Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler). All rights belong to the author, Yana Toboso. I am merely using her characters and story for entertainment.
Moonlight shone through the curtainless window stained with blood, the blood of his enemies, the blood of those who'd done him wrong. Wrapped tight in the curtains of which he'd torn down to keep warm, the young boy watched the demon ruthlessly and mercilessly take them down, one by one, making sure to give them slow and painful deaths. A part of him wished that he could be the one to do it. He had, after all, said from the very beginning that he would be the one to punish his enemies, that he would be the one to give them the same pain and humiliation they had given to him and his family. But he supposed this would have to suffice.
Now, as he watched them die by the relentless hands of his butler, he wondered if this was even real. It was a scene he had witnessed twice before; once when he had first contracted the demon and ordered him to kill all of the cult members, and twice when he ordered him to kill all of the bizarre dolls on the Campania. But this time it seemed surreal, as if it wasn't even happening. Perhaps because he knew that, after all was done, he'd be the one to die. He'd be the one to be killed by the hands of that demon.
The boy placed his forehead against the cool glass and sighed. How weak he felt in this moment of not being able to do anything but sit and watch. All he wanted was to lie down and fall asleep, forever. He no longer found his will to live, it all but faded away completely. "I no longer thirst for air; I no longer strive for life," he muttered aloud.
He wanted to die. He wanted to be gone from this horrible, horrible nightmare. Buried deep in the ground where no one would ever disturb him. It sounded lovely to him at that moment be erased from existence, to be only a memory.
He wondered if anyone would think good of him. Elizabeth would. She would cry her poor little eyes out when he was gone. The boy suddenly felt a pang of guilt when he thought of his childhood friend and fiancée like that. He wished he could have at least given her some of the love and affection she had given him (which he thought was most undeserved). Alas, it was too late for that now, he knew, and there was nothing he could do to change what was coming to him.
He was ready. With all the willpower he had left, he threw the curtains off of his body and began to walk toward his bedroom door. He wasn't afraid. Marching down the dark corridor, he thought of all he had accomplished in his life and found that he was pleased. With a mix of excitement and fear he ran fast down the hallway, toward the entrance hall, down the staircase, and to the great double-doors which led outside. His body was trembling but he ignored it. He nearly ran into a number of things whilst running blindly in that darkness but still he kept on till he reached those doors.
Standing in front of them now, he breathed heavily and quickly regained his composure. The doors opened and there he was, with a devilish smirk plastered on his porcelain face, all covered in blood. The boy almost gasped but fought the urge to do so. He was no longer afraid.
The butler, with his hand over his heart, bowed deeply in front of him. "It is done, sir."
The boy nodded. "I am satisfied."
A demon; a shadow; creeping; waiting to eat your flesh and take your soul.
The butler stood up and reached out his gloved hand to the boy. He accepted it, despite the blood which now stained it. He no longer cared about such things.
It takes no prisoner; it makes no mistakes; when it is near, it is certain and sure.
Hand in hand, demon and boy ran outside and toward the forest. The boy was surprised to find the lawn immaculate but thought nothing of it.
Torment my heart; ravage my vessel; a victim for too long, locked and abandoned.
He wanted to ask where they were heading but decided to not. He would see soon enough. They continued to venture deeper and deeper into the forest.
Shut away from prying eyes and talking walls; heavy set burdens my every move.
At last, they seemed to have made it. There, in the middle of the forest, stood a lone tree stump surrounded by pine trees. The boy sat on this and looked up at the demon with a determined look in his blue eye. Hungry and savage ones stared back.
"Are you ready, sir?"
"As ready as I'll ever be, Sebastian."
The demon grinned. "Ah! A most tantalizing soul. I knew, from the time that you called me, that you'd be delicious."
"Sebastian, if I'm going to die, the last words I hear better not be you speaking of how mouthwatering I am."
The butler bowed, amused. "I am sorry, young Master. I will keep my disturbing thoughts to myself."
The boy frowned. "You do that."
He took another deep breath and closed his eyes. This was it. This was the end. "Well, get on with it then," he said, trying not to squirm in his seat.
The demon licked his lips eagerly and slipped his glove off. Drawing nearer, he placed his fingers underneath the boy's chin and lifted his face to his. The boy immediately opened his one eye and asked a question,
"Will it hurt?"
"The pain will be brief and momentary. Then I assure you that you will not feel a thing."
"Hmm..." He seemed to be thinking on this. "Get it over with then."
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through him. He gripped the edge of the trunk and stifled a scream. It felt as if some beast was searching his body, destroying it from the inside out. Then he felt absolutely nothing. No emotion. No fear. No pain. Nothing. He opened his eyes and found his eyepatch lying next to him on the forest floor. He tried to grab it. Why, he wasn't sure, but it seemed the right thing to do, to hold onto it. A looming figure stood over him. It was a horrible sight. He did not scream. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't. He was nothing. The evil figure gave a sinister laugh and then the boy closed his eyes, forever.
He was gone.
A/N: The sentences written in italics and the synopsis are excerpts from a poem, Come Quietly, written by a "Paul Thompson," which this short story was based upon. Thus, they are not mine.