Disclaimer: I probably wouldn't be writing fanfiction if I actually owned the rights to anything Kuroshitsuji.
This takes place shortly after the funeral of Ciel's parents, before Ciel's return. It's a little bit more elegant compared to my usual prose, but whatever, the Victorian era just puts me In a flowery mood.
It's strange the things that you remember when you lose someone you love.
Angelina lay on her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. She had just stopped crying when the decade-old memory surfaced in her throat, bubbling like boiling water, egging on the tears again.
"There is beauty in suffering," Vincent had told her, on the night his son was born. "Good can come from it. Always. This is an indisputable fact that my own father taught me long ago."
They'd sat adjacent to each other, as the echoing cries of the baby flooded in from his parents' room. Vincent simply stared down at his rippling reflection in the tea.
His hair was shorter when they first met. Rachel had preferred it long, however, and so he let the dark strands grow for her. How Angelina wished to run her fingers through it, to tug and comb and to see how he'd react to her touches.
Her hands, however, remained lightly folded on her lap.
"One day, I hope to teach this to my son, before it's too late for him to find out on his own."
The tears never stop. Once the floodgates of pain open, trying to close them is but a futile waste of energy. Angelina knows this very well. She had learned this lesson long ago, and it still decides to test her every so often, as if her past sufferings weren't enough to ingrain the knowledge into her mind.
She lets the tears flow freely now, without caring that they may ruin the silk pillow cover.
She does not bother to wipe them, even though the running makeup feels uncomfortable on her cheeks.
There is no beauty in this.