Second Life- Chapter 1
Sebastian heard the call through the ether, the screaming pain and fury of another human soul entwining within hundreds of others in the oppressive blackness surrounding him. He stirred only slightly in his slumber, used to the cacophany of victims that called his name in their hour of need.
He was bored with it all.
He had never imagined it would get this far. The centuries spent cultivating the pefect human, of feasting on their souls had been the highlight of his cursed existance. He had met so many interesting creatures along the way, had seen so many things...and in the end, his most prized soul he had never gotten to taste. Something close to grief pulled at his insides, but he pushed it away, along with the image of the dark-haired boy he had left to survive him.
But the time had come. The moment when the thought of a soul as black as his own did not enthrall him like he wanted it to. He was tired of staring at a dirty reflection of his own sins.
He continued to push away the calls, ignored the cries for revenge and let the voices fade, let his mind slip further and further into blackness.
Sebastian Michaelis?
The soft feminine voice pulled at him, a plea that felt...pure. Her spirit smelled like lilacs and honey. Something about it felt familiar, but different.
Please, Sebastian, I was told you could help me. Anything... I just need your help.
Did she not know who- no, what he was? That seemed impossible, yet here she was, a human asking him for help. Not with vengence, or some warped sense of justice, but just help.
He'd tasted bittersweet chocolate for so long. And now, someone was offering him fresh fruit.
Sebastian, please.
A strange feeling of Dejavu ran through him. The boy flashed through his mind once more.
The Demon opened his burning crimson eyes.
How could he resist?
England: 1901
I stared out the large bay windows, marveling at the size of the grounds, the sea of green broken up by swaths of brightly colored flowers. You could tell that the land had been immaculate at one time, the blueprint was still there, but neglect had creeped through over the years, and it was being slowly swallowed up in overgrowth. It seemed tragic to me.
The house was the same. It was taken care of so that nothing was rotting or broken, but neglect of the details shone through, with chipping paint and dust coating the walls like fur, the house was moaning to me to save it. I wanted to, I really did. But that wasn't what I was here for.
I went over the plans again in my head. It was nearly time. Past midnight, and I hadn't heard any noises within the house for a while. Perhaps Frederick and the others were asleep now. I quickly changed, slipping into the shirt and trousers I had borrowed from one of the boys I helped tutor back home. He was bout my size, a bit smaller, and the clothes were a bit snug, but no one would see me, if things went right. I pulled on the soft boots I'd created myself, in preparation for the mischief I was going to be up to tonight. They were quiet enough to sneak around in, but sturdy enough to make my escape once I was done. I pulled on the small backpack with the things I would need to get away, and walked to the bedroom door. Putting the candle out, I let my eyes adjust to the dark before I cracked the door open, and slipped silently into the hallway.
The occasional lantern, turned low, illuminated the way through the halls, and I was careful not to let the boards creak underneath me as I passed each bedroom. All was dark, and I moved on.
I made my way downstairs without encountering anyone, and finally reached the kitchen. It was big, and part of me wanted to know what it would be like with happy servants chopping away at onions and stirring a nice pot of stew, but only for a moment. I gently picked my way across until I reached the root cellar. It wasn't locked, I'd made sure earlier today when I pretended to browse the area. Frederick thought I was planning on cooking there myself one day, and his amused and rather poorly hidden condescension made my eye twitch even now. That bastard was going to kill me at the first opportunity, and yet he had the audacity to look down on me!?
I'd show him.
I gently pulled the door open, grimacing as it moaned a creaked. I froze, listening, but no one came running. I let out a shaky breath, and made my way down the stone steps into the cellar. It was dark, and full of cowbwebs. I pulled a candle and match out of my bag and struck the red tip against the wall, before touching it to the wick. The slight smell of sulfur drifted through the air before dissipating. The flame flared briefly before settling into a nice soft glow. I began my mission.
The cellar was full of old junk, things from the house that were broken or unused and moved here for storage. I picked my way around it all, until i made my way to the far wall. There it was, just like the letter said.
I reached up and pulled on the iron candleholder as hard as I could, and it moved. I could hear something in the walls, and suddenly it shifted, revealing an open space big enough to squeeze through. My whole body tingled, whether from fear or anticipation, I wasn't sure. Gathering my courage, I slipped inside.
It was...nice. A rich carpet covered the floor, oriental by the looks of it. A beautiful little desk and leather chair positioned in the little space looked almost homey, and I suddenly had a realization.
This is where my father sat, where he wrote me those letters.
The ink bottle and feather pen were on the desk, along with the same parchment and envelopes... the same wax seal. My chest ached slightly seeing it. What could have been...
No, no time for that. I had to hurry.
I used the candle's meager light to search every crevice of the room. It had to be here somewhere. I pulled open the desk drawers, sorting through journals and what looked like account books, but i didn't see what I was looking for. I pulled everything out of the drawers, frustration building along with panic. It wasn't here.
It wasn't here.
I was going to die. As soon as Frederick and his minions caught me, I'd die, or else I would die whenever they realized that I wasn't going to help them with what they were looking for. Or that I couldn't. I'd failed my father, and I could only hope that the thing I was looking for remained hidden if I couldn't be the one to find it.
I fell into the leather chair, dust puffing up around me, and lay my head on the desk. Tears began to fall, and I let them. I knew that i couldn't go back to my village, they would find me. I had to run, and run as far as I could until I was caught. I couldn't outrun them forever, but I could buy myself some time.
Something caught my attention then, on the inside leg of the desk. An etching in the wood. It didn't look like a normal scuff, it looked... like a star!
I pushed myself down off the chair and onto the floor, and sucked in a deep breath. Someone, probably my father, had carved a star into the desk leg. I ran my fingers over it and felt the wood shift, and realized i could pull a small section of the wood out. A hidden compartment. I grinned from ear to ear.
Inside the little whole was a scrap of silk, and a silver chain fell out. This was it. I believed my father, then, all the things he had told me that seemed so unbelievable, maybe they were true. Maybe there were things in this world...things we couldn't see.
I crawled out from under the desk and stuck my hand in the glow of the light. I could make the front of the locket out, a five pointed star etched into silver. I opened it, expecting to find a picture of some kind, but instead, a name was etched inside.
His name.
Should I leave here first? Find a safe place, then call him? While I deliberated over it, a sound from above froze my blood. Voices. I could make out Frederick's voice, sounding annoyed.
Oh God, they knew I wasn't in my room.
There was no time. It was now or never. Screwing up my courage, I closed my eyes, and called him.
"Sebastian Michaelis."
When I was eight, I began receiving the letters. A quiet old man in a black servant's uniform would appear once a year, with his white envelope and a rose. He would always find me whenever I was alone, whether it be out in the meadow somewhere reading a book, or at home when my relatives were out for the day. He never said anything, just smiled and handed me the letter and rose and disappeared from wherever he came. The letters themselves were from my father, a man I had only heard was a Londoner who my mother fell in love with, and had a tragic affair before he left her and vanished. It drove my mother crazy, and she turned to alcohol to drown her heartache. It was the heartache that killed her, although the alcohol helped it along, no doubt. i had lived with my aunt and uncle ever since. Kind enough people, but distant. I wasn't their daughter, and they weren't my parents.
My father's letters had given me an amazingly detailed and almost unbelievable tale of his life, from childhood to when he met my mother. He called himself cursed, had begged my forgiveness for not coming to get me and take me away to live with him. Everyone around him perished, it was his lot in life to survive everyone he loved. My life would have been in constant danger too, he said. I don't know why, but I believed him. I felt his sorrow in each pen stroke, and it felt like I received a piece of his soul every letter that came.
Almost six months ago, after my 17th birthday, the old man found me walking on the road to the next town to buy some things I needed for repairing one of my older gowns. It had been so cloudy that day, a storm rumbling off in the distance, growing closer. He stood in the middle of the cobblestone road and looked at me with such grief. He held a letter in his hand, and as I took it I nearly dropped it from shock. A dark red smear ruined the whiteness of the envelope this time...dried blood.
My dearest Emily,
If you are reading this, know that my demons have caught up to me, and I am no longer of this world. I cannot forgive myself for leaving you, although I knew that my fantasy of reuniting was just that, a fantasy that I could never fulfill. I am a cursed man, my daughter, and my time has been called. I do not mind that, as I have always lived as if dead, with only a few flares of true light in my life. You are the brightest of them. I have watched you from afar, in my own way, and seen what a beautiful and kind woman you have grown up to become. Much like your mother, before I ruined her life. And that is why I've had my servant send you this. There are those who will not be satisfied with my passing. Even now, I suspect they are learning about your existance, and will come calling for you soon. Do not run from them, they will find you wherever you go. They are monsters more than even I am, and you cannot possibly fight them and win, although I know that you would try. You are a brave young woman, Emily, and if you remain so, you can make it through this, but not alone.
These men will likely come disguised as friends, and find a way to lure you to the Phantomhive mansion outside of London; my home. Let them, for inside this house is the answer to saving you. God help me, but in order to save you, I am going to have to put you in the way of a danger even worse than the men after you, but know that I believe in you, and that if anyone can control him, you can. I feel it in what's left of my pathetic soul.
When the house is quiet and everyone is asleep, sneak into the cellar and find the candleholder on the far wall, left side. Pull it down with all your strength. A door will open, and you'll find what you are looking for inside. You'll know it by its star. Take it, and call his name.
Do not trust anyone, Emily, even him. If you want to survive in this world, you have to control everything in it.
Burn this letter after you read it. Make sure nothing remains but ash.
Good luck, my love.
Your father,
Ciel Phantomhive.