Chapter 3
Before I was an executor, I was a girl who lived by the seas. I had a family; papa, mama, and my precious brother Aime. And we lived in a lighthouse upon the edge of the world. I remember waking up in the birth of a day, orange waters gently kissing the sand and my brother sleeping beside me with salt in his hair. We were on an island in the South of France. Papa worked long hours. And through a dewy fog I saw his little boat suspended in the ocean, his fishing rod the size of a white mote that you only see through light. I looked at him, and then back at my brother. I had all the stars of the universe in my hand, and I would smile at this thought. Soon mama would awaken and the scent of crepes seductively lingered in the air. I was happy. I was a girl.
Now I peer into a mirror and see what is left of that child who once lived by the seas. The salt is no longer in Aime's hair, it is in my dried tears. Papa died that morning I gazed in the ocean, a sudden heart attack; an ant drowning in a drop of water. We moved to England, and my mother found it difficult to cope this loss; I wish I hadn't seen her corpse clutching a whiskey bottle. It was also hard to make ends meet. My brother and I worked in factories. He died a few weeks after because his little body couldn't handle the labor; his eyes were a milky white and he said I shouldn't cry because he missed my smile. It was hard to break down my walls for Kip but I did for the sake of my salvation; a new beginning.
I am a killer of sin, a machine built for something too complex for myself and humans to understand. Kip says I am an angel without wings but in reality I am a mortal grim reaper. We traveled both worlds of the living and dead in search of certain beasts; the creatures who steal souls. And I despise all of them. I wish they never existed nor the executor. There wouldn't have to be a prophecy; one who has suffered all the suffering in the world becomes the lucky one, they claim. Do I consider myself lucky? Perhaps for the second chance at living. Perhaps for the second chance of caring for someone.
Kip doesn't have a surname. He is simply your average reaper with a walk and a talk too gentle for the living. He would be the one whispering lullabies into my ear when I wake from frequent nightmares; a nightlight in the darkness of my world. There is a stereotype about the white collar reapers; a heartless and sadistic bunch. But it's hard to believe that this wide-eyed, smiley, baby-faced man fits into such a judgement. I know he is not like the others for when I rest against his chest, I hear something beating under it.
"He will protect me. You needn't worry."
The living and dead; two sides of the same coin. The first time I met Ciel he had a shilling in his grasp.
I suppose it was a coincidence he looked exactly like Aime. And I also suppose I was desperate enough to follow him through the busy streets of London, hoping my brother was alive though he died in my arms long ago. All it took was a quick glance in the distance on a cloudy day to make me run from poor Kip. It couldn't be, I thought. Yet I remembered how the universe used to appear when it had stars; twinkling lights of colors to fill its empty void. My hands wanted to feel them again. I didn't want to be a Shakespearean tragedy, I wanted all of the light of my stars to last as long as the sun; to shine brightly enough to create bridges of luminescence across oceans. Thus I bolted against the current, arms reaching to the unreachable.
"Aime!" I cried, tears as little tsunamis rolled through the lands of my world, "Je t'en prie, Aime! Please, Aime!"
A navy cape, a cane, an eye patch; the boy turned around to see what all the fuss was about. For a moment I was convinced it was my star; he bore the same facial features, sapphire gems as eyes and all. And for a moment I genuinely smiled. I smelled the scent of crepes.
"I beg your pardon? Do I know you?" Aime died in my arms.
A butler with crimson eyes stood beside him; he smelled of death; the soulless type of death. I was a pitiful fool to follow the very thing I kill and live for. Yet I thought they all looked the same; bloodthirsty shallow adonises with the same question always on their mind; when will I catch the next prey? However something intangible hid in his eyes; I would soon learn that he was never full of questions for he knew all the answers.
"Ah yes," the butler smiled, "My apologies Lady Ivers, my master did not expect to meet with you in this type of fashion."
"Lady Ivers?" The boy spoke with aghast, "The queen's diplomatic serpent?"
My mouth opened but words had failed to escape.
"You mustn't run off like that, ma cherie," I felt a bony hand caress my shoulder, "You have our most sincerest apologies Earl Phantomhive. It seems as though my master is very eager to work with you on this special case."
They claim that chivalry is a dead sport and even Kip who has lived for as long as a man who could remember the first king of France states that it is very dead. And meeting Ciel, well, it was quite dead. Nothing could melt his abrasive exterior.
"It was a perceived notion I was to meet with an associate who is truly serious about his or her vocation. Yet I am interrupted in the state of leisure," and he lied, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Ivers."
"Li-like-likewise, Earl Phantomhive," I croaked, "I am keen on working with the queen's guard dog."
"Obviously," he sighed, "Sebastian, prepare a carriage."
"Yes, my lord."
"Lady Ivers, I request that we shall have a meeting at once for these pressing matters cannot wait."
I could feel the warmth of a fireplace in the chilly November air when his butler spoke. It was a sudden crescendo to the end of a song; a resilience to the chaos in my head. And thus a new chapter begins.
The butler extended his hand to me:
"Master Ciel's carriage is not far from our location. Please, if you will be so kind as to allow me the honor of escorting you to the desired commute."
Kip once said there had been a recent discovery of hidden stars in the night sky. A scientist claims this phenomenon is due from a neighbor star sucking all its brilliance of light. It is theorized that these pairs of hot matter dance around each other; eventually closing in and forming a massive supernova. Kip certainly knew all the secrets of space and time. I often wanted him to tell me all of them; the purpose of life, the age of the earth. But I suppose I learned one of them that day.
And the lesson was that a butler's gloves could be surprisingly soft.