Author's Note: Hi there, I'm OwlishEyesAndAvidQuill :) I always feel sorry for the poor (and not to mention cute) Drossel Keinz (you may know him as Drocell Cainz) from Kuroshitsuji, where he is the manipulative but ultimately misunderstood puppeteer. And yes, I know this fic goes on for a lot longer than his actual death, but I decided to make it longer to add a little drama instead of him just... crumbling away (XO). I didn't want him to die! This FanFic may not be the best work, but reviews always help and I felt the need to dedicate a One-Shot to him. Please be kind with reviews (though feel free to suggest improvements) because this one was a little hard to wirte. Oh, and I don't own Kuroshitsuji! Oh, and sorry for all of the angst!

This one's for you, Drossel, honey! :D

P.S: I was listening to Still Doll by Kanon Wakeshima (I own nothing!) on repeat while writing this. I know this song reminds a lot of Kuro fans out there of our orange-haired little doll, so I decided to put to mood of the song to use. Just in case you wondering what inspired this weird little One-Shot :)

SLEEP NOW, MY DOLL

And to think. I wasn't the one pulling the strings after all.

The desperation to please my admirable master, my pride in serving them for eternity, my everlasting want and need of acceptance praise and a home...

...all of it gone like a flickering flame, a lost spark. I am but a broken doll, quietly yearning for the gentle touch of childish hands. I am no longer the marrionette with the puppeteer at the helm. I am alone. Cold; dark; lost forever. The lights go down, the crimson curtains close. My final performance has ended, and has ended rather too abruptly for my liking. But who am I to judge, to want, to desire, to dream? The show's over. My time has come.

Did you play with dolls? Did you care for them, tend to their every whim? Fufill childhood dreams and fantasies just by looking into their breathtaking, faraway eyes?

And then did you thoughtlessly discard them as you grew, moved on to pastures anew as if you had never shared anything special with those, beautiful, heartless creatures? You picked them up and gave them soul, like it was natural, effortless, innate, easy as breathing. Just as I had been used by my master. Oh, such incomprehendible power you humans hold! I was once just like you.

And now, as I collapse in front of my beloved master, dying for the second time as he deems me "incompetent", dreams flood back as if a yearning child had just picked me up, prepared to bring me to life.

"I reasoned that I'm supposed to be human, however, lately, termites seem to be falling out of my ears."

Am I a beautiful doll, even in death? Will someone appreciate me? Will someone finally handle me with care and affection?

I want to believe that I was a human - and sane. But as the harsh memories uncermoniously return, and I remember my turbulent past and my death, I am not so sure anymore. I am sick. I express nothing. I just want to feel.

I want real eyes once more; not mere decieving trickeries of glass and form. Sure, they were pretty to behold, pleasing to the unfortunate strangers I took in, brilliantly blue and sparkling with mischief. But that was just the callous tint falseness, of semi-death. I could easily dress them in wings of pink and blue, shroud them in cham and mystique, but they were nothing compared to soulful, human eyes.

I want to see things with emotion - not just see the ugliness of the world and how it twistsa and changes people.

And now I shudder as I remember my first death.

(1) A faint spattering of blood, the haggard ghost of a scream...

Every life I've had, there was violence and utter misery. And this time round, I was the one causing it all. I had done the deeds, regardless if I had been unwilling to do so or not. I have seen so much through eyes both old and new - never at peace, never allowed to rest, always serving someone else without freely choosing my own path to take, even in my fragile human form. Now I lie dying... maybe, just maybe, it will be for the final time.

So, with my last ounce of strength, I cross my arms across my body, making them touch my shoulders, sending out a final message to this cruel, ugly world.

I am a broken doll - do not fix me. I want to see what it is like to be truly dead. To sleep... to dream forever of pink and blue, of amethyst flowers (2), of delights and good company among friends, the happiness and completion I have forever longed for.

I am dying.

But this time around, there is no fear. This time around, it will be for the last time. Maybe now I can sleep.

Author's Note: Okay, so first off:

1.) I know, I've already used a similar phrase in Chapter Six of my Death Note story, Swamp Eyes. Sorry about the over-use of material - but this phrase just seemd to fit!

2.) I'm talking about his adorable make-up, just so you know :)

So, thanks for reading! I sure hope that I did our Drossel justice! If you have any qualms, theories, or just want to say hi and what you think of this, Then please review! I don't want to sound desperate but I'm not sure about this One-Shot - especially the name - so reviews would mean so much to me... :D See you next time!