PROLOGUE: Woken With...A Rescue Breath?


Disclaimer: I don't own Kuroshitsuji. All I own is Cal, Evan, Nicola, and my own (awful) attempts at humor.


Just after noon on a cool summer Saturday, a family of three was looking around the old Phantomhive Manor.

"Isn't this place so cool?" Nicola Midford asked her niece and son. She ran her hand over the banister of the staircase in the large entryway. "I mean, just look at this craftsmanship! They don't make it like this anymore."

Cal Midford rolled her eyes. (Her aunt was such a dork.) But she couldn't deny the beauty of the place. Dark and musty like an old library, it had an aura that screamed of a darker past. She loved it.

Ever since its last owner―the last Earl Phantomhive―disappeared without a trace, the manor had sat empty. It had been left to his fiance, a Midford (who was also technically his cousin? Cal wasn't even going to try to understand that family tree), but she hadn't moved in or anything. She just kept it in order for him, always hoping he'd come back. But he never did. It passed down the Midford line until finally dropping into the lap of Cal's aunt.

Cal, Nicola, and Nicola's son, Evan, were inspecting the manor, as they were going to move in if it was habitable. (Which luckily, it seemed very much so.)

"Mum," Evan piped up from the top of the stairs. "Can we look around on our own?"

"Hm?" Nicola looked up at him. "Oh, sure. Cal, you have your phone on you, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

Evan grinned from ear to ear. "Yay! Come on, Cal!" He raced down the stairs and down another hall, grabbing Cal's arm on the way and dragging her with him.

Nicola chuckled. "Kids."


"Cal! Over here!"

Cal ducked into the kitchen at the sound of her cousin's voice. "What is it, Evan?"

"What does this door lead to?" the ten-year-old asked curiously. In the corner of the spacious kitchen was a surprisingly average-size oak door set into the stone wall. He was standing by it, rocking on his heels, his hands jammed in the pockets of his shorts.

"Hm. I don't know. Why don't we see?" She walked over and grasped the handle, yanking hard outward on it. It only creaked, but stayed shut. With a frown, she inspected the door. There wasn't a hole for a key of any sort, so it couldn't of been locked. "Huh. It's stuck. Give me a hand, will you, kid?"

Evan nodded and rushed over to her. They both grabbed the handle and pulled, putting all their weight on it. Finally, with a loud groan, the door sprang open, sending Evan and Cal flying back on their butts in a comical fashion. (Not that either of them were laughing. Cal hit her tailbone on the floor, and if you don't know, that hurts, dammit!)

"Ow," Evan mumbled.

Cal pushed to her feet and pulled him up with her. Then, together, they peered through the now-open doorway. A set of stone stairs led down into darkness. Un-lit torches lined the walls at foot-long intervals until finally fading into black. It was impossible to tell just how far down it went.

"It must be some kind of cellar," Cal said.

Evan looked at her, and then voiced both their thoughts in saying, "Let's go down!"

His cousin grinned. "Took the words right out of my mouth." She pulled her phone from her back pocket and turned on the flashlight app. "Come on."

The two made their way down the stairs as carefully as they could. The stone stairs were worn from years of use, slippery with condensation. The only light came from her phone and the doorway of the kitchen, which soon disappeared as they continued their descent.

Finally, they hit the bottom. Cal shined her light around the space, nearly jumping out of her skin when it illuminated a shelf. "Eeep!"

Evan giggled. "It's just a shelf, Cal."

"I-I knew that," she said, crossing over to it. She knelt down and pulled out one of the contents with her free hand.

"What's that?" her cousin asked.

She looked up at him and held it up. "Wine bottle. I was right; it's a cellar."

He shook his head. "Not that. That!"

"What?" Cal replaced the bottle and turned to where he was pointing. At first, she didn't see what he was trying to show her. But then, as she looked, she noticed quite abruptly what she had missed. Sitting along the far wall was a sleek black box, set up on a slightly raised section of stone. A few tall candelabras circled it on three sides, their skeletal iron arms covered in melted red wax. Everything looked as old as the house, the box especially.

No, wait. Not a box.

A coffin.

Cal blinked, tightening her grip on her phone so she wouldn't drop it. "What the hell?" She stood up abruptly and took off briskly for the coffin, unbelief driving her. She stopped at the edge, taking in the unusual sight before her. What was a coffin doing in the cellar of the manor? And why did it seem kind of….small?

Evan appeared at her side. He was gazing at the coffin with wide, excited eyes, his whole body bouncing like he was hyped up on pixie sticks. "Let's open it!"

"No!" she exclaimed, throwing her arm out to barricade him. "Um… We don't know what's inside."

He frowned at her. "How're we supposed to know if we don't open it?"

She hated it when he made sense. "Oh, fine. But we'll be careful, okay?"

He grinned, hopping up on the platform. "Yay!"

Cal hesitated. Something about this just didn't feel right. But she followed her cousin up onto the platform. As she stepped up, a strange sensation went through her body, like she'd been suddenly doused in ice cold water, and dried off again. Like she was passing through something—or something was passing through her. If she'd sneezed, she would have thought it was a ghost, but she didn't. It was the tingle of something...magical. Frowning, she stepped forward to the side of the coffin. She set her phone up as securely as she could between the arms of one of the candelabras before turning back to the matter at hand. "On three?" she asked, curling her fingers under the lid.

Evan nodded.

"One...two...three!"

With a heave, they pushed the lid off, and it fell to the floor with a clatter. Cal peered inside and nearly fainted.

On a bed of grey roses lay a boy. He appeared to be around the same age as Cal, 15, with bluish-black hair and fair skin. His arms and legs were thin, his shoulders slim, and his waist narrow. His outfit looked like cosplay from the late nineteenth century, the nice clothing of a nobleman. His right eye was hidden behind a black eyepatch, the other closed as if he were sleeping. He wore two rings: one on his left thumb, was an ornate silver piece that held an emerald-cut deep blue stone, the other a gold signet ring in the form of a family crest crest on his right hand. His hands were folded over his stomach, and in them a single blue rose.

But the oddest thing was that he looked like he was merely sleeping. There was no way he had been there as long as everything else, but there was no sign that anything had been disturbed.

Cal panicked. Was he alive? Quickly, she reached over to his throat and felt for a pulse. After a few horrible moments, she found one. It was faint, but at least it was there. And then she realized something.

He wasn't breathing.

Taking a deep breath, Cal tried to recall what they had said in Health class about CPR. Rescue breaths first? Wasn't that right? Yeah. So, almost without thinking, she leaned over the side of the coffin and did what she remembered. Tilt the head back...completely cover their mouth with yours...rescue breath…

She didn't even have to do the chest compressions, because after the second rescue breath, the boy's eyes (eye?) flew open, and he sat up, coughing. Cal jumped back, holding a hand out in front of Evan.

"Who are you?" Cal asked, fighting to keep her voice even.

The boy in the coffin's head spun to face her. His intense blue eyes gazed at her in confusion. "Earl...Ciel...Phantomhive…" he said, almost like it hurt to speak.

Earl Phantomhive?

But he was dead...