A/N: This story spends many chapters revolving around Sebastian's decline into a compulsive, obsessive behaviour - there are supernatural elements where Ciel does play a large part. Ciel does appear in person, I do promise that, and Sebastian's obsession for him plays a large part in the last 15 chapters of the story. There is violence and sex, which is a perfect mix if you ask me. I do want to point out, however, the story does not revolve soley around their sexual relationship. Let's paint a toned down Lolita and call it what I'm aiming for. I don't want to show an endless amount of sex - this is not that type of fic. I wan't to show a brief psychoanalysis of Sebastian as a person, and Ciel as a person, and the compulsive-obsessive behaviour that emerges from them meeting. I want you to watch them deny themselves and each other, to be confused by any emotion they ever feel. I want you to watch them soften, and love, and hate themselves for it. And in the end, I want to make you cry, but out of sadness or happiness is entirely up to you. All I ask of you is to stick with the story and immerse yourself into Sebastian's life. Enjoy~

Demon

It's a world where things are evil and things are good, and where there's hardly an in between, that a child is born, to perhaps the least caring of people. It's a world where night time creatures roam when they should not, and where nightmares don't cease when the sun decides to shine. Dear reader, this world is one made for dark creatures.

It's a world where people die.

He knows this quite well. He knows he is not quite right. Perhaps it had begun when he was curled in his mother's deep womb. He was safe there, locked within her, where no screaming wind that ate away a child's health could harm him. If she could have done anything about it, however, it would have been done, and the child would have suffered greatly with cold for nine months. She wasn't, in the least, the kind of mother you would have begged for. She wasn't, in the least, the kind of person who would have tolerated your begging. With the blood of a killer coursing through his forming body, there was perhaps no wonder he became who he did. Though, no doubt, surely one cannot be condemned from birth when it is thy mother who hath sinned?

May I say, dear reader, his mother had sinned; rather ferociously. Most had understood how impossible it would be to tame such a lady; though our protagonist's father was not, in the least, the brightest of people. Before marriage, the crimson red had already dripped down her hand, bitterly scratching at the back of her mind, pleading her to kill again. She had discovered shortly after this horrid business of marriage that she bore his child- he was killed before nightfall- and it was unfortunate to her that the child could not be harmed without impairment occurring on her had questioned why she had let the child live, for it was certain that the thing would have a soul. Or perhaps she knew all along what a foul little creature he would be.

Dear reader, once such a thought entered her mind, this excited our killer so greatly. For nights on end, when she had completed all tasks, her claw-like nails would caress her belly, dreaming of nightmarish things. Even when they caught her and threw her behind bars, she lay, still knowing all that her child would become. Closing her eyes and seeing nothing but red, his mother would listen to anguished howls – victims yet to come – screaming and tearing at the foot of her smiling offspring. She could already taste the horror he was yet to create. Blood, oh, beautiful, warm and always red. Even now, if they had returned to her the tainted knife she had used, she wouldn't destroy him. When there is no blood left to drain, she would sing in the midnight darkness, nothing will remain.

He was her lifeline for nine months. It became so blatantly clear that once he was out of her, she would no longer be. She dreamed of how she would die. So when the child killed the mother, he was obviously too young to have committed such a crime purposefully, it was no wonder they began to watch him.

When they took him into the priesthood, he was a mere infant. They thought that if he was taught the ways of good from when he could remember, he was surely to become a servant of the Master.

And for the first five years, he was considered to be an angel. He was named 'Sebastian'- though it's true meaning had been lost, Father Kelvin, who had taken a great interest in the boy, believed it had been mentioned in some primitive form of Master's Creed and whilst it was lost in translation, it had apparently meant 'pure angel of the Master'- when he turned one. From the moment he was four, he was asked to read out Bible passages to the other children. Sebastian always frowned when he was made to do so, clenching the book with something of disgust, his eyes growing very large and mouth growing extremely small as he stood, blushing brightly, in firing range of the other pupils. Father Kelvin laughed at how shaken he would get; he later joked that he could tell when the child's stomach opened up and a flood of butterflies swarmed his insides.

Sebastian was a creature of beauty. His carved marble features were striking against raven hair woven from the night sky. When one caressed them, one's fingers would feel ever soft for hours and the boy's eyes would close, his body limp as he rested against your body. And then, gleaming, eyes would unveil. Twin mahogany eyes would stare up at your face, whispering a thousand words. His lips were a touch pink, and so delicate, always parted, creating an image of innocence. His feet were small, and hands were smaller and his voice, oh, such a sweet thing. When those lips parted, one had to strain to hear; it often floated upwards, his voice climbing clouds to reach one's ears. Sebastian always sounded tired and his calming aura had its effect on people.

Which is why when he slipped the knife in his pocket and then under his pillow, not one person considered it to be him. It was only when curdling screams resounded throughout hallowed halls, only when Sebastian was missing, that Father Kelvin was sent in to the dining hall.

He found Sebastian playing in pool of red. The bodies were mangled, arms slightly twisted, frozen in horror. "Fun, fun." Sebastian whispered, fingers drawing things upon once white walls.

Father Kelvin shakily breathed in, hand reaching out. "Will you come with me, please, Sebastian?"

The young child frowned in a moment of realisation. Looking around the blood stained walls he understood why his mother had been caught. Like him, she was much too proud of her work. There had been little planning, only that shimmering knife. It had called to him, sleekly whispering, its voice taunting, making him desperate. Perhaps if he had told it to shut up, he would have had more time to paint his bloody pictures on the walls.

"I understand." Sebastian spoke.

The priest nodded. "I'm glad, my son, that you're ready for redemption."

"You mean", his head snapped up, eyes bright, "I can have another go?"

The image scared Father Kelvin. Indeed, the child's true meaning was not at all understood by the Father. The priest knew not of this; neither did Sebastian. Father Kelvin merely thought that child had been overcome by darkness only his mother knew; and it was gone, now, and the child understood he had been subject to evil. He drew his hand away momentarily, considering this. He watched as the child patiently waited, and wondered where they had gone wrong. Yet to try again…no, no, abandoning such a pathetic being was too great a sin.

"Yes child. You can have another go."

"Good." Sebastian nodded to himself. "Whom shall I kill?"

The Father's eyes widened. Sebastian had not thought what he'd done was wrong? One would naturally assume Sebastian to be innocent, pure. Whilst Father Kelvin had devoted his life to endeavours such as Sebastian, the boy was a rather special case. It was as if he had understood that his craft would be to wield the hand of death from birth. And then, as if the winds of the Master sent him a thousand angels to his aid, the priest had an idea. An agonising cough pervaded the priest's thoughts and he found himself loving the child like he shouldn't; like a son. The cage of warm arms and concerned whispers and the young murderer was nodding, returning worried gazes with smiles sickly sweet and loving embraces with airy kisses that still was so pure.

Sebastian recovered, apologising several times and Father Kelvin straightened, sending down fatherly looks. These resonated around the statues of saints and grotesques that sat above them around the hall. Both were unsure, suddenly, which of the two figures was evil, and which good. Certainly it would be the killer child whom was the offspring of a demon; though all statues agreed that he had sounded pure, did seem sweet, looked to be an angel as he'd once been described. And the priest's thoughts weren't all good; certainly not what he had in store for the boy he had raised, the child he loved as his son. Considering this, the gargoyles chattered mysteriously above the figures as Father Kelvin reached for the boy's bloodied hand. The child, it's the child! One screamed from the eaves. No, no! Cannot you tell it is the priest whom is impure? Another retorted. Up here, Father, up here! An angel cried. Beware him, please, beware him! A demon hissed and the others fell quiet. Did you not hear where he is to send the boy? The angels cried out and the demons laughed in joy. Where he is taking him is certainly an evil place. The ones that could stared out of the long window, up at the mountain hill. One remembered years before when those long black robes had defaced such holy ground. So sleek and skilful, silent and sly; the statue remembered when they had come to take away another child, with lesser skills than Sebastian, no doubt, though Sebastian would make such a perfect- A hiss, a pause. But the boy is impulsive! They each agreed. He'll have to learn to be a- And the word was cried out from both parties; what the boy was to become, what he would suffer, whom he was live as, who he would die as. Assassin! But it was a silent battle, and the figures continued about themselves.

"Sorry, it's the blood." Sebastian murmured. "I think I made too much of it."

When there is no blood left to drain…

Father Kelvin considered the being before him. "Come with me, please, Sebastian."

Nothing will remain…

And the child beamed up at him. "Certainly. It's much too dirty in here."

Then everything dispersed, and the child clutched Father Kelvin's hand as he was led from the scene. In his heart, the Father knew what was right and what was wrong; and still years from this moment he would still be haunted by nightmarish figures of the child. And, in a moment betraying every sense of emotion in the Father, Kelvin smiled at the child and said, "Yes."