His ears were ringing with the sting of daylight coming in through his closed eyelids. The horrendous stench of Monday morning assaulted his fine nostrils and made him cringe, painfully pulling at the sore muscles of his face. He inhaled and immediately regretted the action: the smell became even stronger, etching itself into his body as it sped down his throat like fire. Lucidity seeped in mercilessly through every sense he possessed, and seemed to beat him awake to face the day. Finally, after much struggle and deliberation, he cracked his eyes open, allowing the morning sun to flood his pupils.

The change in lighting did not sting, surprisingly enough. He blinked several times, and the action suddenly seemed alien, as if he'd never blinked before. The strangeness of his own body began settling into his bones and muscles. They felt too light. For years, he'd been burdened with a tiny, weak, asthmatic vessel of a body; the constant pressure in his chest seemed to have dissipated, giving way to such unbearable lightness…

"You are awake."

He turned his head to look at the source of the voice that seemed to resound everywhere – but his ears picked up where it was stronger, that melodious, rhythmic speech pattern, that tone, those notes that reminded him of liquor-filled chocolates: smooth and sinful.

The owner of the voice stood still as if he were carved out of marble, a perfect statue possessing a perfect voice, clad in perfectly pressed clothing. Flawless skin that seemed to glow from within, a proud yet diligent stance, unruly hair that still had some semblance of order and… Those eyes. Red like wine. Like rubies. Vermillion. Like every shade of blood he'd ever seen. The man was beautiful.

That is, until he saw beyond the skin. Beyond the clothes. Beyond the hair. The only thing that remained unaltered were those eyes, glowing and cat-like. The rest seemed to swim within his view, as if he were unable to focus on the man – as if there were two of them, and his vision seemed unable to chose which one to look at.

"Sebastian," he acknowledged, feeling his facial muscles knit together in a frown. Horrified, he clapped a hand over his mouth. Though his memory seemed slightly muddled, he was sure, so sure that his voice did not sound like this. His voice had the breaking tonalities that came with puberty, a girlish whine mixed with sudden stumbles over a yet forming tenor. However, this voice, this sound that came out of his own mouth, propelled with the air from his own lungs, this was… a song.

Unable to stand this vagueness any longer, he jumped out of the embrace of his bed and ran for the mirror that stood in the corner of the room he remembered to be his own. A beautiful, terrible scream was ripped off his lips when he saw the reflection.

This was… what was it? He stretched out a shaking hand to touch the cool surface of the mirror, simply to make sure that it was indeed a reflection, not a staged imitation, not a doorway wherein this creature was hiding. The thing mimicked the frightened movement of his facial muscles, a terrified grimace doing nothing to distort the fine features.

The same flawless skin that left no testament to the fact that he was a boy in his early teens. Perfectly formed lips. Dark hair that seemed softer that silk. He reached up and touched it. It was. Eyes. One blue and one purple. Shimmering, shining, framed by sooty eyelashes. And once more, that beyond-ness, that… something that didn't quite fall into focus, a light that every pore of his skin seemed to emit. As if he were something… inhuman.

"What is the meaning of this?" The beautiful voice demanded, and he resisted the urge to cringe. A tear snuck its way down his cheek and landed on the Persian carpet beneath his fine feet, burning a hole in the threading. He watched as the burn ate away at the carpet, feeling his shoulders slump – the undignified movement also felt unnatural, as if he were not to present himself in such a way. He turned to look at the other man in the room only to see an impassive face of a statue. "What is happening to me?"

The man remained impassive. The boy turned back to stare at the mirror. The white light surrounding his frame seemed to be slowly shifting into focus. A little more and he would be able to recognize what it was… Just a little more…

"Wings?" A hysterical note creeped into the beautiful tone, akin to a sour strike of violin strings. "Sebastian, why do I have wings?"

"Sebastian?"

He ran towards the man and clutched at the lapels of his butler's attire. A small shiver of revulsion trembled throughout the man's face before it smoothened out once again. The boy let go, staring down at his hands that looked more terrifying than claws to him.

"What am I?"

"Sebastian?"

"Answer me, damn it!"

"Calm yourself, Young Master. Such behavior is unbecoming of an angel."

The angel sat motionless at the table, his hands clasped together tightly in front of him atop the smooth surface. He looked at his nails. Not a single crack. Not a single break. Despite being a noble, he had still been a teenage boy, one involved in the Queen's dirty work, no less, and though Sebastian had put in enormous effort to keep his Young Master's hands tidy, the line of his employment had simply left no room for pampering his fingernails.

The cracks in the table, minuscule, microscopic abrasions, seemed to assault his vision. He slanted his eyes to the right only to have the tapestry do the same. Every single detail, unnecessary particularity, was visible to him. Frustrated, he leaned back and finally drew his eyes to the only other… being in the room. Sebastian stood across from him, as if he were anxious to put a healthy amount of distance between his master and himself. As if the boy had some sort of contagious disease, something Sebastian could not catch but was still reluctant to come in contact with.

"Stop looking at me as if I were a leper," sighed the boy and winced disgustedly at the charm his voice oozed unintentionally. Sebastian simply continued staring at him, his upper lip curled in an imperceptible sneer. "Whatever this is, it is… It has nothing to do with who I am. I am still–,"

"Are you sure, Young Master?" Sebastian interrupted smoothly, eyeing the boy as if he'd just scraped him off the bottom of his shoe. "Are you sure you merit that name? Being an angel, a creature from heaven–,"

"Enough," Ciel said sharply, giving his butler an equally dirty look. "This body might have changed, however one thing didn't–,"

"The covenant mark remains."

"Exactly."

Sebastian's lips seemed to thin as he looked at his master with a mixture of disgust and some twisted sort of humor. Ciel turned away, unwilling to see the expression any longer, and stalked out of his chair to stand before the mirror once more. He'd refused to let Sebastian dress him, as he had known the action would have caused the look he had been getting from his butler to intensify. In his short lifetime, he'd made Sebastian do many a thing he hadn't wanted to do. Nevertheless, the demon would comply every time, bowing dutifully and calling him his lord. Now, however, Sebastian looked like he would rather be manhandled by Grell than even touch a hair on his master's head.

The boy pondered at the creature he saw in the mirror for a moment and then clutched the front of his shirt, ripping it apart and sending buttons flying everywhere. He stood naked, staring at his reflection. It was a pity, in a way, that the mark his attackers had left on him as a child was gone. It had been a part of who he was, he supposed. Now the only thing left of the real Ciel Phantomhive was that blasted covenant, like a dog tag, or a tombstone. Suddenly, Ciel was struck with a thought so jarring, he whipped around to glare at the butler:

"I'm immortal now, aren't I?"

"Yes, Young Master," Sebastian replied evenly, his scarlet eyes ablaze.

"Angels don't have souls, do they?"

"I believe they don't, sir."

"Ah." Ciel nodded to himself and turned back towards the mirror. "That explains your sour attitude, doesn't it?"

"My Lord?"

"Seems I cannot fulfill my end of the bargain any longer."

"It would seem so, Young Master."

"I would wager you are not too fond of the idea."

"It is not my place."

"Oh, but it is." Ciel gave the vague wings surrounding his reflection a final glance before walking back towards the center of the room, and stood in front of his butler, watching for his reaction. "You shall be mine forever."

"That is correct."

"And you will never get the payment you deserve."

"I shall not, Young Master."

"I can imagine how you feel, Sebastian." Ciel sighed dramatically, his wicked blue-and-purple eyes watching Sebastian from beneath his eyelashes. "To be tied to a loathsome creature for all eternity. Must be so, so frustrating."

"Quite."

Ciel sighed dramatically.

"I'm afraid it cannot be helped. If you think I wanted this to happen, you are sorely mistaken, demon. You know me to be a man of my word. I was ready to pay what you are long due."

Sebastian remained silent.

"You are going to make this incredibly difficult, aren't you?" Ciel questioned. "As if I don't have enough on my plate already."

He thought he saw a ghost of a smirk playing on the demon's lips as he turned away in frustration. What was he supposed to do, now that he had an eternity of wings to look forwards to?

A.N.: Thanks for reading! Please review! I hope to get the next chapter up... sometime :)