Disclaimer: I don't even want to own Skye…

Author's Note: Things are only going to get weirder from here, I'm afraid.

Warnings: Non-AU. SebaCiel, SebaxSkye.

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Old Habits

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Well, now. You're certainly a harlot, aren't you?

A pause. Long lashes fluttered in amusement, though the alabaster face remained impassive. Cerulean eyes narrowed. And as the droned inquiry faded into an electric silence, the sound of shifting tresses took its place; a gilded comb returned to forging lambent paths through waves of glossy moonstone.

"My my," Skye breathed as she brushed, the faintest hint of a smile toying with the corners of her pursed lips, "that was rather rude. If anyone else were to have called me such a thing, I might have taken offence."

You mean that didn't offend you? the visitor clarified, chin falling to rest upon neatly folded hands. Well, perhaps the second time's the charm, you miserable guttersnipe.

But the heartfelt insult fell upon deaf ears; Skye merely giggled, a tinkling sound like wind through icicles. "Sticks and stones, my dear," she sang, delicate wrist flicking up and down, up and down, as ivory tines worked through coal curls. "Regardless, nothing that might come from your mouth could faze me. I realize that you're just venting. It must be difficult to look upon me, after all… like seeing yourself reflected in a mirror."

The cruel jibe cut through the air like a knife. Skye snickered all the more obnoxiously as her companion scowled, fingers curling into a single, furious fist.

I would never sink to the lows that you have, the other spat, disgust poisoning the tip of his tongue, hissing and bubbling like verbal acid. Yet the girl simply snorted, rolling her eyes and her shoulders in tandem.

"Really?" she pressed, visibly bored, as the one before her seethed. "I've heard otherwise. Something about all fours and a weekend with your butler in Bath? 'Woof woof,' went the Queen's guard dog..."

Two pairs of vivid blue eyes met, snapped, locked— as cold as the winter winds that whipped through the braches beyond the window. Despite themselves, both were quietly impressed: she, by his lack of embarrassment; he, by her absence of fear. And on that note…

…you hardly seem surprised to see me, he commented wryly, stiff posture relaxing as he resumed his regal lounge: svelte legs crossed and pretty face vacant in the glittering world of glass.

Skye's frosted lips curved into a folsom smile, lashes half-lowering in knowing condescendence. "What with everything else that's happened to me? Please," she scoffed, abandoning her comb in favor of her fingers. With deft twists and tugs, she began to braid her lengthy locks into a single, thick rope. "To be completely honest, I've been expecting you, my dear Earl of Phantomhive."

Oh? Have you, now? In the framed kingdom of the vanity, a boy clad in stately blue-velvet chortled. His name, she knew, was Ciel Phantomhive… and as Ciel Phantomhive hummed, his mouth contorted into a bitter smirk to rival her own. The silver embellishing on his laced cuffs caught the light when he rolled his hand, offering a scornful half-bow. A pleasure, then.

"No, no, the pleasure's all mine," Skye purred, gaze sharpening into cobalt daggers as she and her reflection stared, stared, stared—sizing each other up from opposite (realms) sides of the mirror. "I'm rather lucky Sebastian is out at the moment, though. If he were here, he'd be certain to make me curtsy."

Ciel's fragile mask of black humor vanished. If Sebastian were here, he corrected coldly, you wouldn't be seeing me at all.

Oo, how cryptic. "Really, now?" the girl enthused conversationally, dropping her chin into her palm with mockingly wide-eyed, innocuous eagerness. "Would that explain why it took you so long to visit me? Were you always busy with him?" She tilted her head innocently to the left, looking for all the world like a life-sized china doll.

Ciel was not charmed. It's none of your concern, he curtly returned. In the refracted palace, he'd rearranged his tiny throne; he was looking upon Skye straight-on, like a businessman cutting a deal. All that matters is that you leave Sebastian alone.

"…what?"

At this, Skye could hardly keep her composure; the ambience created by her incarnation and his solemn command shattered with the sound of explosive hysterics. "You can't be serious!" she choked, tears of mirth welling in the corners of her ice-chip eyes. "Why on earth would I do that? He belongs to me, now, silly earl." She leaned all the closer to the cool surface of the glass, gaze glittering like shattered shards of crystal.

The teenaged lord crinkled his nose in distaste, as if he could smell her gardenia perfume through the reflective barrier. He's mine, he reiterated, but for all of the authority in his voice, he still sounded to Skye like a petulant child. (Of course, it took one to know one…)

"I'm afraid you are mistaken, Ciel," the young woman sneered, lifting a hand to her corpulent bosom. "He may be bound to your soul, but your soul is now mine. That makes both of you my playthings." The fingers that drifted over the flesh of her clavicle clenched in emphasis—

But the boy-earl simply grinned, canines flashing as if in feral warning.

Skye blinked, taken aback.

That's what you'd like to think, isn't it, little princess? Ciel taunted, hiding his chuckles and languid-cat smile behind a demurely lifted hand, his lily-white skin encased within a glove of black leather. You'd like to think that you're in charge. You'd like to think that you control me. You'd like to think that he loves you. But you know, don't you?

The taunt lingered, simpering and sickening-sweet, in the rapidly cooling rose-scented air. "Don't you dare s—" Skye began, voice soft and scalpel-sharp, but Ciel had no reason to fear, and so continued blithely on.

You know that, no matter what you do, all he sees is me. The smaller child leered, self-assured and confident and oh-so-beautiful… Skye's painted nails dug into clammy palms, calling forth budding pinpricks of crimson.

"Shut up."

It's not surprisingly, really, Ciel persisted, a haughty chuckle falling from his lovely lips— pink like satin petals— and his deep navy irises glimmered like the heart of the ocean, putting her sapphires to shame. I am the only human he's ever had feelings for. And you, as even you have now acknowledged, are not me.

"I am enough of you," Skye snarled, tubes of gloss and packets of color clattering together as angry hands jittered atop the cherry-wood vanity. "I am the rebirth of your soul."

Are you? the boy questioned lightly, sarcastically coy. Then what am I doing over here?

She had no answer for that.

I'm afraid there's been a bit of confusion, Ciel mused aloud, grinning down his nose at the increasingly irate girl, in regards to the composition of your immortal soul. Though I suppose I can't blame you for your ignorance—even Sebastian has yet to realize what is going on. But when he does, what will happen to you, I wonder?

Heaving shoulders froze. Slowly, as if some kind of wind-up toy, the gears in Skye's neck lifted her bone-white face—now blotched red with growing fury. Even her eyes, black-azure as they were, had been tainted with the furious rage of a poorly-masked inferno… "What do you mean?" she growled, the words forced dourly through grit and grinding molars.

Ciel took the liberty to don an expression of superior smugness. With a self-satisfied wriggle, he sank deeper into his chair; he regarded his reincarnation with a lazy perusal of the eyes, relaxing his cheek against the back of his hand. Face it, little girl, he then cooed, his gentle tenor at odds with the cruelty of his retort. You're no one. You're nothing. You're just a passing shadow, a doll that my idiot butler clings to in my absence. And someday, he's going to realize that no doll, however pretty, can replace the real thing. He won't need you anymore. Warped pleasure colored the round of his cheeks, and twisted delight tainted the lilt of his tone. He leaned forward an inch, his visage reflecting in the wide whites of Skye's eyes… Who knows what he'll do to you then?

For a full minute, the threat hung like an antique guillotine, suspended by the single thread of a spider. And the girl's neck lay ready, fully exposed, draped like her hair across the expanse of her makeup table. It was like a game, a good joke… Accordingly, someone startled to giggle. Wet and crazed, the amusement burbled upward, forward, unable to be swallowed; in its fervor, it forced distorted whispers into the raging oral river: curses further muffled by the clunk-clatter of plastic and brushes, of bare feet on lacquered wood.

The boy cocked an eyebrow, taken aback by the sudden proximity of Skye's looming face, now darkened with crazed hatred. I beg your pardon. Did you say something? he nevertheless asked politely, even as her trembling hands curled about the frame of his mirror, shaking it roughly. Her glossed lips parted in a sickle-smooth sneer.

"I said, he won't do anything, you twat!" she barked, laughter gone as suddenly as it had appeared. Black-tipped nails dug into the vinery designs of the glass frame… "Nothing! Because in case you've forgotten, my dear earl, you are dead. And no matter how much your precious demon may miss you, he realizes that it's better to hold a pretty doll at night than nothing at all. I am alive! I am flesh and blood! You exist nowhere but in my reflection…"

—with a lunacy-kissed beam, Skye lifted her gold-gilded hairbrush—

"…and vanity mirrors are so fragile, these days."

The passing of five minutes found the young woman engrossed in brow-furrowing contemplation, lips lightly pressed to a gushing gash on the curve of her wrist. She sat, cross-legged, amidst a galaxy of twinkling star shards, their refracted light almost blinding in the confines of her glowing bedroom. But slowly, the world was dimming; thick ruby pearls tumbled from her hand to the lap of her nightdress, soiling the virgin cloth. And as she watched, the scarlet stains spread, farther and farther, white and red mixing…

Mixing…

Mixing.

"Young mistress?!"

Hazy, gaze dulling, Skye glanced lazily upward; Sebastian had appeared in the doorway, arms full of new toys and eyes full of alarm. The machetes she'd asked for fell upon the carpet with a muted clang; her new compact and sweater set joined the weaponry within seconds. "Young mistress!" the demon said again, trampling over the shattered pieces of (Ciel) mirror without a second thought. Skye's stained mouth quirked into a smirk.

"Don't touch me, Sebastian," she rasped, jerking away when the butler tried to snag her wrist. Somehow, he'd already managed to procure fresh gauze… "I'm thinking."

"This is no time to act like a fool, young mistress," Sebastian snapped, kneeling before her and grinding the silvery shavings to dust. The smirk widened… "You're clearly delusional—moments away from fainting. This mess is large enough without adding your unconscious body to it."

"Don't be so overdramatic," Skye snorted, straightening in place. "I'm perfectly alright. You see?"

And with a quick flick of a network of joints, her bloodied wrist had twisted his way— small, fragile, and trembling, but for all the crust and rust and flakes, undamaged. There was no wound to be found.

Faintly bewildered, Sebastian scrutinized the pristine plane of porcelain flesh for thirty whole seconds before turning his bemused stare upon his charge. "What happened, then?" he demanded softly, an expression of unease overtaking his inhumanly handsome features. "That blood is most definitely yours, and yet…"

"I was… having a spirited conversation," Skye returned vaguely, though not without a touch of humor. She rotated her wrist around again, staring at the dirtied blanket of skin, and flexing her fingers as if in experiment. She seemed pleased. At least, her eyes were glittering once more: bloody midnight with dark and dawning realization.

Without another word, her lips found her uninjured pulse point… and she wore the smile of a secret-keeper as she kissed the invisible wound.

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