A/N: WOOO, it's a Soryn fanfic! I hope you readers all enjoy my works as much as Orenji's, even though the slowness of my updating will drive you insane. This is likely to be really a short story (only 2-4 chapters) because the plot (what plot?) is a dream I had a couple nights ago. Je t'aime aussi, plot bunnies. Oh, this was written by me and edited by no one, so please forgive the mistakes and correct them if you can.
"Thank you, Eden, this is perfect," my master, Arthur Kirkland, complimented, blowing lightly on his fresh tea and taking a small sip.
I bowed and responded, "Is there anything else I can get you, sir?"
"No, I'm fine," he said, looking up at me with a soft smile and a kind sparkle in his brilliant green eyes, which were just a shade darker than my own. I was very lucky to be in service to him, and I'm almost able to say that I'm happy.
"Love, are you alright?" he questioned, using one of his "reflexive terms of endearment" for me. I was a mere servant among dozens in his mansion, a female one nonetheless, but I was Arthur's unofficial personal servant, as he had taken an immediate liking to me. He didn't have one, and as I was called to do more and more things specifically for him, not just typical house chores, it became my title, and "love" became my nickname.
"Ye-yes, of course, sir. You give me sustenance, shelter, clothing, and pay. I couldn't ask for anything more," I said, forcing a smile, faltering slightly at the start from the unexpected interrogation.
"Oh, please. You've worked here long enough for me to tell something is amiss. Eden, your eyes are dull. What's bothering you?" Arthur stood as he said this, taking the tea tray from my hands and setting it on the table, then lightly brushing my hair away from my face. My faux smile fell, and the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes began to show.
I averted my eyes before confessing, "S-some of the male servants are h-...harassing me..." My fingers gripped the front of my dress's skirt as I tried to block out memories of some of the obscene gestures, lustful looks, and lewd comments directed at me.
A dark look flashed into Arthur's eyes, and he muttered, "That will have to be dealt with. You, my dear, are the first thing that needs fixing, however. Please sit down," he gestured to the sofa he was just on, and I neatly placed myself right next to the area he just occupied, "and I will be right back."
True to his word, Arthur disappeared and reappeared quickly. He sat down next to me, a beautifully decorated green and gold lacquered wood box with a knob on the side and a latch on the lid caressed in his hands by narrow fingers, which were just as slim and wiry as the rest of his frame. "Is that...?" I started, slowly reaching out my long digits to stroke it, but stopped before I made contact.
Arthur nodded, allowing me to take hold of it, our hands barely brushing as the exchange was made. Upon opening it, I discovered a small mechanism to create the light, happy sounds it was sure to produce on one side, and on the other was a statue of an angel just as meticulously carved as the butterflies and roses that adorned the outside. I gasped at the elegance of it all, completely entranced by it. "Oh, Arthur...this is amazing!"
"My mother and father worked on it together. He constructed it and created the mechanics, while she did all the woodwork and painting. All of my brothers got something special on their eighteenth birthdays, and their objects matched their personalities quite well. My parents knew I was the most gentle and elegant, so they made me something beautifully delicate; a music box. After they passed, this is what I used to comfort myself, since I sure knew my brothers weren't going to do anything, and I didn't have anyone else. It plays my favorite waltz..." Arthur trailed off as another servant came in to announce a guest for him.
"Show him in, I guess," he said, waving the man off, the Brit's gentlemanly façade slipping a bit.
And as soon as Francis Bonnefoy walked in the door, it fell away completely.