A/N: Sorry for the fluctuation between posting times of late. All my short little chapters should come in at a more regular paces as of now.
A blue eye flashed and sparked with the barest hints of worry. The ghostly form carried itself nobly through the hall. Another form followed it, the form of a young man. Behind him was yet another form, that of an older man. They held incremental loads of worry in their eyes. The little lord knew something was wrong, and he intended to make it to the room before any of the other guests could find it. Of course, he'd slept late, as his butler had not woke him up at the proper time he obviously wouldn't be the first to discover what had transpired.
The door was filled with the sounds of voices speaking softly, sounds of fear and sounds of disgust. The child entered the room and all faces turned to him. All the servants, the two blonde men and the pink-haired young woman, had tear-streaked faces. The blue eye landed on them first. None of them could meet his gaze.
The young woman, the light haired singer had her face buried into the shoulder of the man next to her. Diaz and Keane. Her producer and her partner. He looked faintly disgusted, but more worried for his lady than anything else. Beside him stood the white-haired butler to the queen, who looked rather reflective and a tad confused. The rich bulky man stood on the other side of the doorway, blocking the ear's immediate view of the scene beyond. Woodley. He moved swiftly out of the boy's way, however, his eyes more on the young woman hanging from the dark-haired man's arm that stood off to the side. Ran Mao and Lau. Two were missing. The German, who was dead already, and the young blonde man, whose whereabouts were unknown. Phelps. He was probably still asleep in his room.
Everyone fell silent when the adolescent caught sight of the scene. The child's lips parted slightly at first, a slightly bemused expression crossing his features. He blinked his eye blank but fixed on the body laying flat in the center of the room. His figure stayed upright, but as words leaked from his mouth the boy's body seemed to curl upon itself like a flaming leaf.
"S-sebastian?"
The word hung in the air, floating on the horrible tension of the room. The tension and the overwhelming scent of blood. Everything seemed to gravitate towards the body, slowly; everyone seemed to lean in slightly, trying to evade the pull of the gory sight.
A golden poker like a proud flag-pole protruded from the unmoving chest. Blood had been spattered everywhere, and an open-mouthed expression of utter surprise was etched across the dead butler's face. A single elegant foot took the journey forward, followed by the other in a shuffling fashion. The child halted when he stood at the edge of the pool of blood that surrounded the body like a deformed crimson snow angel.
Then the earl took a step forward tentatively, like a child dipping his toes into the sea for the first time. The blank shocked look vacated his face as the blood squelched under his toes, replaced by an almost angry scowl. He gazed upon the surprised face, an eyebrow raised slightly.
"Stop fooling around Sebastian. That doesn't look comfortable to me at all. How long do you intend to play this game?" The voice was delicate as a moth's wing, even while the words were crisp and hard. He already knew that his butler was dead, and that the blood beneath the souls of his feet was once the man's life.
Someone began to speak behind the boy, whether it was Finny, the young blonde gardener, or Mey-rin, the pink-haired maid wasn't readily discernible. But the sound was masked by another louder sound. The sound of a foot striking a body. Ciel looked angry, the top of his foot now covered in blood along with the bottom.
"I told you to get up Sebastian, didn't you hear me?" The boy growled, his voice growing in volume. Then in a sudden movement he placed his foot, the one he'd just used to slam into the dead body's rib cage, on Sebastian's chest and tore the poker from its resting place. It was cast aside as the earl straddled the body, lifting it up by the front of its jacket.
"Wake up this moment Sebastian!" the boy screamed, his voice saturated with anger and desperation. "That is an order. Do you hear me! An order! I won't tolerate this Sebastian! I won't!" The adolescent's voice cracked at the end of the sentence, breaking.
The guests and servants looked on in varying stages of disgust, dismay, and grief. Ciel wasn't letting a single tear fall down his face, even as his compact body trembled. He was smeared with his butler's blood; his eyes alight with some maniac rage as he began slapping Sebastian's face violently. The sound of flesh hitting flesh caused more than one guest to flinch.
"I never gave you permission to die, Sebastian! Wake up right no-"
"Calm down, young master. Give it a rest." A broad tanned hand caught the slender one. The boy turned to find Bard restraining his hand. The boy's face lost the crazed light, falling in on itself. He knew what the cook would say, and he didn't want to hear it.
"He's already dead."