A sharp, trilling note, resounding off of golden-hued walls as the night roars about outside. It raises once more, twice, thrice, before ascending into a bladed crescendo. They echo through every room, every closet, every chamber. They warn every spider in the great halls that their Master is asleep. The Master is asleep, and the butler's time is at hand. His work, composed perfectly under the black canvas that is night, begins now.
He will reflect his change in appetite on every wall in this Manor that had since become his prison.
The instruments reach their climax, and a wave of ecstasy runs through him; it is for this, that Claude Faustus lives. To tangle a soul so tightly within his web that they can never again surface. And then, with arachnid teeth bared, pierce their very flesh and suck out that which he works so hard to possess. But, before this, Claude had to betray he who had forged with him a contract, to draw Alois Trancy soul so far in with promises of love and revenge that once the foolish, fantasizing boy realized that his butler's intentions were to discard him as the useless husk he was, he would never escape. And then, not one soul would be stuck in the spider's web, but two.
An art form, Claude calls it.
Brush in grip, and violins blazing in his ears, the Demon butler sways his hands across the walls in concise precision with the music pounding within him. Each stroke of decadent blue that washes away the sickly gold coincides with the stroking of a note. It swipes out all remnants of that stagnant color, the one that Claude had been forced to show false love for all along. All across the great dwelling, the walls would show Alois that his reign over Claude was reaching its conclusion.
That his insignificant, ignorant soul was about to be abandoned, and that Claude possessed no love of him. Claude simply possessed nothing for him, and that was what would make his change all the more destructive to Alois. The boy had wanted to be loved, yes, but in a broader area to be acknowledged.
To know that his butler, the only one he wanted, cared nothing for him? Claude could've chuckled at the insidious annihilation he had planned for Alois.
Normally the Spider demon would have cared nothing for the inherent obliteration of a particular soul, but the Trancy Earl infuriated him to great lengths, with his constant whining, constant clinginess, and calling only for Claude. The Highness had other servants and yet the one he enraged the most was his favorite...how ironic. Claude only supposed it was his fault for making a contract with the boy. How unwise he had been.
Whatever his reasons for contracting Alois, the Trancy boy's soul was lesser. A raging, uncontrolled tempest that only would serve to make him sick if he'd ever decided to devour his soul. As humans could work up no appetite for something that made them vomit, so could Claude never work up an appetite for a soul as immature as his Master's.
A quick, volley of notes pass into Claude's ears, and the last few strokes of paint come in fierce barrages onto the sickly yellow of his hunger for Alois. In a few meager seconds all is as it should be.
The walls are colored an alluring, azure-blue. The color of Claude's new prey. The color of the souls of Ciel Phantomhive. All that was left now was to tangle up Sebastian Michaelis's Master in his spider web.
He'd caught one teenage Earl...
Time to make it two.