Tempered Souls:

When Alois looks at Ciel, all he can see is that ring.

That color.

Too large for any other finger, the silver band clings to his thumb, cradling the loveliest stone Alois has ever seen. He doesn't remember ever seeing a blue so rich, so rare, and oh, Ciel wears it like he's a bloody king. But he is, isn't he? Ciel Phantomhive, a boy of blue blood. He's true nobility, Alois knows that for sure, and so it's only fitting for that sapphire to sit so comfortably on his thumb as though he were born wearing it. He was born into his status and has spent his entire life lavished with wealth and luxury and whatever else his little heart wants. When he dies, Alois is certain his body will drip with not blood of crimson, but of the very same blue that his ring carries every day.

Oh how he hates that ring.

Alois stole the one he wears. He took it right off of that fat pig's finger as he gasped for his last breath, his filthy eyes silently pleading for mercy. The gem held by gold is red, dark and rich and passionate like the very blood that pulses through Alois's veins, like the energy that alights his soul. He likes how it looks, what it means for him, yet everyone else would rather that blue than scarlet. Why doesn't anyone look at his ring with envy? Why is everyone so fucking mesmerized by that pitiable, weak sapphire, acquired only through birthright and status, not by strength or the resolve of a single person? It makes his teeth grit until they might crack. He doesn't understand it.

But one day, he will. He'll hear the answer through trembling, dying lips, and he'll laugh and laugh and laugh over how pathetic it is, how pathetic he is.

He cannot wait.