A/N: This isn't how I normally write. I thought I'd experiment and try something different with my writing style. Hopefully you enjoy it. Title taken from "Pyre" by Son Lux.
As night falls, so do enemy pawns to Sebastian's cutlery. Orders are given, fangs are exposed, and the enemy is no more. Exhausted, the little Master allows his servant to carry him. Words are murmured into a keen ear. Fire lights up the night. (You like to set things on fire, don't you? You find it fitting, in an ironic sort of way.)
Having returned to the manor, the Earl is treated to a warm bath. Promises of tea and sweets are met with silence. (You are not a child. You are absolutely not a child and yet for reasons you care not to examine, the promise of sweets layers some measure of soothing calm upon your damned soul.) A soft sigh is heard. Water sloshes gently inside the expansive tub. The young lord emerges from the tub and moisture is rubbed away from soft skin with an equally soft towel.
Cotton slides over pale skin. The duvet is pulled back and the child climbs into a bed that's three times bigger than it needs to be. (Compensating for something, are we?)
"Would you like some tea my lord? It would help you relax for bed."
The duvet is slowly pulled up to cover the child's lower half. A candelabrum flickers with light at the bedside. The young lord nods his assent.
The butler excuses himself. Minutes pass. He returns with tea and the afore-promised sweets. (Melancholy radiates from the boy like heat from the oven. Without ash and smoke and the filthy blood of other humans clinging to his natural scent, you can clearly smell the boy's soul and taste his misery on your tongue. It makes the hunger pains twist your guts into a delicious ache.)
Tea is poured. The soothing aroma of it fills the room. The young lord takes a sip and he can already feel it seeping into his bones. The boy receives his promised dessert without a word. (It's your favorite. Of course it is. What does that demon think he's gaining by plying you with your favorite sweets? He's going to lose whatever game he's playing. You're the master of them, after all.) The boy finishes the tea and dessert. The china and silverware clink softly as they are placed back on the trolley.
"Sebastian."
The addressed turns to his master.
"I…"
Uneasiness and uncertainty are woven into the inflections of the syllable. One blue and one marked eye dart about the room. A pair of small hands twist into the duvet.
The butler waits patiently.
"Nevermind. It's nothing."
The words are decisive, final. Mismatched eyes finally settle onto the duvet. The hands relax.
The butler- the demon- doesn't need to hear the words to know what his master wants. He kneels by the bedside. A gloved hand gently grips a smaller one.
"My lord, I am yours to command and direct however you please. No matter how many corpses pile up beneath you, I shall always be by your side. I shall be the blood-stained sword in your grasp. I will be there until the very end, Young Master."
The boy visibly relaxes at these words. (They do more to soothe your blackened soul than any sweet you could consume. He's said things like this so many times you've just about memorized the lines. It's almost pathetic how frequently you need to be reminded of your demon's absolute loyalty. Almost.)
"Good. I wouldn't have it any other way. I intend to keep you on a very short leash."
The corner of his mouth twitches in a mimicry of an almost-smile. He leans back against the pillows. His hands slides out of his butler's gloved hand.
The demon stands. Smiles. (It almost looks like a reassuring smile. Almost. It's a bit too predatory for that. You are suddenly very aware of the fact that your servants face is just a mask for whatever lies beneath. You generally try to avoid thinking about that sort of thing.) He places a hand just below his master's marked eye. Slides a thumb slowly across the eyelid just below the lash line. The contract mark glows a bit in response.
"Of course, my lord."
The hand is pulled away from the boy's face.
The boy shifts into a prone position on the bed. The servant rises and pulls the duvet up to the child's shoulders. He takes the candelabrum in hand. The shadows shift accordingly.
"Well then. If there is nothing more you need from me, young master, I shall take my leave."
The servant turns. Moves smoothly towards the doorway. He places a hand on the doorknob.
"Sebastian."
The addressed turns back towards the bed.
"Stay here until I fall asleep."
The words are muffled by cloth, spoken softly.
The loyal servant smiles.
"Yes, my lord."
He moves towards the bedside silently. Blows the candles out.