Hello, and welcome to my story! I'd like to thank anybody who was interested enough (or bored enough) to click on this. This story was originally written to entertain me and a friend, but I thought I'd share it with the internet and see how it goes. I, of course, do not own Black Butler or its characters (much to my dismay), but all of the original characters in this story are the progeny of my imagination. The plot for this story was brainstormed by myself and the aforementioned friend on a rainy day on a gravel road out in the middle of nowhere. I took it upon myself to enhance our ideas and came up with this. I have many chapters written, but it is still a work in progress, so I will not be uploading it all a once. Feedback is appreciated and anticipated!
I hope you enjoy the fruit of my labors!
The logs in the fireplace weakened and cracked, sending flurrying sparks up into the chimney of the comfortable townhouse. It was a late night in April, and the weather had been unseasonably frigid for weeks, but in the warmth of the neatly furnished sitting room, the occupants did not feel the wind's chill nor the fog's choking hold.
The pot of tea on the table between the two people in this room was almost dry, and the biscuits had been exhausted long ago. The atmosphere was amiable, but there was an underlying tension in the woman's voice as she asked her next question.
"And your sickness, how are you holding up?"
Her voice was all softness and understanding, but even an outsider could tell that this subject was a delicate one.
The young man across from her shifted in his seat, his gaze sliding to the embers of the fire. He paused before answering, as though considering the smoldering extinction of the lightly smoking wood, its sturdy brown exterior now transformed into a sickly black. After this brief moment of hesitation, his eyes met hers and his mouth opened in response.
"I have been doing well, all things considered."
He was a quiet soul, who hardly ever raised his voice. Indeed, there was a gentle tone to his speech, as though everything he said was of precious import. It led one to pause and listen, lest they miss the wisdom of the message.
The woman gave a sad smile and nodded lightly.
"You are a brave man, Alan. Many others would be in hysteria. I know the pain of your illness is increasing as time goes on. The thought of the inevitable outcome must cause you unease."
He moved not a muscle, but the look in his vibrant green eyes told more than anything how much he agreed with her words.
"Everyone is scared of death, Dr. Sinclair. I am no different. Death is the inescapable conclusion of all existence; no one can avoid it. Whether one lives a peaceful life or a painful one, it will come to an end all the same. I suppose more than death, I fear being alone. Throughout life, one is always alone. Yet, I experience a poignant sense of dread when I imagine writhing in pain before finally expiring in deafening solitude. It seems such a horrifying way to leave this world."
The brown haired woman seemed to contemplate his words before locking her eyes with his once more. The shade of her irises was a perfect duplicate of his, yet the two were not related in any way, by blood or by bond. Still, they shared an understanding of one another that many people could never hope to come to.
At length, the woman spoke once more.
"I think, Alan, that you have hit upon mankind's innermost fear. To be well and truly alone is a fate that no person, at least of my acquaintance, would wish upon himself. Indeed, throughout life a person does all he can to ensure that he will never be alone. Friendships are forged, marriages are entered, children are had, and pets are acquired. The looming darkness of complete and utter isolation is instinctively avoided from birth, yet with death comes, not only the fear of the unknown, but the knowledge that it must be faced alone. Still, there is a small comfort in what you have stated. Since the embrace of death is inevitable, you are not the only person to have experienced this type of fear, and will certainly not be the last. This collectivism may provide a small, logical comfort, but the real peace will come when the person experiencing this end finally accepts his fate and embraces it."
The young man raised an eyebrow. "Are you telling me to welcome death and loneliness with open arms, Doctor?"
"I'm telling you that when the time comes, no one will be able to give you peace but yourself."
Alan's lips tightened into a hard line as his eyes took on a far away look. As the clock on the mantle monotonously ticked away the seconds, the man's features softened until a look of serenity replaced that of tension. His head inclined in a small nod, as though he had finally resolved himself upon a difficult course of action.
When their eyes met again, there was nothing of the haunted shadows that had been lurking there when he had first walked through her door. The exquisite eyes she gazed upon now held nothing but the kindness of character that Alan exude perpetually.
Her chest swelled with feeling. It was moments like this that made her love her job.
As if responding to a silent signal, both individuals stood simultaneously and shook hands.
"Thank you, Doctor. Our sessions have really helped me."
"I'm always happy to have you, Alan. Same time next week?"
The man smiled. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
Dr. Sinclair laughed. "Marvelous. Then I'll have to pick up some more biscuits. I think we ate them all."
Alan chuckled. "You do that. Goodnight, Lynn."
"Goodnight, Alan. Be careful."
"I always am."
And with that, the slim brunette left the psychiatrist's home, doubtless heading for his own, ready for a good night's sleep.
Lynn Sinclair watched him go before heading for her bedroom. The night was still relatively young, and she had one more appointment before she herself could turn in.
Striding over to her vanity, she removed the pair of spectacles she had been wearing and opened a drawer, pulling out a small case, that, if not for the size, would have looked like the case for her spectacles.
Sitting down at the vanity, she opened this case, revealing its contents. Inside, resting on fine fabric, were two glass contact lenses, made to fit over the entire eye. The contact lens was a fairly new invention, devised just a few years ago. They were exceedingly uncomfortable, truth be told, but, in her case, they were a necessary evil.
Her lenses, unlike the common sort, had dark brown irises painted on them, giving her the illusion of possessing brown eyes. These, along with a second pair of spectacles whose lenses were made out of normal glass, were required precautions with the person she was to host next.
Putting these glass monstrosities on her eyes, she blinked several times to get them to feel as pleasant as possible. After this process, she placed her faux glasses on, pushing them up to set securely on the bridge of her nose.
Scrutinizing herself in the mirror, she decided that she was presentable enough, hid her prescription glasses, and walked back into the sitting room. She was just about to sit back down in her favorite armchair when there was a knock at the door.
Straightening back up, she crossed the foyer and swung open the barrier between her and the last visitor of the day. This one, however, would not be paying for a chat.
"Why, hello, Lynn," a young, dark-haired, bespectacled woman greeted, smirking. "You look surprisingly energetic for this time of night. Did you just finish a pot of tea?"
"Yes actually," the psychiatrist confirmed. "Would you care to come in, or do you prefer talking out here?"
"Well, as your older sister, I was expecting to be let in and fed," the woman responded, amusement in her brown eyes. Those eyes, of course, did not require the disguise of colored contact lenses.
Lynn smiled. "Like a stray cat?"
"They live the life," the visitor returned. "Can I come in now?"
"I suppose so, Aria," Lynn stated, stepping back to let her sister into the townhouse. "So, how have you been?"
Aria sighed and pulled her black coat off of her body, hanging it on the nearby coat rack. "Busy," she replied, removing her gloves and attempting to rub the chill from her hands. "You?"
"The same. I just finished with my last client. I'm afraid we ate all the biscuits."
"Of course you did," Aria muttered, following Lynn to the sitting room. With a dramatic stretch that caused her back to pop, the woman plopped down into the armchair opposite that of her sister's and released another sigh.
"Bad day at work?" Lynn inquired as she cleared away the tea set.
"Not particularly. It was just busy."
"Busy as in double digits?"
"Yes, I'm afraid," Aria lamented.
"I don't see how you can get so many done in one day, Aria," Lynn said, bringing in a fresh pot of tea she had prepared in advance. "It must be depressing."
"And your job isn't?" Aria quipped.
"Touche," Lynn returned, pouring them both a cup.
"But yes," Aria continued, "I suppose it isn't the most light-hearted job to have. One must learn to dehumanize the subject."
"What a cold way of going about things," Lynn mused, finally sitting down in her chair.
"It's hard to do an autopsy when not in that state of mind, dear sister," Aria explained, taking a sip of her tea, this time releasing a sigh of contentment as the beverage warmed her body.
"Ooh. Tell me more, Dr. Sinclair," Lynn joked, grinning.
"Another time, perhaps, Dr. Sinclair," Aria said, smiling.
They both laughed.
"All jest aside," Aria continued, "I have something I wish to speak with you about."
"The story of my life," Lynn stated.
Aria gave her a hard stare.
Lynn's humor sobered. "Do continue, Aria."
"Thank you." She cleared her throat and set her teacup down. "Now, as you know, I work at the Royal London Hospital as a pathologist."
Lynn nodded.
"During my employment there, I have come to know most of the staff and have been on fairly friendly terms with everybody. One such colleague was one Dr. Angelina Dalles, known in society circles as Madam Red."
Lynn shifted in her seat.
"Some time ago, this woman died in mysterious circumstances which were never fully disclosed. As you can imagine, I was very keen to find out what these mysterious circumstances were. Now, Angelina had a nephew, an Earl Ciel Phantomhive, the son of her sister. I have told you of him before, I believe."
"Yes," Lynn affirmed. "You mentioned that you were fairly close with the young earl. You also mentioned that he is known in the underworld as the Queen's Watchdog. Being a pathologist, you were associated with him in this capacity. Is that correct?"
"Perfectly," Aria stated. "I need not remind you, of course, that that secret does not leave this room?"
"Of course."
"Good. Now, as I was saying, I knew that Ciel was Angelina's nephew, and after some months had passed, I asked Ciel what it was exactly that had happened to Madam Red. Typically, the young earl is very candid with me. This time, however, he was reticent when it came to details. He vaguely mentioned that she had been involved in an accident that had proved fatal to her, and then changed the topic. Throughout my meeting with him, I attempted to ask further questions, but he deflected all of them. I didn't push him too roughly, however. He had just gotten back from the ill fated voyage of the Campania, after all, so I didn't wish to strain his nerves. Needless to say, I left his estate none the wiser for my efforts."
Lynn crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. "Is that so?"
"Yes. I, of course, did not carry out the autopsy. My associate, Undertaker, did. Therefore, I was unable to find out for myself what the cause of death was. Indeed, an accident sounded like a likely explanation for Madam Red's sudden death, but the way Ciel avoided answering my questions raised my suspicions. Therefore, after I left the Phantomhive estate, I headed directly for Undertaker's. I knew he had been out of town, but I was surprised to see that his shop was still closed."
Lynn said nothing.
"I let it go for a few days to see if Undertaker would return, but he has yet to do so. Lynn, I intend to investigate, not only Madam Red's death, but Undertaker's strange disappearance."
Now Lynn's face drained of color. "Don't you think that is a little uncalled for, Aria? I mean, I know your stint with the Pinkerton Agency made you a capable investigator, but these circumstances seem unrelated at best. I think you should leave it alone."
The pathologist frowned. "You can't possibly think that there isn't something going on, can you? Maybe you're right and they aren't related. Still, to have such strange goings on in such a small group of people is unusual."
"Unusual? They are all associated with Earl Phantomhive, the Queen's Watchdog. It makes sense that bad things happen to them. I don't think you should get involved."
"I am also associated with Earl Phantomhive," Aria pointed out. "If something unsavory is brewing, I need to know before I end up dead or worse."
A sigh escaped her sister's lips. "Nothing I can say is going to dissuade you, is it?"
Aria shook her head.
"Then be careful, at least."
"Psh! You know I'm always armed. A young, single woman living alone in London can't afford not to be. Especially when possessing my unimposing stature."
The psychiatrist gave a small smile. "Yes, I suppose you are correct. Still, I worry."
"It is a natural feeling, Doctor. I am by no means a brave person, but if something has to be done, then I will get it done. And I believe that this matter may hold something of significance."
Lynn shrugged. "Do what you will, though I would advise you to keep out of it."
"Noted," Aria returned, rising from her chair.
Lynn stood as well. "Are you leaving now?" she asked.
"Yes. I'm afraid I am rather tired, and it is getting late. I imagine you wish to sleep just as much as I do."
"You hit that one on the head," Lynn yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand at a reflexive attempt at decorum.
Aria nodded. "I thought as much. Goodnight then, Lynn. I shall see you later."
And with those brief parting words, Aria left, closing the door behind her.
As she heard the rattling sound of the hansom her sister had called fade into the distance, Dr. Lynn Sinclair went and locked her front door.
Sighing, she shook her head sorrowfully and retired to her bedroom to prepare for a well deserved respite.
While removing her glass contact lenses a few minutes later, the good psychiatrist reflected on the danger her older sister was unwittingly walking into. Yes, she may be involved with the blackest human depravity in the London underworld, but Aria's past experiences could not possibly hope to prepare her for the truths she was about to face.
Her brow clouded with worry, Lynn slipped into her nightgown and slid into bed, nestling under the covers. As her hand came down from extinguishing her lamp, it flew in between the bed and the nightstand to come into contact with the ornately carved object she kept hidden there. The tips of her fingers swept along the curling patterns of the handle before they lightly traced the sharp curve of the polished blade.
Yes, her beautiful hand sickle death scythe was still in its proper place. Just as it had been every night since her conversion.
Releasing the breath she hadn't known she had been holding, she turned onto her stomach and closed her eyes. So far as she foresaw, the upcoming days were going to be difficult. If she was lucky, her sister would not be able to discover anything about Madam Red and the Undertaker. That way, she would be able to keep her elder sibling in the dark about her true nature a little longer, and, with any luck, avoid a mountain of bureaucratic paperwork.
However, Aria being Aria, she was bound to find out about something that would require awkward explanations.
Internally groaning at the notion, Lynn tried to stop this train of thought and get some sleep. She had no doubt that she would need it.
If you're reading this you must have read the first chapter (or skipped it and came down here, in which case, shame on you). We're off to a slow and rather vague start, but all in the spirit of build up! I hope you enjoyed it, and I look forward to uploading the next chapter soon!
