Ciel let out a soft, almost silent groan of protest from the back of his throat as Sebastian entered his room and swept open the curtains at each side of his bedroom window, tying them at the sides. His voice was then heard, saying his usual, "It's time to get up, young master."

A soft sigh left his slightly parted lips as he quickly gave up on sleeping and staying in the bed for a little longer. He silently yawned, covering his mouth with his left hand before he sat up and moved to the edge of the bed so his legs dangled from it. He took the tea-cup that Sebastian was offering him and brought it to his lips slowly. Almost immediately, the smell was recognized as one of the boy's favorites, and he nodded as he looked down into the liquid.

"This smell, it's Earl Grey," he stated before he tilted the cup and drank some of the hot liquid. He then brought the cup down and placed it on the saucer that was on the bedside table. He watched as Sebastian moved to his wardrobe and opened it, quickly choosing an outfit. Sleep still tugged at him with a faint hold, quelling his thoughts of how useless he was and the thoughts about his dreams…for now.

Sebastian flipped through the various articles of clothing in the wardrobe with a sigh, and decided to reveal the available choices for breakfast that morning. "For breakfast this morning, you have a choice of eggs benedict and sunny side up eggs with salad, sides of blueberry and raspberry scones, toast, and champagne. Which one would you prefer, my Lord?"

Ciel let out a soft sigh and shifted to move to be more on the edge of the bed, his bare legs hanging off but not touching the ground. His mismatched gaze watched as Sebastian chose a suitable suit for the day and strode back toward him. He took a moment of time to stay quiet, his thoughts slowly starting to scream at him once more, before he replied emotionlessly and shortly, "The scones. What is my schedule for the day?"

Sebastian had to think for only a split-second before he replied while dressing the earl, "The schedule for today is relatively free. At one, you have a meeting with Mr. Heinsburg, then at three, you have your violin lesson with Mrs. Hill."

Ciel slowly nodded as his butler finished dressing him, then asked, "Mr. Heinsburg is the manager of my toy factory here, correct?"

Sebastian gave a quick nod as he picked up the black eye patch and tied it around the boy's head. "Yes, he is. Would you prefer for me to bring your breakfast to the study as usual?"

Ciel quickly turned his face away from the tall butler, avoiding his gaze almost as his own came to rest on the wooden floorboards beneath his hanging feet. He clearly remembered the nightmare from the night before, and its message haunted him: you've killed or hurt everyone you've ever loved.

His voice turned soft in volume, but not in tone as a result. "Yes. I have some paperwork from yesterday that I need to complete." He gave no acknowledgement as Sebastian bowed, his hand over his heart, then left the room with the tray of teacups with him. Ciel gave a soft sigh and put his head in his hands for a few seconds, his narrows shoulders shaking before he straightened up with a determined gleam deep in his magenta and navy blue eyes. He had to bury his thoughts, force the voices echoing 'you're not good enough for any of this!' to quiet. Not right now.

With a visible effort, he pushed the troublesome and damaging thoughts aside and stood up, walking with a hurried step out of his room and to the study. As he quickly opened the door to the study, he found the familiar sight of the room oddly comforting, and for a few seconds, he had a brief flashback to when he was small and his father worked on the same underground work that he now did.

He quickly began to grind his teeth together before setting his jaw and shaking his head to dislodge the brief memory from his mind. He shut the door behind him and slowly walked over to the large, plush char behind the large dark oak desk and sat in it. A sigh was let out as he moved the chair up to his desk. His eyes settled on the large mound of paperwork, but his fazed gaze merely glanced over it.

The young male's clouded navy blue gaze immediately cleared and hardened once more, looking cold, as he heard a firm knock sound on the door. He knew it would be Sebastian with his breakfast. His guess was confirmed as the door opened and his butler's form appeared with a cart that held a silver platter and a china tea set.

His butler pushed the cart toward the desk, stopping when he was a feet from it. Sebastian then deftly grabbed the silver platter and turned, placing it on the desk in front of him and in front of the boy. He then grabbed the tea cup and quickly filled it with the tea, placing the cup near the plate and lifting the domed lid. "Your scones, my Lord."

Ciel gave a small nod, just a dip of his head, and picked up a scone. The heat and tantalizing smell made his stomach growl in hunger. Despite the sounds of protest, he only nibbled on the edge of the bread. Every bite made him shudder with guilt, and the voices screamed inside his mind, how unworthy he was and what a waste of food and effort he was. It made him sick, to the point where his stomach's growls were smothered by a sudden lack of appetite. With Sebastian still watching him, and his torturous thoughts blaming him for falling apart so easily, he choked down two of the scones before pushing the plate away. He kept his eyes down, away from the butler's searching gaze.

"I don't really have an appetite, Sebastian," he said coldly, mentally panicking as he felt tears prick the back of his eyes. His brittle guard was cracking. He was on the verge of a breakdown, moments from falling apart in front of his butler. He pushed the tears back, stubbornly and with great difficulty.

Sebastian's blood red gaze scrutinized his young master closely as he strode over to him and picked up the still mostly fully plate, placing it back on the cart but deciding to leave the tea. He was suspicious, and wondered if something was wrong with the boy. He had first started noticing small unusual things two weeks ago. The food left on his plate after meals had slowly increased; for the past few days, all Ciel had done was nibble at it. He would claim to not be hungry, even when his stomach growled for food. The crow demon wondered if this was just a phase for humans, or if he should be worried. Despite himself, he felt the barest trace of uneasiness within him.

Nevertheless, he asked in a concerned voice, "You hardly touched your food, young master. Are you sure that something is not the matter?"

Not used to the question, Ciel fought back against the urge to widen his eyes and panic. He kept his features in a cool mask of indifference, yet glanced down at the paperwork on the desk. You're so weak. You depend on that butler for everything! And you hardly deserve it after everything you've caused. He had to hurry to push Sebastian out, before all of the aching emotions in his chest overwhelmed him. Yet, a growing part of him was intensely hurt that not a single being, not even his butler, could see when he was weak or about to break down.

"Nothing is the matter," he replied with absolutely no emotion to his voice. It was almost monotonous. "When you leave, do not come back unless I call for you or it's something concerning my work, do you understand?"

Sebastian gave a slight bow, with his right hand over his heart, and nodded, saying his usual, "Yes, my Lord." He then turned the cart around with a worried frown and exited the room, closing the door softly behind him.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Ciel slumped his shoulders, his facade faded almost immediately. He slowly reached over to the second drawer on his left, his lips falling into a frown as a wave of despair crashed back over him. He reached down into the empty drawer and knocked on it twice, causing the false bottom to fall out. Hidden inside was a journal, with pure white pages bound together by black leather covers. Inside the journal were his emotions; all of the meltdowns that had to be kept locked inside of him, he could spill freely onto its pages.

Just the sight of it made him tremble. The journal's relief was unmatched, but it came at the cost of his thoughts, coyly reminding him how simple it would be to rid the world of the last Phantomhive.

With a ginger hand, almost as if the leather-bound journal was made of fragile glass, he gently placed the book on his desk before returning to the drawer. His hands now trembling, he pulled out a small knife and a box of matches, each stained with the red-brown of dried blood from countless uses. His eyes, for the first time in a long time, began to tear as he picked up his pen. His usually clear, deep sapphire blue gaze dimmed into a dull, blank, lifeless look, a gaze more often seen on the face of the dead.

He flipped through the journal, each tear-stained page filled with shaky script and occasionally dotted with blood. He bit his lip, determined even now not to make a sound A few stray tears slipped from his eyes and trailed down his cheeks, eventually landing across the pages in his hands. Every page was another voice, another nightmare, another blame, another person hurt.

Finally, he came to a blank page, pure and untouched. He brought the pen over and placed it on the sheet, writing with a trembling hand, a heavy heart, and a heavier conscience.

"Darkness... Pitch black darkness consumes me... I'm drowning in the sea of guilt... Every day, I'm haunted by their screams...their agonizing and pain-filled shrieks...my mother...and father... If I close my eyes, even for a moment, I am forced to relive the scorching fire on my skin as I watch them burn and writhe...my screams of horror echoing theirs in a deathly melody... It is entirely my fault that they died...only mine... If I had been faster...to find them..we could have escaped... The next time I dare to close my eyes, I am assaulted by the biting, scorching sting of the brand...smell the burning of my flesh as the mark of the supposed devil is scarred upon my back... I can hear their unrelenting, heartless taunts...their demoralized and malevolent insults...echoing into slow truth... Elizabeth's broken and tear-stained face appears before me then...as she wails and sobs...she's immensely hurt...all because of me...just me... Sebastian puts himself in constant danger...faces injury, death, and worse...all because of me... what I do and who I am... If he were a mere human, mortal, he would have died long ago...and I would be left with no one.

Everyone... If I dare to care, then I cause everyone only pain and lingering hurt...for those that I love or get close to... I am destined to cause them only pain and destruction... It always happens...is destined to happen... Perhaps it would be better for myself and others if I were dead or had never lived or been born! It is getting much harder, much more difficult, to resist that sweet thought of death and release that continuously tugs at my very consciousness... It is getting much harder to put on my only façade, my cover, that I'm truly alright and that nothing is wrong with me.

If only they knew that everything is wrong! Every single thing is wrong with me! Every single thing I do is wrong! It is my fault alone...my guilt to bear... If I had been brave enough to try to save my parents...they wouldn't have felt the fire on them and burned to death! They would still be alive and well! What is the point of getting close to a single being if they will be hurt and die because of me?! At least once I'm gone, Sebastian will have his soul and can move on to his next pathetic victim..."

He took a shuddering breath, biting his lower lip even harder while the tears continued to flow freely down his cheeks. "And all of this pain that I am forced to endure, or have endured; it hasn't and doesn't make me stronger in any way. It has only made me weaker, more susceptible to more pain. I honestly fear that I am losing myself to this...this empty void...and there is nothing I can do to slow or stop it... Very soon, I fear, there will be nothing left of me...and not a single being will care..."

With a frustrated whimper, he flipped the tear-stained page and started on the next.

"Cursed is the throne where many kings sit
Haunted by their pasts
Screams echo in my ears, like a haunting melody.
My past is gone, but its images linger.
The flames of a dying family,
A young robin in a cage,
And a broken boy left on the altar to die.

For I have forsaken God,
And felt the sting of lost hope,
Holding things that will corrupt me.
My wish for revenge,
And the great pride of my family name.

If this agony continues, I will go mad.
Or have I already?
I try to forget and to smile like I once did,
But I cannot forget, no matter how hard I try.
Will I ever feel anything but this harsh coldness?
Will I ever remember any of the emotions that I have forgotten?
I see only harsh reality,
Though I wish to see more.
Will I ever get back any of that innocence of which I have lost?

I am destined to be overthrown by my Knight.
If I do not end my reign before then,
I may overthrow myself.

I fear that I may lose myself in my hatred and loss.
I can see only darkness,
As my thoughts cloud over in my despair.
I need a way out,
But there is no escape for me...

Not until the darkness called "checkmate."

Ciel's shoulders trembled as he desperately tried to choke back a sob. If any of the servants heard, they would have to step inside and check on him, and he refused to let them see him so vulnerable, so weak, but he knew that his guard, his shell, had finally cracked under his intense emotions. All this only made him despise himself all the more.

His heart was slowly breaking. It ached and it stung, like a searing sharp blade was being driven into his chest, and that pain reverberated through his entire body. Ciel hurriedly wiped his eyes, trembling with every shuddering breath. He dropped his pen and shoved the notebook away, not wanting to ruin the pages with the burning tears running down his cheeks.

He then reached up toward the knife, his only escape from the voices and emotions building up inside of him. You are worthless. No good for anyone, nor anything. Useless, completely useless. His fingers grasped the knife firmly as he rolled his sleeve up quickly, wanting to get rid of the thoughts. The only way to do it was to punish himself. He brought the blade up to the underside of his wrist, where the flesh was scarred and charred from weeks of mutilation. What had started as just one, then two, had multiplied until the marks were too many to count. It silenced his thoughts in a way nothing else could. What had started as a simple experiment had now become an addiction and habit, a nearly-daily ritual of exchanging his emotional pain for physical.

He put a finger on the top of the blade to steady it from his trembling, and quickly drew it across his wrist. A sharp gasp left his lips as a spark of pain went through his arm. Beads of scarlet blood traced the wound before it filled the cut. He moved the blade right under one of his older, fading wounds and brought it across again with more pressure, which added a large, fresh cut to the already existing scars. He hadn't gasped this time from the harsh stinging, but sighed in relief. His dulled gaze roamed over his left arm, glancing over the criss-crossing pattern of scars, both old and new, that ran the entire length of his arm, all the way up to his elbow.

He continued the relentless cutting, drawing line after bloody red line on his arm. With each cut, the pain got worse, but the sense of relief got stronger as his thoughts began to quiet. You deserve this pain... Be glad for it...

When the knife was covered in blood and too slick to use-somewhere around the thirty-seventh cut-he dropped it onto the desk. With a shaky hand, he cleared everything away, save for the box of matches. The young earl's arm was a bloody mess, as if he had just been mauled by an animal. The scarlet liquid dripped down, leaving a crimson trail from his wrist to the desk and the floor. His head spun in dizzying circles as the small puddle of blood slowly grew larger, and his small frame shook as he leaned back in his chair. His arm throbbed in unbearable pain with each pulse of blood that goes through it. He could focus only on the pain, especially as his eyes closed wearily. His breath came out in small pants that made his frail body shake even more. He stays still, his pain-filled mind hazily noticing how with each pulse of pain his arm went through, the pain in it deadened and numbed and the dizziness stopped as a hole opened in the haze.

You have to do this... Otherwise, you'll never be forgiven... Ciel reached over for the matchbox, grabbing it with his uninjured arm. He stifled another cry;the slightest movement sent a sharp pain shooting through all of the still-bleeding wounds. He had to do it. He opened the box and grabbed a match, lighting it quickly and watching as the head burst into a flickering flame. A small gasp left his lips as he pressed the small flame close to his pale, bloodstained arm. It started as a warm, familiar feeling, then quickly worsened to a prickling sting, then a harsh, searing pain.

He watched as the small flame slowly burned his flesh, stopping the flow of thick, crimson blood from the wounds. He kept the flame moving, sometimes near his wrist, then brought it up in a line to the inside of his elbow. His blood slowly darkened as his cuts sealed themselves, then dried to a dark reddish-brown crust. He felt and watched the pale skin melt under the heat. The pain had escalated into sharp shock-waves that radiated into his chest.

Suddenly, he accidentally drew the flame directly on his skin. He bit down on his lower lip to hold back the loud cry of pain that almost slipped out, and the taste of blood flooded his mouth.

His whole body trembled now as he drew the flame back down, and watched as his skin started to blister from the intense heat. He was forced to draw the small flame away as the searing pain that coursed through his body got to be too much for him. A small whimper of relief fell past his lips as he blew out the match. A quick glance at his bloody, burned, blistered, and entirely too sensitive arm determined that he'd done enough damage to himself for now.

Yet quiet, hateful thoughts still ran through Ciel's clouded mind as the smell of burnt flesh finally met his senses. He knew that the voices in his head wouldn't stop completely. With his hand still trembling, he tossed the blackened matchstick into the wastebasket, where it quickly buried itself under the piles of paper within.

Pain. Pain was his only escape. Physical pain that likened so perfectly to his emotional pain. One pain, one hurt, to cancel out another. He could forget about everything he had done, everything that had happened, if only for a few moments. The burden that he carried on his soul-for being so horrible, for killing his family-lifted through the pain. Pain meant forgiveness for all he had done, and forgiveness was the thing he wanted more than anything else.

The young robin tried to stop crying, his shoulders trembling from the effort. "I hate you." His thoughts quickly grew louder and bombarded him. You're just sitting here, sobbing your hear out... It's pathetic... You're weak, no better than scum. They only fed the blazing inferno of animosity that he held against himself, like wood in a flame.

This is what Sebastian wants. His demonic butler wanted him to be filled with so much bitterness and contempt, as it gave a unique flavor to his soul. He knew that the demon could care less about his feelings and who or what they were directed at, all that mattered was that he was affected. Ciel finally calmed down, the tears no longer pouring down his face. His gaze moved up toward the clock, which read two minutes until twelve. His eyes went wide-Sebastian always delivered his afternoon tea at exactly noon.

He hurriedly reached over with his uninjured hand and grabbed the knife between his index finger and thumb. He handled it carefully, as the blade was still drenched in blood and dripped with every little movement. He turned slightly and lowered his hand, opening the drawer by hooking his other fingers under the handle and pulling. The sudden movement of his body moving made him grimace as his left arm throbbed in pain, but he did his best to ignore it. He reached over with his left hand and held up the pile of fake paperwork, then harshly bit his bottom lip in pain, barely stifling a yelp, as the sensitive inside of his arm hit the sharp wooden edge of the drawer. The impact sent sharp, jarring shock-waves of pain up his arm, stopping at his shoulder and making his entire arm tingle afterward. The young earl then dropped the knife and the box of matches into the hidden hole, having no time to mind the droplets of blood that stained the edges. He dropped the stack of papers in after and shut the door with a harsh click.

Just as Ciel pulled down his sleeve, he heard a soft rapping on the door. He sighed, trying hard not to grimace as the fabric of his sleeve pressed against his raw wounds, causing his arm to sting painfully and throb in discomfort. He took a brief second to compose himself before he said loudly and firmly, "Come in."

Sebastian entered the study a moment later, pushing the same white cart that contained a different tea set and a silver platter with a domed lid. His scarlet eyes narrowed as the smell of his master's blood hit him. He carefully glanced around the room; there was no sign of a struggle, but why the smell? He looked back at Ciel as he stopped near the desk. The boy's face was flushed, and he seemed to squirm uncomfortably in his seat. He placed the tray in front of his young master, pulling away the domed lid to reveal the treat underneath. "Today's snack is a selection of corneal cake with pears and blackberries, served with a choice of an herbal rose hips tea to compliment the taste."

Ciel nodded, and watched with a sapphire gaze as Sebastian set the cake and tea in front of him. He tried to forget how red his face was from crying, and how hard he was trying just to stay composed as he watched the white wisps of steam curl and rise from his cup. He picked up a fork and sunk it deep into the sweet treat, breaking off a small piece, slowly bringing it to his mouth and eating it. Once again, he found he wasn't hungry. The food that passed his lips didn't have a taste, and felt like weighted guilt as he swallowed thickly. He was only able to stomach one more forced bite before he pushed the small plate away, which caused Sebastian to frown in concern.

Sebastian picked up the plate, now completely sure that there was something wrong with his young master. The odd demeanor, the loss of appetite, the protectiveness of his arm, and now the vile smell of blood; something was amiss, and he needed to find out what it was.

As he cleaned away the snack and tea, his sharp red eyes fell upon a black notebook, one he had never seen at the young master's desk before. Ciel's eyes found it shortly after his, and there was no denying the nervous look of horror on his face. Sebastian's brow furrowed, and he reached forward to pick it up. "If I may ask, my lord, what is this?"

"Don't touch it!" For a brief moment, Ciel's eyes (at least the uncovered one), went wide in shock, but he quickly hardened into a harsh, defensive glare. The young master reached across the desk, dragging the journal out of Sebastian's reach. "It's nothing of your concern, Sebastian," he spat through clenched teeth.

Yet, on the inside, he felt worry and nervousness explode through him like the pain had earlier, and he struggled not to show it in his expression. He was worried that he had overdone it, that Sebastian was looking right through him and would take his precious notebook. He was nervous what would happen after, and how the butler would react to seeing his master's innermost turmoil. He shook his head slightly, just a quick jerk, to keep up his composure, then stared down the butler with the same look he tried to wear all of the time: calm, collected, and cold.

The demon narrowed his rust-red eyes. Whatever the problem was, its secrets were most certainly hidden in that strange black book. Ciel seemed adamant on staying silent; if he wanted to get to the bottom of the problem, he'd have to take the notebook for himself. Now wasn't the time, though, so with a slight sigh, Sebastian put a hand over his heart and gave a half-bow. "Forgive me, my lord, for daring to intrude on your business. I also apologize for coming with a snack when you ordered not to be bothered. Is there anything else you might require?"

Ciel shook his head in response as he glanced at his paperwork that he had yet to start and needed to somewhat finish before his meeting. HIs nervousness was slowly fading, yet he still glared daggers at his butler. Sebastian bowed once more and and turned the cart around, exiting quietly and closing the door behind him.

Ciel sighed and glanced at the notebook as he lifted his shaking and trembling hands. He wasn't sure if they were shaking from bloodloss, or from the prospect of Sebastian seeing what lied behind closed and locked doors. He willed his hands to stop trembling, then returned to his secret drawer. He grit his teeth with a hiss-still, manipulating the drawer his cut-up arm was incredibly painful-then hid the journal under the loose papers and false bottom with everything else and slammed the drawer shut yet again.

His incessant thoughts seemed less important now as the adrenaline still through him from almost being found. He let out a soft groan as he picked up the ink pen and grabbed the first page from his stack of paperwork. He then let out a soft hiss as he forced himself to use his self-injured arm so he could get used to the pain. He bit his bottom lip; it would continue to ache for the next few hours, at least, but he needed to adjust before another servant popped in and caught him off guard.

So he set to work, if you could call it that. His tired eyes scanned across the words, barely absorbing any of them before he scrawled a signature on it and moved on to the next.