Prologue: Languorous Red Lips
Tonight—she had promised. He thought to himself. His Madame never disappointed him. He touched the rows of sharp medical instruments lovingly. On a dresser, a lovely gramophone played his favorite opera. He hummed along with the mellifluous melody and tested the razor's sharpness against the prostitute's skin. Outside, the rain fell like a waterfall. Lightning flashed and split the sky in two.
Much to his pleasure, he was given specific directions to play with the prey as much as he pleased. Granted, with every order, there's a set of rules that goes along with it. And one of those rules involves a limit to his sadistic game. On account of that, slashing this prostitute's wrists was as far as he was allowed to do until his guest of honor arrives. It was usually a pain in the behind whenever he had to wait. His Madame takes her time and always arrives in style, clad in red from head to toe like a goddess of blood.
In the dim candle light, he marveled at the sight of her frightened expression and wide eyes. For the first time that day, he noticed that she had the bluest eyes. She had beautiful eyes, ocean eyes that are brimming with tears. But not all the blue in this world can wash away the color red. After all, red was an extravagantly beautiful color. To top that, nothing can compare to a natural beauty like using one's own blood. Morbid yes, but not to him. Red was something to revere like a certain special woman whose red hair, red clothes, and red lipstick intoxicated him. These whores could never compare.
A gleeful chuckle reverberated in his throat. He meticulously mixed the rich blood from her wrists with bright lipstick paint in a jar by using a small brush. The concoction turned into a rich, bright red, similar to blood but better and succulent in color. It was heavenly as the red liquid blended perfectly He loosened the rope around her mouth and she gasped in air. The opera's mellifluous melody sent delicious chills down his spine as he mixed the blend while walking slowly towards her.
Her eyes regarded him with a fearful expression like a doe facing the end of a hunter's rifle. The sight of her quivering pretty lips pleased him, and it made him wonder if her screams would be just as beautiful coming from the same but split lips. There were bruises near her mouth where the rope had been, but he ignored it, because nothing called for his attention at the moment but the color red. He dipped the brush in the jar and swirled the mixture around before carefully painting it on her bottom lip.
He didn't realize it until his gut twisted painfully at the sight of fresh blood over a living body. His blood thrummed violently in his temple, and he fought back the urge to murder now. His entire body felt scorched in flames as he achingly tried to suppress his bloodlust. In the background, the opera piece climaxed and the orchestra's violins eerily crescendoed. It seemed like the right moment, no, it was his moment. It was his debut as the orchestra welcomed his upcoming marvelous act. And if that wasn't enough, her blood was singing to him too. It was too perfect, and if he didn't act now, he'll regret it. Who cares what his Madame says.
Lightning flashed and the false light illuminated his face, and the prostitute screamed. She fearfully looked away and shut her eyes tightly. Behind his spectacles, a pair of inhuman translucent yellow eyes flashed angrily. He gritted his teeth and angrily set the small jar of red liquid down.
"Filthy whore," he muttered under his breath and yanked her face towards his. She opened her eyes and trembled in terror as his lips split into a rueful grin, displaying a row of sharp incisors.
"When the time comes, I'll give you a kiss on those bloody lips of yours."
Author's Note:
I do not own Kuroshitsuji. The beginning is pretty much canon stuff.
Thank you Vespisia for editing.
My first Kuroshitsuji fanfic. Reviews are very nice...and thanks.