His Smile - One-shot
Alright, like mikachan suggested in For My Brother, I have created a one-shot for Lizzy. Thanks for the suggestion, mikachan (by the way, have you considered making an account here? It'd be awesome if you had one :D)! I cross my fingers that my portrayal of her will be mediocre at best, for I have never written about her before. It's a nice experience, nonetheless.
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji.
Young ladies are all taught and conformed on one indispensable concept: 'sugar, spice, and everything nice'. That is their fundamental principle to abide by in the journey of life. They are educated that they are to act innocent and naive to charm their lords, and also, weak and vulnerable so that the men shall protect them. It's essential to be cute and lovable, and to grant a scintillating smile at everything in order to mollify the atmosphere.
Girls are not supposed to pick up a sword to battle. They are not supposed to be belligerent or to be physically robust. Simply because, that is not ladylike. Traditions and customs are interminable, and they play a significant factor in your life as you are to inherit their habitual practices. Since eons ago, women are to be fragile and liable to yield, regardless of the circumstances.
And that is what Elizabeth Midford has believed in as well.
She, much like other girls, was instructed to be an 'unknowing angel'. There is no need for knowledge in business or politics, or anything else that pertains to the world of 'men'. Men and women are exceptionally different, with separate privileges and purposes in life. They cannot be compared. Men are the warriors, and the women are the maidens by their sides to comfort them with delight and daintiness.
That is what a majority of the feeble women that they have set themselves as are like. They act susceptible and sensitive for the sake of being doted on by men. However, Elizabeth is a tad bit diverse. The sole reason that she performs the delicate deed is to make Ciel happy.
The happiness of Ciel, her cousin, her childhood friend, her fiancé, is the basis behind her existence.
It had used to be so easy to communicate with him. It had been so simple whereas all it took was a light interrogation, and he would express his thoughts and feelings thoroughly. She would understand him and bestow him a sincere consolation. Soon after that, a smile would configure on his features, and it would impel fervor and enthusiasm to encompass her.
His smile was so bright, radiant and genuine. It would reach his eyes, and the saturated blueness, as deep as the potent ocean, would sparkle with rapture. It was a breathtaking sight, and she would wallow in it with joy.
But then, it all had ended too soon. It terminated so swiftly that there was no chance to cherish it before it was cruelly ripped from their childhood.
For that day of Ciel's tenth birthday arrived. The day where the atrocious fire was brought forth, and it devoured the Phantomhive estate to charred, abhorrent ruins. It appropriated the lives of Ciel's parents, and Ciel as well.
An entire month hauled along listlessly, with Elizabeth plunged in the immeasurable chasm of darkness and despair. There was no freedom, no escape, from the fist of grief that laced around her heart to give it a callous squeeze. It suffocated and smothered her, and she witnessed her own blissful childhood disintegrating into mere ashes of memories.
Suddenly, though, Ciel came back, along with a mysterious butler clad in black. She had been so incredibly relieved at his presence, at the realization that Ciel is alive, breathing and well. She had rushed to him for an embrace.
But it was not the same.
Ciel was not the same.
He was thinner and shorter, but most importantly, he had lost his smile, even to this day.
It is as if all of the effulgence, the guileless innocence, the supreme joy and happiness, have attenuated during his one month absence. Ciel has changed, drastically so. He has become hardened, cold, inured, and apathetic. There is no longer any time for him to spare in 'trivial' matters such as indulging in amusement or entertainment.
Instead, he seeks arduously for something else, something that he refuses to tell her of. Nevertheless, she can surmise that he is trying to execute vengeance for his deceased parents.
It is unbearable to see how Ciel throws himself at the face of danger to attain that revenge that drives him forward. The jubilant gleam in his one sapphire eye has vanished into iciness as if what he perceives of the world is that it is abominable, and the only way to survive is to win games after games.
Ciel would not inform her, though, of the tenebrous adventures or of the sinful missions he undertakes. In fact, he would not disclose to her of anything. He has secured a protective barrier around his heart to guard his subtle emotions in a tight-fitting cage so that none would leak through and infringe upon his general indifference.
It saddens her greatly to know that the young Ciel that she has grown so close with is no more. Or perhaps, he is still there, lurking somewhere in the depths, but stifled by the resentment and distress.
Elizabeth wishes to bring the smile back, to revive the old Ciel and allow him to take a moment to breathe. He is traversing through life perilously and exclusively, disregarding any matters that he deems as infinitesimal. He has forgotten to discover value in the little things. He has forgotten the succulent taste of felicity.
And that is why she tries, with the best of her ability, to extract a smile. She wants Ciel to experience the same happiness she is immersed in whenever she is with him. For that purpose, she showers him with puerile things such as stuffed animals or cute outfits. Whatever it may be, she keeps it simplistic. She is willing to do anything at all as long as Ciel can be content.
At the moment, the hopeful blonde girl barges into his study door. The person that she loves is located on his leather chair. One palm is propped beneath his chin to support the weight of his head, and his other hand idly twiddles a pencil. The navy blue-tinted fringes fall down on his forehead, covering a substantial part of his face, as he looks toward a paper on his desk.
When she has entered, albeit the lack of an invitation, Ciel curiously lifts his gaze from his sheet of paper to meet her eyes. Once he discerns who the intruder is, a frown weighs heavily upon his brow.
"What are you doing here, Elizabeth?"
Despite the sternness that he has implemented, Elizabeth maintains a cheery grin. She is exalted at the chance to inspect his pleasing features: the beautiful blue eye, while the right one is deplorably concealed beneath a dismal eyepatch, the creamy white complexion, the straight nose and the firmly pursed lips.
"Don't call me 'Elizabeth', Ciel!" she whines, meandering around his desk to tug on his arm. "It's 'Lizzy', remember?"
"Lizzy," Ciel enunciates distinctly to showcase his application of her pet name. He then regains his space by retracting his arm from her encumbering grasp. When the woolly feel of his sleeve slips from her hands, she juts her nether lip in a pout, but he intervenes before she has the opportunity to express her dissatisfaction, "I'm busy right now, Lizzy. Return to Aunt Frances."
The sulk tarries upon her face, nonetheless, and Elizabeth captiously examines what he has been working on that is consuming his time. In front of him lies an ordinary parchment that contains his preliminary sketch of a grotesque animal by the looks of it. Its furs are drawn by hasty, to and fro strokes of the pencil, and the form is somewhat almond-shaped. Beady orbs are drawn as the organs for vision, and the ears are drooping by the distorted oval that is meant to be its face.
Ciel follows her critical and penetrating gaze to his graphic representation, which, candidly, does not exactly evoke a good impression. Slightly embarrassed, he deliberately moves an arm on top of the ample portion of it to obstruct her view. However, he is certain to do so with ostensible nonchalance, as while he covers it, he squirms in his seat as if trying to nail a position of comfort.
Her thin eyebrows pull together in the center as if propelled by an invisible magnetic field. Her slender finger thrusts forward vehemently as though she is placing the paper under conviction. "You're just drawing, Ciel! If you wanted to draw, you can do it with me—I have crayons."
Tediously, a sigh is released from the confines of his throat. "I am not just drawing. I am designing a new product for my Funtom Company."
"Ciel, you need a break! Play with me!"
It is as if he is exhausted with arguing with her, and he tests the prick of his sharpened pencil against his thumb before employing it against the surface of the fibrous material; his intention to continue his rough draft.
The fact that Ciel is ignoring her institutes mortification and dismay. To think that Ciel is going to bury himself in irksome quantities of work instead of spending time with her is undesirable. Will it be like this even after their marriage? He will flounder about in the toil of managing his enterprise, and she will stand aside in seclusion? He will forever plunge in solemnity—will there be a chance for him to have fun?
It is a lamentable thought, and a determination blossoms within her to establish a time of mellow mirth and joviality with Ciel. In order to generate that propitious merriment, the initiative to haul him away from work must be carried out.
Snatching the drawing from his desk, Elizabeth dangles it loosely in front of her face for a closer scrutiny; her index finger and thumb pinching its corner. "Is this a lion?"
"It's a dog," Ciel corrects, impatiently reaching out to grapple for the confiscated item. Admittedly, he has engaged in lessons pertaining to the field of art with his butler and tutor, Sebastian. However, they entail imitating already created artworks—although Sebastian has sardonically jested that his inferior copies should be considered as caricature. But this time, Ciel is required to innovate a whole new design, and that will ordain for the use of every ounce of creativity and imagination he can muster, along with the precision of conveying the object of desire from his mind and onto the paper.
Elizabeth tilts her head to the side to inspect it from a different angle, but the incongruous sketch is still undefinable. Petulance arises when she acknowledges that Ciel rather disburses his precious minutes for this. Hastily, she whips the paper behind her.
His bearing to provocation is wearing thin. The Earl of Phantomhive narrows his eyes and demands, "Give it back, Lizzy."
"No!" Elizabeth refuses uncompromisingly, and then smiles in a playful manner. "I'll give it back after you spend time with me."
"Be aware of priorities, Lizzy. I will not arrange for an interval during my busy schedule to entertain you. This matter is much more important."
Evidently, Ciel has chosen the wrong words to express his disapproval, and Elizabeth's luminous jade green eyes are filled with tears. Wounded, her hold on the parchment tightens, crumpling it in the process.
"This stupid paper is more important than me?"
Exhaling deeply, he attempts to placate, but that does not exclude the frank and blunt edge in his words, "In technical terms, yes, but—"
A sharp suction of air is performed by the blonde girl, and as passion and defiance surge within her, she rips the paper into shreds. The heartless dissolution of his artwork that Ciel has dedicated four gruesome hours of his day on actuates him to be aghast, before utmost anger takes its hold.
"Elizabeth!" he scolds, rising from his seat, and the wrath entangled in his voice intimidates her to the degree that timidly shrinking is her response.
"I-it's just a drawing! We can draw a lot more, together! Why're you getting so mad at me just because of one drawing?"
"That's partially the reason, but not all! I am especially exasperated by the fact that you're so frivolous!" Ciel reprimands spitefully. "It's impractical how much you indulge in undue levity! You befit a child, no less!"
His austere rebuke and his degrading opinion of her, which is nothing more than he judges her as infantile and carefree, startle her to inarticulacy.
"Do you realize how much work I've put into this? And all of this gone simply because you are exceedingly characterized by a lack of seriousness. I have an expectation to fulfill, do you understand? I must prepare a product for my company, in spite of my unfamiliarity in the area of animals that would appeal to children."
Ciel is wrathful with her. She has infuriated him in some way. That is not what she has planned to do. And now, he deems that she does not harbor any goal to pursue in order to accomplish—and yet, he is wrong; all she has really ever yearned for is his smile. The right words are incapable of being conceived in her befuddled mind, and hence, they are not formulated so that she can tell him that she does possess one wish: his happiness.
But, why is that the more she tries, the more the chance of that actually happening declines?
Is she, in truth, a selfish, spoiled brat and nothing more?
"Just go."
Appalled by his inexorable command for her departure, Elizabeth instinctively recoils until her back collides with the bookshelf behind her.
"Go," Ciel repeats through gritted teeth, and he forages through his drawer for another piece of paper to start all over. "You're..."
Fearing for what may come next, the blonde girl instantly dashes toward the exit, with tears streaming down her cheeks. And yet, her auditory system picks up his final word anyway:
"...annoying."
In the living room, The Earl of Phantomhive sighs laboriously as he sips his freshly brewed tea in a languid and weary fashion. It has been a few days since the unfortunate incident with Elizabeth, and all that he can derive from his faculty of mental images is an unsightly portrayal of a frog, or what should be a frog. Surely, it would terrorize children and drive away his business rather than aid it in any way.
Observing the cured leaves buoyed up in the aromatic beverage, and feeling the steam that exhibits from the soothing tea pass over his skin lightly, Ciel cogitates about the problem that he has stirred. He has not encountered Elizabeth since the last time, and it worries him how her state is at the moment.
A few days ago, Ciel had stepped over the line a bit too much. He knows that he has inflicted pain by denouncing her so terribly like that. He is also cognizant of the fact that he should go and apologize, and yet doubts and pride contend in opposition to this inclination. He is dubious of the outcome of his own well-being if he is to face his paramount and furious aunt, who indisputably has heard about the incident by now. As for his pride, it simply prohibits him from disregarding his prestigious dignity as an arrogant earl who relents to absolutely no one.
Nonetheless, no matter how aggravating she can be, Elizabeth is still Elizabeth. She is his dear childhood friend who has grown up with him. He has guarded her against the dark affairs of his own life for the sake of her safety, but even though she is not knowledgeable of his participation the underground society, Elizabeth remains crucial and vital to him.
She is the very last spark from the old days of simplicity.
And yet, he has pushed her away. From the informational espionage Sebastian was ordered to carry out, Ciel has been enlightened that Elizabeth has holed herself in her room for a lengthy duration now. She is probably mourning, and it is his responsibility to mend things.
A knock pounds against the front door, and Ciel, dismissing the butler for now, advances over to open it.
When the admission of passage is proposed, a gush of the frigid night air rushes in the room, causing him to cringe ever so slightly and to level his scarf over his mouth. He then peers for the visitor.
There, on the doorsteps, is no one.
Raising his brow in puzzlement, he is about to shut the door to obstruct the transmission of coldness from the outside to travel inside his manor. However, when his gaze lowers, a wrapped package is visible.
Inquisitively, Ciel scoops it from the ground. Treading outside to a small extent, he squints through the snowflakes, which descend delicately to adorn the asphalt with pure whiteness, but is unable to verify the presence of the sender.
Soon after, he gives up and goes inside his house, closing the door. Gingerly, his fingers turn the package so that he can inspect it from all angles. Surprisingly, it is quite light.
Ciel cannot withhold against the increasing curiosity and sets to tear off the wrapping without asking his butler to investigate it first. Once the wrapping is disposed of on the ground, he unscrews the lid.
Lying in the confines of the box is a stuffed rabbit. The toy is poorly sewn from a textile, and the soft, fluffy staple fiber within the plain cloth is pouring out of the breaches caused by the disorderly and untidy seams. A conspicuous feature is the eyepatch donned over its right eye, a notion which very much resembles his own.
Attached to the belly of the rabbit, however, is a note written onto with an intricate and concise script. His eye glazes over the words:
I'm sorry.
Nervously, Elizabeth looks through a window as Ciel uncovers the rabbit that she has made for him as an apology gift. Sighing at her ten fingers, in which each of the digits is bandaged from being punctured by the sharp needle, she whimpers at the queasiness that has sunken in.
For the last few days she has been trying to come up with a good present to bestow him, something that will alleviate his rage. Sewing a couple of letters artfully onto a handkerchief, she can manage, but it does not seem special enough. And thus, she attempts to construct a stuffed animal, that is well-known to be adorable: the rabbit.
Despite that, it is much more strenuous and difficult than Elizabeth has conjectured. Notwithstanding, she denies all forms of help for she must do this with her own efforts to impress Ciel.
Gazing back at Ciel, he is merely staring at the note, as if rendered motionless. There is not even one flicker of emotion that dances across his eye. It almost appears as if he is bored and disinterested.
Dismayed, Elizabeth supposes that not only is he not impressed, he feels vexed by having to deal with her childish plays. He is already burdened with a hefty amount of work, and she is depleting more of his energy by devising such a ridiculous strategy like this in order to reconcile. She is an opprobrious coward for even though she is to be his future wife, she lacks the nerve to face him and apologize properly.
With shoulders sagging, Elizabeth trudges across the tiresome snow to return home.
Had she waited a second longer, she would have seen a small smile spreading across Ciel's lips.
That's simply my take on how the product Bitter Rabbit came to be (with some major revisions, of course, after Elizabeth's poor design).