The Reason Why

Okay, here it is: Chapter 2. This one isn't very long, and is set 30 years after Chapter 1. The story will do that quite a bit, switching between past and future. It will possibly even switch time periods every other chapter, although I'm not a hundred percent sure yet. This chapter introduces my other OC, who will play a role in both the past and future stories.

Okay, so... I hope you enjoy Chapter 2~ Thank you to the people who took the time to review. As always, I do not own Kuroshitsuji or any of its characters.

Chapter 2: A Lost Reaper

The night air was crisp and cool, and a majestic full moon hung in the dark velvet sky, outlining every building in softly glowing silver.

The city was quiet, its streets deserted. It was rather late, after all, and too chilly to suit most people. Nonetheless, atop a tall roof sat a shadowy figure, gazing up in silence at the ethereal white moon.

The figure, a young lady in a flowing Victorian dress- perhaps twenty years of age- was a peculiar-looking individual. Her violet hair fell just past her shoulders, and her eyes, oddly enough, had double irises; outer irises of yellow and inner irises of deep, forest green. She held in her hands a pair of purple-rimmed glasses, and she fiddled absently with them as she stared quietly at the moon, a distant expression on her face.

She had lost track of how long she'd been wandering aimlessly through this world, but she knew for certain that it had been much too long. Years, now; decades, perhaps. And, in all that time, she had not aged a day from the moment she'd woken up, lost and alone, with no memory of who she was or what had happened to her. She had never fallen ill, was able to survive on much less food and water than was normal, and was universally shunned as though her very presence made people uneasy. Based on this, along with several more oddities, she had come to the unnerving conclusion that she was something other than human. Exactly what manner of creature she was, she did not know, and this made her wary of herself in a way that she was certain would drive her mad sooner or later.

The place where she'd woken up wasn't far from this loud and sprawling city, and although she travelled the continent restlessly, wandering from country to country in search of some clue as to who she was… Her instincts always drew her back here, to this dreary haven of smoke and fog. And, seeing as she had nothing else to go on, she returned to this place time and time again in search of answers. How frustrating it was, she constantly reflected, that she did not even know what she was looking for. Was she looking for a person? A place? A single piece of information that would trigger some long-lost memory buried deep within her mind? She had no idea. She was as blind to the object of her quest as she was without her strange purple glasses. She gazed up at the blurred glow of moonlight, drifting down these worn paths of thought again and again…

Suddenly she blinked, snapping to alertness in an instant. There it is again. In her wanderings, she had, very rarely, felt a strange force tugging at her. It was difficult to describe; she felt as though some urgent sense of duty was calling to her from the back of her mind. She had only felt it three times before, and had hesitated a bit too long in following it; the feeling always vanished before she could reach its source.

But this time it was stronger than before; perhaps its source was near. She leapt to her feet, swiftly setting her glasses on the bridge of her nose, and took off in grim pursuit. She did not bother to pick her way down to the ground; she simply leapt from rooftop to rooftop, paying little attention to her height above the cobblestone streets. She had discovered a long while ago that she possessed unusual abilities- strength, balance, and dagger-sharp reflexes, to name a few- and, once she had accepted these inhuman powers, she put them to use without hesitation.

Now she hurtled through the chill November night, yellow-green eyes narrowed with resolve. This could be it. It's been years since I last felt this pull; I will not allow this chance to slip away again. As she ran on, the strange pull grew stronger and stronger… And then, as she leapt across a gap between two buildings, it lessened slightly. She stopped dead, turning her head to look down at the street behind her. She didn't see anything out of the ordinary…

And then, very suddenly, a loud and jarring sound shattered the cool silence of the still night air. The wanderer jumped, startled, for she had never heard anything quite like this before. It was a sharp, deep thrumming sound; it crossed her mind that, if blades had a battle cry, this whirring, metallic roar would be it. It sounded dangerous. And, whatever it was, it was very close.

She paused for just a moment, weighing the possible danger against whatever chance she had at discovering something important. It took her less than three seconds to decide that she wouldn't allow anything to keep her from reaching her goal; nothing short of death itself. And so, she leapt off the roof and landed lightly on the cobbles below, taking off at a dead sprint in the direction of the frightening noise.

As she ran, she heard the thrumming die down a bit, and she pushed herself to move faster. No! I can't be too late! But although the roar quieted down, it did not disappear, and she heard the sound of laughter. "Come here, old man, and let me paint you red~!" a voice cried with relish. She skidded around a corner and came to a stop just as a splash of crimson arced into the air.

Before her, an old man was sprawled on the wide cobblestone street, eyes wide and alarmed, mouth open in a silent scream. The splash of red had come from his chest, where a strange weapon was currently buried, thrumming angrily. It looked almost like a blunt sword with a strange red boxlike hilt, with serrated edges whirring along its length fast enough to blur, kicking up a spray of blood.

Holding onto the handle with black-gloved hands was a figure with long, blood-red hair, wearing a red coat that seemed to have slipped halfway down the arms of a white dress shirt and brown vest. The wandering girl was behind the red-haired figure, so she couldn't see its face, and whoever it was didn't seem to have heard her approach. As she watched, the person's shoulders shook slightly as another mischievous laugh drifted over the noise of the weapon. "There, now you're not so ugly with that wrinkled face of yours; isn't it amazing what a little red can do? Now, then, let's see your cinematic records. If I take much longer, William will get annoyed with me." She could just hear the pout in his voice- the voice was unmistakably male, in spite of the feminine coat and high heeled shoes- as he ripped the weapon out of the man's chest.

Suddenly, a blue light flooded the area, and something that looked like reels of film shot out of the man's chest, curling and writhing in the air. The girl's eyes widened in astonishment as she looked on, and the red-haired man strolled closer to the film to get a better view. She watched as the man's life story played out before her eyes, narrated by his own voice, seen through his eyes and his mind. She didn't know how long it lasted, but when the film finally drew to a close, the man with the thrumming blade snorted. "That was so bor~ing~!" He declared plaintively, pulling a cord on his weapon so that its metallic roar increased tenfold. He slashed through the film reels, and they began to dissolve as the blue glow faded. As the glow of the film reels faded, so did the sense of urgency and duty that had drawn the girl to this place. She watched in fascination as a book materialized in the air where the film had been, falling to the ground with a dull THUD. The strange man walked over and picked up the book, wiping a speck of blood off its cover with his jacket. The old man's eyes had glazed over; he was clearly gone from this world.

After a moment, the violet-haired girl came out of her trance. What… was that? It must have been what drew me here, but... why? What just happened? And who is that man with the roaring blade? As the man wiped off his weapon, grumbling something about the dullness of his job, she took a step forward and spoke. "Who are you?" she demanded in a calm, steady voice.

The man whirled around, clearly caught off guard by her presence. He wore a pair of red-rimmed glasses, and his heavy-lashed eyes, the girl noticed with amazement, had double irises of green and yellow, identical to her own. As he turned and looked at her, his eyes widened, and his mouth opened slightly in shock. He had very sharp teeth, the girl noted uneasily- they wouldn't have looked out of place in a shark's mouth. She stood her ground, watching him as he stared at her in baffled astonishment. After a long pause, he blinked twice. "Iris-chan…?" he said slowly, in a disbelieving tone.

The girl blinked right back. "Excuse me?" she said doubtfully. Iris? Was that her name? Did this man know her? He must, to use such a familiar term to address her… Did he have the answers she sought? She felt her heart pound a bit faster in her chest in anticipation at this, but made a fierce effort to suppress her curious hope. Whether he knew her or not, he didn't appear trustworthy to her at all. She would have to be very careful about-

"IRIS-CHAAAAN~!" the man cried out in gleeful surprise after his dumbfounded silence, and immediately dropped his weapon to leap at her, arms outstretched, sharp teeth gleaming in a huge open-mouthed smile.

Her eyes snapped wide in alarm, and she was in motion instantly. She skipped deftly to one side as the red-haired figure hurtled towards her, whipping a sharp roundhouse kick straight into the center of his back as he passed to make certain that he overshot her. And indeed he did, crying out in surprise and flying onward to land face-first on the rough cobblestone street. He skidded to a stop and just lay there for a second, twitching, as the girl straightened and backed up a few steps to keep some distance between them, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Who the hell are you?" She demanded flatly, "and how do you know my name?"

"Owww… My poor face…!" whimpered a muffled voice from the cobbles. The man pushed himself up from the ground, his face scraped, pink and puffy, and turned his head to look at her, his yellow-green eyes wide and bewildered and more than a little hurt. "What do you mean, who am I? Don't you remember me, Iris-chan? It's me, Grell!" he whined.

She looked down at him, frowning. "… Grell?" He certainly acted like he knew her, but neither his name nor his appearance were triggering any long-lost memories. He didn't seem the slightest bit familiar to her. "No, I certainly do not remember you." She eyed him dubiously as he got to his feet.

"What?" Grell cried in dismay, clutching his heart with both hands. "How- How could you not remember me? Me? And where have you been all this time, anyway? We all thought you were dead, you know!"

Now she was lost. She blinked at him, her brow creased in confusion. "What? What on Earth are you talking about?" she inquired, perplexed.

He stared at her as though she was clinically insane, and a frown appeared on his face. "You were missing," he informed her slowly, in a slightly more serious tone, "for thirty years. What happened to you, Iris-chan? Do you remember anything?"

She eyed him warily. "… No. No, I don't," she said after a moment. "What exactly are you, anyway?"

His sharp-toothed mouth dropped open. "What am-? You don't even remember what shinigami are?"

She was beginning to get frustrated with this situation. "No," she snapped, losing her patience, "I don't. I don't remember who you are, I don't remember what you are, I don't even remember my own bloody name. Why don't we just speed things up a bit and assume that I don't remember anything about anything, all right?"

Grell blinked. His mouth snapped shut and he stared at her in unsettled silence, clearly taken aback. She felt a slight twinge of guilt for her outburst, but she did not apologize, simply gazing back at him with a level yellow-green stare. After a long silence, he sighed theatrically and walked over to retrieve his weapon. Her eyes followed him every step of the way. At length he turned around and set the tip of his blade on the ground, resting his forearm on its handle and planting his other hand on his hip as he looked at her in mild disappointment. "Well. That's a shame," he remarked dryly, abruptly losing most of his light and whimsical attitude. "I wonder what happened to your memory. Anyway, you should come back to the shinigami realm with me. I'm sure William will want to know about this. He'll probably explain things, too."

The girl- Iris?- looked at him doubtfully. "Why should I trust you?" she asked the strange red-haired man.

He met her gaze and his face suddenly contorted in an unsettling sharp-toothed grin. "Well, of course you should trust me, Iris-chan," he told her brightly, wagging a finger at her. "After all…

"… I am your best friend!"