coming face to face with a shocked, doe eyed man, clinging desperately onto the rug he had fallen on.

They had fallen a fair distance from where they'd previously stood, with Sebastian's lean body covering the one below him. His elbows had been propped on either side of the stranger's head, with both their legs tangling together in a mess.

'I hold the key to your heart.'

If only the brunette beneath him knew just how realistic his statement was. No one can ever find out.

"Get out." Sebastian's voice was cold, his monotony alone enough to scare the wits out of the poor male he spoke to. No one must ever know.

"Uh, what?" Unlike Sebastian, the brunette's mind was still sloshing about in alcohol, the dizzy fog having yet to disperse. No one would understand.

"I said, get out." Tepid annoyance was leaking into his voice now, his mood turning the same ink black shade as his hair. No one can see my true face.

"Look, uh," The idiot was babbling now. "I don't, uh, think you –"

"I SAID GET OUT! And if I ever see your sorry face here again, by god I'll make sure you'll never smile again! Now LEAVE!" No one can know how hideous I truly am.

Sebastian stood, allowing the body beneath him to wriggle away, gain his legs and run off with all the speed of a champion. Turning back towards the rest of the party, it finally dawned on him just how much of a scene he'd made. Wide eyes and open mouths greeted him, the only sound being that of a shattering glass, having no doubt fallen from a dazed onlooker's hand.

Shaking his head, Sebastian turned to leave, waving his hand dismissively at the rest of the congregation.

"Go. The lot of you. The night has ended." He wasn't even looking at them as he spoke, walking away out of fear of doing something he would regret forever. He rubbed his eyes, trying to force the remnants of the dusky wine from his system. When nothing but silence and a few awkward shuffles greeted him, he turned begrudgingly back around on his heel.

"Did none of you hear me? This night is OVER!" What with his coal black hair, sparking red eyes and uncontrollable temper, Sebastian was the personification of deep fury and wild severance.

But that was the catch. His catch. The society of the 1800's demanded vanity, virtue and decadence, and Sebastian's 'crowd' was no different. They loved him, craved him for his wild, auspicious nature and fetid desires.

He entranced them to the brim, letting them leave their intolerable lives, allowing them to walk the carnivorous path they so desired, leaving them spoilt and full. In short, Sebastian was leading the life they so craved as they watched, hungry and desperate, sitting back as he drove himself deeper into the hedonistic way of life they loved, and wishing it was themselves in his place.

Wishing it was themselves that possessed such a fierce beauty, and themselves that captivated even the oldest, wisest of men.

With heavy sighs and mild curses, they left, bringing with them the heady atmosphere that once seeped through the halls.

Sebastian shook his head, frowning at his previous out-burst. Was it necessary, though? Letting a short puff of air escape his lips, Sebastian took a walk, leaning for a moment again a marble pillar to catch his breath.

Having calmed down, he made his way towards the centre staircase, letting his shoes sink into the soft velvet adorning the stairs as he climbed upwards. They were grand, marvellous to say the least.

Two white, marble pillars stood either side, acting as an almost doorway. The stairs themselves were beautiful; long, thin strips of marble adorned with a soft, red velvet over-rug.

At the top, deep emerald wallpaper covered the walls, making a stark contrast to the bright reds and gold's of the ballroom.

His house was a capacious labyrinth of winding corridors and hollow rooms, each with pointless and indulgent furniture, and each almost never used. This allowed for a fair to decent stroll, without the limitations of claustrophobia or boredom.

There was always a new corridor to walk, or room to explore, it seemed. Eventually, though, he returned to the room in which his catastrophic party began. He walked, with little to no deliberation, towards the fire place in the centre of the back wall, making sure to jump and dodge as many inanimate objects as was humanly possible. Plush cushions, empty beverage bottles, violin bows and garish ribbons were some of the many items decorating the once polished floor.

He eventually came to a halt a mere centimetre away from the fire place, and just stared. Not at the fire place itself, not at the various ornament on the mantle, but at the empty wall above it.

It was a plain, gauze-like cream colour, and if Sebastian was honest, it utterly repulsed him. It didn't used to be this bad, in fact, once upon a time it was a rather splendid sight.

The now lifeless wall had once held a portrait, the thick canvas serving to partially blot out the ghastly colour. But this wasn't any old portrait, no, this plain, pathetic wall once held a mirror image of Sebastian Michaelis himself, clad in all his youthful glory.

It was the done thing for young nobles to get a portrait made, yet, if Sebastian recalled, the process was one of heavy sighs and boredom. He had stood, day after day for some eccentric painter who absolutely adored him, to finally walk away with what he had called a masterpiece.

A ghost of a smile graced Sebastian's lips as his hand reached towards the wall, a lithe finger swiping aimlessly at the dust that gathered there.

"I am my own despair," He chuckled lightly, the cheer never quite reaching his eyes. "Some claim age is a blessing, that grey hair builds a man. What nonsense," He pulled back, rocking on his heels slightly as his eyes scanned the wall before him. "To watch your features slip slowly into ruin, to hear your voice crack with age, what does that build, save the growing melancholy of loneliness?" He turned now, refusing to acknowledge the 'elephant in the room'. "To look in a mirror, daily, and watch your hourglass slowly trickle away. A mirror is like a portal, and a refection is like a soul. If that was the case, would age be such a prised thing? Your soul would rot and decay at the same rate as your body. What a pitiable thought." He walked away, step, step, step, until his hand reached the doorway. "The stain of years shall never grace my skin, nor shall the pressing lines of age make any imprint. I shall walk, in rebellious infancy, for the rest of my days." He turned one last time, ruby eyes skirting over the canvas-less wall. "What a disgusting being I have become."

And with that, he left.

March 21st 1896

It's nearly over. The fire's dying, and so am I.

I can hear screaming, it's not my own, even though I am the only living being for miles. But… that's a lie.

Let me rephrase.

I'm the only living, animate being for miles. Yes, that rings true on all accounts.

Who would have ever thought, me of all people, would die for the one I love. Such an emotion was void in me for a long time, hidden under the blanket of lust and passion I slept on. But now, here I am, and here I shall remain for ever more, forming nothing but ashes and a despicable memory. I'm a curse to all who met me, and a burden to all who housed me.

Was I always that way?

No. In fact, I can pinpoint the very day the warped talons of fate twisted my future, and I can recall the very man who fate chose to guide me down this path. Oh, how I hope he rots in hell along with me, and shares my eternal suffering. No greater fate is deserved of him. So then…

I'll see you in hell,

Phantomhive.

22/07/12

Authors note: Oh, what a confusing chapter! Well, it certainly gives an insight into my atrocious style of writing, doesn't it? Drop a comment if you can, reviews, favourites and follows are always loved dearly, and serve to spur me on for more!

As a bonus, can anyone guess who I've swapped the other characters for? So far we have:

Sebastian Michaelis: Dorian Gray

And that's it. I'll pose this question after every chapter, so feel free to make a guesstimate as to any answers at any point. Cyber cookies to whoever gets one right!

See you next time, dear reader!