Title: The child born on the Sabbath day
Rating: PG
Pairing/Main Characters: Ciel Phantomhive
Notes: Title taken from the "Monday's Child" poem. Also, it's quite possible I'm a very bad fan and managed to miss it, but it didn't really seem to me that Ciel wholeheartedly enjoys sweets; I may have read the pre-Circus-arc chapters in the manga too long ago, but I was left with the impression that Sebastian surrounded him with exquisite dishes in general, and that having sweets in the morning/afternoon was a habit to be observed (like tea) and not all that much more... Um, yeah, hit me with a blunt object if I'm wrong, please ^^;;
Word Count: 500
Prompt: Sugar
Ciel is patient and can wait for years; he's already waited years to see his parents' deaths avenged. But in this time he's worked and planned, and he hasn't been idle; he's built quite a name for himself, he's made himself be seen, weaving an ever-stronger noose out of fortune, and influence, and the gossip that follows every case he solves. He does not rest, and will be quick to finish.
He does not think he'll reach eighteen.
He never imagines himself as a young man or an adult – if anything, before that time he'll have undoubtedly run out of patience and ordered Sebastian to find the ones responsible himself, no matter what he has to do.
Sebastian would find them.
And the contract would end.
So Ciel knows that he will die young. That he will always be a child in the eyes of the others, of everyone who doesn't matter, doesn't know, and it's galling to think that he'll be pitied when he dies, that the people who will fill the church at his service (if there's even a body; if there's anything left; if traces of the contract don't reveal what he's done – and if they don't, the ceremony will take place, a useless and unknowing breach of church law and tradition, and at that though Ciel would smirk), the people crowding by will look at him and mourn the loss of all his chances, all the potential, all that life.
Ciel has no life. He's only waiting for the end.
Ciel is no child. He's killed and almost been killed and seen fresh and old blood be spattered onto walls and floors.
But Ciel is a nobleman, and he is watched, as he had planned, so he follows the customs of the world he lives in, taking lessons he'll never need and dressing and looking the part.
Children should like elaborate suits, with bows and ribbons, lace and silk, and a child forced to be a grown-up would certainly hold on to that - Ciel does so; he does not care.
Children also have whims, and he plays this note with a sneer, demanding everything he wants from his butler, his demon, because he knows he'll be obeyed. It is a game between them, the only one Ciel truly enjoys. Because children should have a sweet-tooth he calls each day for most elaborate deserts, syrups and creams and just the right aromas, exquisite to look at, perfection in a bite.
They do not make him happy.
Sugar is sweet and cloying, a reminder of what he's lost (the playfulness, naiveté and trust), and each delicious piece is heavy on his tongue. He eats them like a connoisseur, evaluating, rating, and if he takes any enjoyment it is from knowing that his simple test was passed with utter ease. That any challenge will seem just as trite.
Sebastian smiles lazily at his approval and Ciel waits for tomorrow, another day wrapped in apparent normalcy, sugary-sweet and rotten.