Inadequacies
The spread before the ten year old master is artful. Delicate. Intricate. Afternoon sunlight glistens off sparkling crystal and gleams off polished silver. The boy though, does not appear impressed. The dark butler just behind him grips his silver serving tray a little harder than necessary. In his mind he seethes.
His face though, is the picture of serenity.
His young master takes a spoonful of the pudding set directly in front of him and eyes it suspiciously, gently sucking the light coloured substance into his mouth.
He spits it at his butler a moment later, and gives him a condescending look from under long lashes. "Have you no sense of taste?" he asks impudently, leaning back in his chair and looking like the emperor of the world. And the butler supposes that perhaps he is. His world, at least.
The god, if not the emperor.
The butler with the glowing red eyes doesn't explain that human food tastes like sand to him.
He simply bows apologetically and moves to take the pudding away. "No." says his young master, crossing his arms and then, as though that weren't enough, crossing his legs too. His butler stops, and frowns faintly. One blue eye stares hard at him, seems to insult him with its very gaze. "That's not enough. If you're not good at something, then you should be punished."
The butler bows again. "Yes my lord." He waits for his punishment, head lowered. The young master does not hesitate.
"Eat it." The young master orders, shoving the delicate crystal bowl at him roughly in a way that nearly makes the butler blanch at the rough handling. The young master gives him an expectant look, dipping the spoon back into the pudding and holding the sugary glob of pudding out for him. "Don't make me repeat myself, Sebastian."
"Yes my lord." the butler answers faithfully, twisting and seething and writhing with pride on the inside. Who did the boy think he was? Ordering him? He rages while he merely bends slightly at the waist, fingers gently pushing the young master's hand up, taking the spoon into his mouth.
It is disgusting, like mud or dirt or clay or shit, bitter or tasteless and nothing like the sweet taste of a soul. It's in his mouth and he wants to spit it out. Wants to wash the taste of it away with…Garnet eyes glance up at a cerulean one. The young master smirks darkly at him.
"That," the young master says with an air of finality, looking down his nose at the butler in a way that nearly makes his black heart flutter with a thrill of excitement. He remembers suddenly why this boy is his emperor. Why he is good enough to order him. "is the taste of your inadequacy." he dumps the spoon back into the bowl, and the butler forces himself to swallow without retching. "Remember it."
He bows, one knee on the ground, and thinks quietly that the young master makes a very good emperor. A very good, broken, evil, god. He smirks. "Yes. My lord." Owari