Author's Note: This story is more or less a sequel of "I'd Give My Heart, I'd Give My Soul" (if you haven't read that story yet, I suggest you do so now before continuing on with this one). Except this one-shot will be focusing on Darcy this time. I was really happy to see that people actually liked the prequel, so I decided to continue this theme with all three Trix sisters. Once again, there will be a 'Black Butler' character mentioned near the end of the story. I hope you enjoy.
"My Lady, your mail has arrived." Said a young girl. She had to be around sixteen years old and she had short, bright red hair. Her face was covered in freckles and her grey eyes shined brightly in the candlelight of the ornate room.
"Thank you, Mirta, you can bring it here." Replied a woman who sat on a long black couch. She had long, elegant brown hair and golden eyes and she wore a purple and white Victorian styled dress.
The servant girl, Mirta, gave her mistress a curtsy before she walked over and handed her the letters she held in her hands.
The woman quickly grabbed the letters and flipped through them. She saw one addressed to her- Darcy Crevecoeur- and opened it up; groaning when she saw it was merely a 'thank you letter' for when she had attended Count Druitt's last ball. When she had finished looking through the rest, she growled and threw the pile of papers unto a coffee table that lay in front of her. "Dammit…" She hissed, and folded her arms angrily to her chest.
"Still no word from your sister, m'lady?" Mirta asked, as her eyebrows furrowed with slight worry.
Darcy snorted. "No. That bloody git...what could possibly be more important than answering your sister? Stormy and I have been trying to contact her for weeks now and we have not earned a single response. It's not like her to just leave without telling us. Even though we're all busy women, we're still quite close." She said, and glanced back down at the scattered letters on the table- as if hoping that the would somehow reveal to her where her sister was.
"I'm sure she's alright m'lady. This is just Icy being Icy." Mirta said, as she tried to reassure her master.
Darcy rolled her eyes. "That's exactly why I'm so worried about her."
There was a sudden knock on the door, and Mirta was quick to open it. In the doorway stood Darcy's husband, Valtor Fáfrung. He was a tall man with long blond hair and grey eyes. Valtor and Darcy had met at one of Druitt's parties; he had been immediately smitten by her and he had asked her hand in marriage just a few weeks after they first made acquaintance.
Darcy knew she had picked the right man when it came to power, but now she wasn't so sure if she had picked the right man when it came to money. It was known throughout London that the Fáfrung family had once been a proud and mighty house back in the day. Valtor's ancestors had participated in some of the most important historical wars; the houses signature black dragon (on a red background) crest being known throughout Europe during ancient times. But even though his family was prosperous then, didn't mean they were very prosperous now.
Darcy had learned shortly after engaging him, that he was the last true member of his family left, and he hoped that by marrying someone, he could continue his family line. That was all fine and good, but he didn't exactly have a lot of money to bring to the table. Darcy was fully aware that she needed to pass down a dowry to any children she may have after they had been wed, so they could live a comfortable and prosperous life in the future. When she went to discuss about this, Valtor avoided her questions and stated that it was 'tacky' for a husband and wife to discuss finances. So when they finally married, the only cash Valtor brought with him were a couple thousand pounds. Darcy was the actual provider for the household, and Valtor knew it- even if her husband never actually said anything to her.
That's the thing with marriage; the only way to make it work was to make a few sacrifices here and there. Afterall, Darcy knew that the sole reason there were still together was because she was married to this man. She is obligated by not only society, but her religion as well, to stay by her husband and provide for her husband no matter what. No matter what…
"Get out of here, wretch. I have some business to take care of." Valtor snapped, and glared at the woman who sat on the couch- his woman.
Darcy's eye twitched out of irritation, but she complied. She got up from her seat and gave him a slight bow. "I will do as you wish, my lord." She replied, and made her way toward the door. She was about to leave before she bumped into something...or someone. Darcy rubbed her snore nose as she glanced up to see who it was she had collided with. In front of her stood a man, who had deep blue eyes and shoulder-length red hair with a goatee of the same color. She had never seen him before and was very confused as to what he could possibly be doing in her home. "Who-?"
"Don't ask questions, just leave." Valtor snapped, and dragged Darcy out of the way so his guest could walk into the room.
Darcy yanked herself out of her husbands grip and glared at the intruder. She knew she couldn't start a scene, so she just swallowed her pride and stomped her way out of the parlour; Mirta following close behind her. "Who does he think he is?" Darcy snarled, and kicked at a nearby wall.
"Now, now m'lady. Things have been a bit stressful here lately, so why don't you just try and relax-" Mirta began, before she was cut off by Darcy, who planted a loud smack across her face. The blow stung and left a red welt on the girls face. She was so startled by the action that she tripped unto the floor, and her entire body began to shake from fear. Tears shone in her grey eyes as she tentatively lifted her hand to touch the tender skin. Her mistress had never struck her before, and this sudden outburst of violence completely terrified her.
Darcy glared down at the servant. "I'm tired of relaxing, Mirta. I've been keeping my temper at bay for years now. I've been holding my tongue and I've been tending to all of my husbands needs. And I am sick of it. I know he's a ungrateful sod who only married me for my money and property since his pathetic excuse of a family lost all of the land and cash that they had. I'm sick of him treating me like nothing more than garbage; I'm sick of him tainting my family name; I'm sick of him." Darcy ranted, as she took off her wedding ring and placed it in the middle of her palm. "This is such a sham marriage…" She spat, and walked away from the snivelling mess known as her loyal servant.
The city of London was bustling with busy travelers and busy merchants. It was its usual hectic self as people from all over the world came to visit or sightsee or sell the various goods that they could offer. The weather even seemed to be in favor of the active area as the sun shined down on the citizens and allowed the Atlantic ocean's surface to glitter as if it were made of precious stones.
One of these happy merchants was a boy named Riven. He had short, dark red hair and violet colored eyes. He was in the weapons industry, and usually helped his father when it came to forging, sharpening and selling the weapons that they custom made. Though their business was small, they were known throughout London for making some of the finest swords on the European market.
Today was just another day, and Riven had just been sorting through various pieces of scrap metal when he noticed a woman make her way towards the booth. She didn't really seem to be the sort who would buy the items he and his father sold, so he just gave her a curious glance before he continued to sort through the bits and pieces of metal.
"Excuse me, I was wondering if I could sell this?" An elegant voice purred, and Riven looked up to see that the same woman now stood in front of him. His breath hitched in his throat when he realized just how beautiful she really was. Her golden eyes sparkled in the sunlight and her long, silky brown hair seemed to dance in the wind. She had a small smile on her face, which accentuated her cheek bones. Riven just stared up at her, completely dumbfounded and unable to form a smidgen of a coherent sentence. "Uh…" Was all he managed to utter, which caused the woman to raise an eyebrow.
"Didn't you hear me? I was wondering whether or not I could sell this." She snapped- though a teasing tone creeped its way into her voice- as she lifted up a ring in front of Riven's face to try and get his attention.
He blinked, as his brain finally registered what she was asking, and he snapped out of his trance. "Uh, well," He glanced at the piece of jewelry that she had between her index finger and thumb. His eyes narrowed at it, before he delicately took it to inspect it up close. The craftsmanship on the item was superb, the best kind of quality that someone could buy. The ring itself seemed to be made of the finest white gold and the diamond at the top had to be at least twenty carats.
"This is a very fine piece of work, miss. Might I ask why you intend to sell it?" Riven asked, curious, because he wasn't an idiot. He knew this was a wedding ring. His father had told him that divorce was a sin, and that women who left their husbands were no better than the whores that stood in the street corners, offering their bodies for nothing more than a few shillings- for their sins matched in fidelity.
The woman scoffed, and flipped some of her hair behind her shoulder. "That's really none of your business, boy. Now tell me, how much is it worth?" She said, and glanced eagerly down at Riven. She hoped that thing was worth something, considering how many times people had oggled at it. The diamond seemed real, so it should bring her at least ten thousand pounds.
Riven frowned, and looked over the item once more. Though he did feel slightly guilty in helping this woman get rid of her wedding ring- the symbol of marriage- he had to do his job. He sighed, and then placed it onto the wooden table he currently stood behind. "Well the ring itself is made of white gold, so that there is going to bring the price up quite a bit. And the diamond," He picked it up and scraped the stone across the wood- it leaving behind a long, deep cut. "Is genuine. I'd say this one is a bit under twenty carats, which is fairly big. So altogether, I think it would be worth around...twenty-thousand pounds."
The woman's eyes twinkled with happiness when she heard the number. "Really? It's worth that much?" She gasped, completely thrilled that this tiny little token would give her so much.
Riven nodded, and handed it back to her. "Yep, it's a really lovely jewel, that one. But unfortunately, we don't have enough to make a transaction. I suggest heading to one of the bigger shops around town. I'm sure that those stores that make pieces for the queen would be willing to depart with so much money for such a beautiful ring."
The woman nodded, and placed the ring back into her purse. "Thank you for all your help," She said, and reached into her bag to grab a sack of coins which she handed to Riven. She then held out her hand, so the two could shake in a greeting.
Riven was shocked by both actions, but he happily accepted the cash and the handshake, as he firmly gripped her hand. "The name's Riven, my lady, and the pleasure was all mine."
"Darcy, and it was very nice to meet you, Riven." She replied, and gave his hand a good shake before she departed with one last smile; neither of them noticing the deep blue eyes that watched them in the dark.
She had been sick for days now, and when she meant sick, she meant sick. Darcy couldn't remember the last time she had felt so terrible. She could hardly keep anything down in her stomach- the only thing she had been able to consume was the tea that her husband would occasionally make for her every day. She could hardly breathe, and every breath she took was ragged and weak, as if it would be her last. No one knew what was wrong with her, it seemed.
Valtor had made several doctors come into their home to try and find out what was wrong with her, but none of them could figure out what it was. The first thought it was a simple infection, but when they tried to treat for that, Darcy's status did not improve. The second thought that her blood must be tainted somehow, so he brought in the leeches, yet this still did nothing to improve her health. The third believed that she had some sort of plague, and didn't even enter the room, for fear of catching it himself.
In fact, Darcy hardly got any visitors. Mirta was the only one who was brave enough to venture into her room so she could help her mistress in her time of need. Even her husband was too worried for his own health and safety to visit her. So Darcy spent the majority of her time reading and hacking up lord knows what from inside her.
Today was no different. Darcy lay in her bed, a cup of warm tea in her right hand and a book in her left. She was currently reading Goethe's "Faust"- the tale of a man who turns to the devil for help to learn everything about the universe and life itself. The room was quite peaceful, and this would have been a fine way for her to spent an afternoon, if she currently wasn't dying. There was a sudden knock on her door and Darcy looked up from her book to see a woman walk into her room.
She was an older woman with pale skin, golden eyes and dark purple hair that was tucked under a dark headdress. She wore a long black dress, and her hands were tucked within her sleeves. Darcy glanced at her, confused as to what she would be doing in her room, but that's when she noticed the cross that hung around the woman's neck. Darcy's blood ran cold. This was a nun, she had been sent a nun. Darcy understood that she may not come out of this alive, but she really wasn't prepared for the cold hard truth that she was going to die. Being sent a nun meant that she wasn't going to get cured; it meant she wasn't ever see her sisters again. She was going to die and there was nothing she could do about it.
Tears pricked her eyes and she let them fall. There was nothing she could do now, and it's not like praying was going to solve anything. She noticed the nun pull a stool over to the side of her bed, before she sat down, a kind look etched onto her face. "Hello there, Darcy. My name is Griffin. You're a smart woman, so I'm sure that you understand why I am here, correct?"
Darcy nodded her head solemnly as she tried to wipe away the tears from her eyes. That's when she noticed something- her hands were tinted a slightly yellow color. She frowned, and placed her hand in front of her face, just to make sure she wasn't seeing things.
"I understand that this all must be very difficult for you to take in, so that is why I am here. If you would like to talk, I am here." Griffin said soothingly, though Darcy wasn't paying attention to her whatsoever.
"H-hey, does my hand look funny to you?" She asked, and turned to Griffin. The nun raised an eyebrow at the strange question, before she jumped out of her chair from fear. "W-what are you?" She inquired, and gripped strongly at the rosary that was around her neck.
"What do you mean?" Darcy asked, confused as to why the woman appeared so frightened.
"The whites of your eyes...they've turned a bright yellow." Griffin said, as her voice shook slightly from fear. "Azazel…" She muttered, and slowly backed away from Darcy's bed.
Did she just call me 'Azazel'? Like one of the devil's personal minions? Darcy thought, and cocked her head to the side. "W-why did you call me that-" She began, but couldn't finish, as a strange feeling began to stir within her stomach. It felt like a small tingling, but then it grew into agonising cramps. Darcy groaned and clutched at her stomach, and she felt as something began to gurgle at the back of her throat.
"S-stay back, demon!" Griffin shouted, and the grip on her rosary got tighter as she watched the woman before her contort her face from pain and agony.
"Demon…?" Darcy snapped, shocked that someone would call her something so foul. "How dare you-" And that's when it exploded from her mouth. It was blood, lots and lots of blood. The thick and sticky red liquid burned the back of her throat and stained the hardwood floor as it began to pool by her bedside. Darcy coughed and spat as she tried to relieve herself of it all from her mouth.
Griffin seemed to lose it upon seeing that, and she grabbed the door and yanked it open as she ran down the halls of the Crevecoeur manor screaming how Darcy was "possessed". She could hear some murmurs outside her door, and she glanced up to see Valtor and Mirta standing there. They both looked at her with fear in their eyes, neither of them really knowing what to feel. Her husband was the one who eventually shut the door, leaving Darcy to wallow in her filth and sorrow.
She was in so much pain. It felt like everything was on fire, and she just wanted it all to end. The only time Darcy felt at ease when she was in her room, at night, all by herself. It seemed to be the only time where she could have a sense of calm, and have a blank mind- something that greatly helped in dealing with the pain.
The darkness was there for her, and it would always be there for her. It was like a security blanket for her during these difficult times; no matter how terrible the day had been, the night and its sister, darkness, would always be there waiting for Darcy- waiting to envelope her, waiting to take all her pain and misery away.
Darcy sighed, as she allowed her dark sister to wrap her long and cool arms around her. She just wanted to lay like this forever, was that so much to ask? She had been in pain for so long. All Darcy wanted was to be loved again, and her sister was the only one who seemed to fulfill this wish. Darcy wanted to leave the light and join the dark; she wanted to become one with her sister.
"My what dark thoughts fill your head."
Darcy was startled from her daydreaming and her yellow tinted eyes shot open as she tried to find whoever had just spoken. She seemed to tense from fear when she noticed a man that stood beside her bed. He had short black hair, bright green eyes and wore squared spectacles. In one hand he held a book, and in the other, he held a pruner.
"W-who are you…?" She asked, fear tainting her voice.
"The name is William T. Spears, Miss..." He suddenly opened the book that he held in his left hand, and he began to flip through the pages. "Crevecoeur, Darcy Crevecoeur." He finished, and then snapped the book shut.
Darcy's heart began to race in her chest. "How do you know my name?" She snarled, and then glared at the book that he held in his hand. "What is that thing? Is it where you keep a list of your victims, you filth?"
The man's expression didn't change at all after the insult, but he did adjust his glasses with the tip of his pruner. "You humans are such a frustrating species. You always jump to the worst possible conclusions during a situation." He replied, in a monotone voice.
Darcy peered at him. 'Humans'? Why would he refer to me as a human? Isn't he a person just like me? She awkwardly cleared her throat before she slowly struggled to sit herself up in her bed. "Well then, if you haven't come here to kill me, then what are you doing in my room?" She hissed, though a hint of teasing filled her voice.
William fixed his glasses once again before he made his way closer to her. "I am a Grim Reaper. My job is to collect the souls of those who have been assigned to die." He explained, and looked down at her; his green eyes shining in the moonlight.
Darcy's eyes widened. A Grim Reaper? She had read various books about these creatures, but she was confused as to why the one who stood before her was dressed so...nicely. Most depictions showed a skeletal being wearing a long dark hood and cloak, and they held long scythes- not the thing William held. And he was acting so formal and serious. Darcy thought that they just appeared before their victims and hacked them to death.
"You're really a reaper?" She asked, but then she realized what that meant. If a reaper had come, it meant that she was going to die- and soon. But, she wasn't afraid. Dying meant that she could now become one with her sister. There was nothing left for her in this life. Her husband didn't love her, she had little to no social life, and she hardly did anything productive. She hadn't contributed anything to society, and now she was feeling the repercussions as she lay on her deathbed.
"Yes," William replied, and opened up his book again. "It says here that you're going to die or inorganic arsenic poisoning."
"What?" Darcy growled, her voice coated in the utmost venom.
William's glasses shined mischievously in the light. "Yes. It seems that your loving husband decided to get rid of you."
Darcy grinded her teeth out of her anger. "That vile, disgusting, pig." She snarled, and ran her fingers through her hair. "He's trying to kill me?" She suddenly burst into a fit of giggles. "I should have left that twat when I had the chance…"
William adjusted his glasses once more. "This isn't exactly protocol, and the offer I'm about to make to you sounds more like something a filthy demon would do. But...if I could give you a new life, would you take it?"
Darcy raised an eyebrow. "You could do that?"
William nodded. "Part of our jobs is to kill people and collect their souls, but we also view your cinematic record, which is a compilation of videos of your entire life. This helps us determine whether or not your life is actually worth something to the world." He explained, and knelt down beside her bed. "If it is...we reapers can restore that persons life, but as a reincarnation. If I do this, you will not remember anything about this life you have lived. Are you sure you are alright with it?"
Darcy quickly nodded her head 'yes'. "There's nothing left for me here." She said, and shakily swung her legs over the bed so she could face William. "Give me this new life, please." She whispered, her yellow-tinged eyes glowing with unshed tears.
The suave reaper nodded and lifted his weapon. He pressed a button on its long handle and the curved blade shot out as it pierced through her forehead. Blood spurted all over the walls and black bed sheets, as Darcy's body slowly collapsed onto her bed. Along with her bodily fluids spilling everywhere, rolls of film started to spill from her chest- the strands dancing around William.
He noticed that most of the rolls held two more girls in them, and one of them he recognized. The woman had long, white hair and icy blue eyes. She had been a soul that Grell Sutcliff had reaped recently. Yes, Crevecoeur. I thought that name sounded familiar. He thought, and that's when he knew what to do with her.
With the snap of his fingers, Darcy's soul came to him and he grabbed it with his hand- her soul and her cinematic record disappearing into his palm. He walked over to her and placed his gloved hands over her eyes. "When you wake up, you will only remember what I have told you now. Your name is Darcy and you are a witch of darkness." William smirked, proud of his clever little idea. "Now you can be one with your sister…" He muttered, before darkness filled the room; the reaper disappearing and the newfound witch opening her golden eyes, a devilish smirk etched on her purple tinted lips.
Author's Note #2: Oh my goodness. That was a lot longer than I expected (it turned out to be almost ten pages long on google docs!). I actually liked this one a bit more than Icy's, don't know why, I just do. I'm not one hundred percent sure I got my calculations right on the price for the ring but, I tried. And if you didn't know why Darcy's skin and eyes turned yellow (and she started to vomit blood), it was because her liver was failing. Anyways, I hoped you liked this so-called sequel. Please review and favorite, thanks.