A/N: Written for the drabblefix comm on LiveJournal; the prompt was "home".
some truths of the matter
Ciel longs, sometimes, for the tatter of curtains and stink of charred wood, burnt shell of the mansion and the smell of his own blood to remind him, tangibly, of the desire for decimation someone his age should never have experience to possess.
In this way, Ciel thinks, he is surely akin to a demon: all coldness and cruelty, entranced by a longing fueled by pervasive hatred.
Home now exists in Sebastian's hands and the curve of empty smiles; the guarantee of retribution in a cold promise born of hunger for a soul.
Ciel knows that he is already dead.