Disclaimer: I own Skye. (…anyone want her?)
Author's Note: Originally, this fic was going to be four more chapters long. However, they would have been fairly short chapters, which I decided was lame. So I condensed events; there will now be two (maybe three) chapters 'til the end, including this one. (At least, that's the current plan. It could always change again, I suppose. XD;)
In any case, thank you, Toboso-sensei, for scripting that horribly depressing Sebastian-alone-in-the-snow scene. It really rejuvenated my muse for this chapter. X3
Warnings: Non-AU. SebaCiel, SebaxSkye. WTFery. OOCness THAT WILL BE EXPLAINED. (Actually, some stuff finally is explained… but it's still probably confusing.) Oh, yes— and a CLIFFHANGER! (So no, this is not the end… though I gotta say, I feel bad about posting this after chapter 41. XD;;;)
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Old Habits
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The world was a crimson globe, bubbled precariously on the tip of her finger.
I suppose it's true what they say. All creatures bleed red—even the lowest of the low.
The quip goaded. Skye smirked. And with lethargic interest, she cushioned her cheek in the palm of her free hand, lazy gaze glinting with dark interested as she turned the infinitesimal injury this way and that, allowing the pearl of blood to glimmer like a garnet in the lamplight. It swayed and quivered, but never did the claret bead burst.
"So it would seem," she then murmured in reply, the words a fluting whisper that caught Sebastian by surprise. In the reflection of her vanity, Skye could see the butler open his mouth to speak—perhaps ask if she was addressing him—but silenced himself within moments. Rather than pose a verbal question, he instead allowed his impassive face to warp in a show of reservation: his pale brow furrowed, his thin lips pursed… but the expression went ignored, for it was not an unusual sight, nowadays. As his mistress had grown in conviction, he had become noticeably jumpier, warier. Yet, if there was a specific reason for his cagey discomfort, he had never mentioned it… possibly because he'd been unable to label the cause, himself. And so, with a final glance across the room (auburn eyes darting suspiciously left and right, always lingering one-second-too-long on the ring that adorned her thumb), he closed his mouth and lowered his head, returning to his vigilant duties as guard.
Skye paid him little mind—there were far more interesting things to look at in the mirror. Things which looked back. And in fact, one such 'thing' was doing just that: in the center of the framed bedroom, draped in his usual lavish blue finery, stood a calm and transparent gentle-child, his cold eyes bright with cruel amusement.
Hello again, Lady Skye, the boy greeted, rolling his wrist and bowing at the waist. Worried that your shriveled heart is no longer working as it should?
Five gloved fingers lifted, extended, curled— a wave that formed a fist, black leather moaning in soft resistance— and Ciel Phantomhive rested his delicate chin upon it, offering a pretty smile. Canines flashed white; his face soon followed. With an electromagnetic buzzing like that of short-circuiting neurons, his entire body flickered. And for a moment he was just as ethereal as any other spirit.
Was that happening more frequently, lately…?
"At least mine is still beating," Skye retorted in a drawl, tilting her wounded digit left and right, back and fore, to a steady, rocking rhythm. She made a point of refusing to visually acknowledge either man (though, technically, she supposed that neither could be classified as such); behind her, Sebastian arched an eyebrow, bewildered by his mistress's seemingly mindless chatter. But the girl pressed on, regardless— "One of the perks of still being alive."
Ciel's smirking face gradually reappeared: toothy leer first, much like a famous cat's. But for how much longer, little girl? the simpering nobleman purred, azure-blues half-lidded and acerbic in nature. He straightened from his pondering pose, choosing instead to prowl around the room: twisting and twirling as if in slow motion. His performance was pointless; she could see quite clearly how he steadily inched towards his butler.
How futile. He'd never make it all the way over. Not before—
"Get back over here."
The phantom(hive) froze, snarled; despite himself, and in spite of both obvious and active resistance, his booted foot took a grudging step away from his oblivious goal, as if he were being pulled forward by an invisible cord. It was Skye's turn to sneer.
A porcelain nose scrunched. Mismatched eyes blazed like enchanted fires. Don't let this fool you, you whorish brat, the deceased earl hissed, coal-gray locks fluttering as his anger gained life in the physical realm. Unfastened trinkets shifted and shook; the curtains billowed outward, as if caught in a breeze; an insubstantial inkiness dyed the center of the room, hovering like mist where the ghost-child stood. Or perhaps the fog was the young boy himself, for as his tantrum played out, his outlines became a peculiar, fuzzy mess… Whether you acknowledge it or not, your power over me is weakening.
"Is it? I would disagree," Skye hummed, bored. Her hand fell with a smack upon her dancing makeup kits; the plastic packets stopped mid-wiggle, stationary once more. Child's play. The curtains were no more difficult; a single thought was all it took to steal the air from the flapping lace… but some problems were not so easily dealt with. From the corner of her eye, she could see her butler gawking— foot half-extended, assuming her previous summons had been directed at him, but retroactively distracted by the visible smudge of shadow that had appeared over the ivory carpet. The sight made the girl's stomach clench… but she ignored it in favor of a tinkling laugh. "I'd say my power is growing."
Really? The vapor evaporated, the magic ceased; the demon executed a bizarre double-take; and for a full minute, Ciel was whole, visible, and smug again. Do you think so? Then why can I act so independently, now? he inquired, arms crossed and head angled. Why can I venture 'round so extensively, so frequently? A pause, a lilt—emphasis in the form of innocent, mocking, and entirely-cruel curiosity. Why can I exist in the same room as Sebastian?
For once, the gibe hit home. Instantaneously, like a sniper's bullet— teeth clenched, knuckles whitened, Skye's sapphire jugular bulged and throbbed; the droplet upon her fingertip swelled, burst, and cried, trickling down her alabaster index as a warm, liquid ribbon.
And thus, within milliseconds (as was often the case when the two chanced to meet), fortunes reversed and moods flip-flopped, as easy and often as a rotating coin. Face up, Ciel; tail up, Skye— it was now the boy's turn to laugh, and his aura calmed as his companion's became as black as a winter midnight. Her extended finger— still dripping miniature rubies— twitched at the sound of his glee, folding carefully back into its brethren.
From within the frame of the looking glass, the younger teen continued to mock his 'replacement.' Why do you act so surprised? he asked, perching himself on the edge of the vanity. You noticed the contradiction, didn't you? After all, I told you before that I wouldn't appear if Sebastian was nearby… Ciel cooed, swaying this way and that—tipped forward, hands entwined, and head tilted in a blatant show of contempt. Not for any reason on my part, of course— but because you would not allow me to. You thought that you could keep him to yourself. And at that point, as I was still firmly anchored and dependent upon your… well, let's call it a 'spirit,' shall we?… I was compelled to obey your wishes, ill-founded and deplorable though they were. But a human body can only contain one soul… and it must be compatible with their flesh.
BAM. The girl's newly -formed fist forcefully found the tabletop; jars of perfume and compacts of color chinked and chattered as they seized atop the wooden surface. Silk-covered shoulders stiffened; a hunched back arched over the shivering makeup. A perspiring forehead found iced relief against the silvery mirror. Yet, for all the signs and signals of mental collapse, of utter defeat, the lovely lady smiled: a knowing grin teasing the corners of her pink lips, growing as her lacquered charcoal lashes graced the vanity with the softest of butterfly kisses.
Well. That was certainly an enigma. Perhaps she had misunderstood the gravity of his warning? Frowning faintly in response to the sneer, Ciel brought a curious finger to his cheek, corporeal form riddled with transitory static. His own lips pursed, pulled— formed words that may have been a tease, may have been an explanation. But their meaning would forever remain a mystery to the girl, for she heard none of them… did not even realize that her incarnation was speaking, what with her gaze adverted. Nor did she have any reason to assume that she had missed a portion of their conversation. At least, until—
"…young mistress?" Perplexity. Doubt. Doe-brown orbs darted, left and right and back again, from the prostrate form of his tamer to something that only he could see… and only partially, as that. Like some half-formed silhouette, dancing as candlelight in his peripheral vision. "Did you… say something?"
Sebastian. The young woman bolted upright, spine snapping straight one vertebrae at a time; she could hear each bone popping, serenading the formation of goose pimples. And as the devil waded in his own uncertainty, all manner of confusion fled from Skye. In its place, an animalistic sort of realization set fire to her mind, as feral and wild as the preservation instinct.
"What did you do." It was no question. It was a demand.
Oh dear. In the world of glass, the little boy lifted a demure, elegant hand, covering his mouth as Victorian decorum dictated— an ironic gesture of shock and regret. He clearly felt neither. It seems that things are happening rather faster than I had expected. I apologize, my dear. I don't mean to keep secrets, but it seems that you are losing your ability to perce—
A motorized buzzing— not from anywhere within the room, but echoing from the deep, deep caverns of her cherry-tinged ear, an inch behind the hardened line of her jaw… balancing on the ledge between eardrum and brain. This time around, Skye could see the boy talking in her vanity: mouth forming letters, then words, then sentences… but for all she silently strained, the faintest whisper could be heard.
At least, not by the girl.
The demon by the door, on the other hand, was looking for all the world as if the air had been knocked from his lungs. He stood straight and tall, yes, and made no sound nor asked any questions… But his flesh had lost all color (save the violet bags that had long-since become permanent fixtures on his hollow face), and his russet eyes were alive, searching and straining and all but spinning in their sockets—
Without warning or bodily assistance, the gilded mirror exploded.
"Young m—!"
"What do you think you're doing, you little brat?! Who do you think you're fooling?!" Incensed and fully furious, Skye whirled swiftly 'round— shards of diamond dust adding glittering accentuation to her every movement. Angry feet stamped, sending crystal into the air; straining hands knotted in (what seemed) absolute nothingness; blood oozed from far more than just her wounded index finger. "You think you don't need me anymore?! Wrong! I am the one who no longer needs y—!"
A gasp.
The girl faltered, stumbled— seemed, for a moment, totally lost. Half a second ago, the boy had been… but now, he…? And there had been no reaction to her declaration: no snort, no jeer. Was Ciel really…?
Just as abruptly as the tantrum had begun, it stopped: grappling arms fell; a heavy head drooped. Greasy tendrils of loosened curls tumbled over clavicle and neck, curtaining all but motionless legs. Soundless tears of garnet plunged, splattered, blossomed outward. The carpet now bore roses. For a full minute, the young woman hung, immobile— like a broken china puppet tangled in its catgut strings.
The hard leather sole of a black patent shoe fell upon a shard of glass. It splintered like a spider web, then crumbled into an ashen powder.
And Skye laughed.
Head thrown back, eyes jammed shut, long lips reaching up, up, up as if hoping to touch her pierced earlobes. The sound caught Sebastian off-guard; he looked as if he wanted nothing more than to back away. But he had his duties and his pride, and what sort of butler would so fear his mistress? Accordingly, Sebastian veiled his own desires (as he was wont to do), and instead offered his convulsing mistress a calming embrace, murmuring comforts as he approached.
The gesture was unappreciated. Despite his best efforts to appear unaffected, the demon could not thwart natural bodily reactions; he flinched quite noticeably when amused giggles became virulent snarls, and virulent snarls became red-welt scratches upon the backs of his hands.
"Don't touch me!" the girl spat, lashing out an angled arm. Then, just as rapidly as she'd thrust it forward, she reeled it back—as if worried he'd try to hurt it. A distressed viper, riled and ready for an onslaught; as he watched, Skye's body distorted— bent like a contortionist's, poised as if coiled to strike. He'd never seen her so agitated, so out-of-control, so… "I don't need you. I don't need him. I no longer need either of you! I don't need you!"
Silence.
And in that silence, the proclamation rang. It rang with power, finality, purpose… it rang like an order. Sebastian blinked, utterly taken aback, as his bemusement reached soaring new levels. "'Either'…?" he repeated, features creasing with concern. "Young mistress, what on earth are you—"
An unearthly chuckle, whispering and warbling through the shadows of the room like a wisp of audible smoke. Confident, are we? To assume that you no l—r need Sebastian's h—
"This isn't about 'confidence,'" Skye snapped, spinning away from the anxious pandering of her butler. She readjusted her gauzy foppery, raked manicured fingers through her disheveled locks; the back of her hand smeared drizzles of blood upon her parted lips, painting them as if with any other brand of makeup. "This is about self-preservation."
A rustle of finery, a delicate sigh— the young woman returned to her velveteen throne, dexterously crossing her lily-white ankles. "Besides which," she continued coolly, examining her nails as the befuddled demon stared, "Sebastian's usefulness has run out. This being the case, I'm afraid he and his position must be… terminated."
Termin—?
Like a desert mirage, Ciel wavered in the distance, his body illusory and useless; like a malfunctioning computer, his horrified features flickered in and out of existence, snowy then clearing, snowy then clearing, somewhere on the edge of her vision. Directly before her, Sebastian— the complete opposite of the tiny earl in every metaphysical way— still managed to match his old master in expression.
"What are you talking about, young mistress…?"
The beautiful girl scoffed, face lined with disgust and disdain. "Really now, must you even ask?" she grunted, as if even discussing the matter was beneath her. "I'd have thought it quite apparent. For a time, Sebastian, you were a valuable pawn due to your abilities. But that, unfortunately, was ages ago, back when we first met. Look what the passing of six years has done to you! You're listless, and have no energy. Your strength, speed, and endurance are next to non-existent. You black out, act spacey, and sleep half the day! You perform your duties as a servant decently, I suppose, but they are no longer anywhere near the level of perfection that I have come to expect. And, on a more personal note…" Skye stopped, snorted; picked an invisible fleck of dust off the round of her breast and flicked it into oblivion. "Well. Let's be frank, shall we? I have never been keen on the way you look at me. Still, after all that I've done! No matter what I try, you stare at me as if you're trying to see through me… or find someone else lurking in my body."
Sebastian said nothing. Did not argue, did not deny, did not defend. Instead, he stood in a brazen hush… and for a spell, his mistress did the same. But all the while, she continued to watch him, accusingly, from beneath the curve of her lashes.
"…fine, then." With no further warning, the girl returned to her feet. Began pacing— halted— lingered beside the lace curtain, peering into the twilit night beyond. "I understand. I finally understand everything. And now that I do, I feel that— in some extraordinary way— I should thank you," she persisted, informal and distant, as she pondered some insignificant riddle of the outside world. "For without your unusual transmutation, I might not have noticed my own."
In the blackened window, her faded likeness shone: angelic, contemplative, and inhumane in its splendor. A lovely picture, to be sure, marred only by its backdrop: behind the crown of her head, Ciel was wordlessly screaming. Upon catching her notice, his exploits increased tenfold— his hands began slicing, eyes began pleading, head began shaking in an exuberant expression of denial.
Skye readjusted the curtain, blocking his face from view. Then she hummed, and flashed her butler a cheerful smile.
"What is a demon, after all, but the dregs of humanity?" she pointed out conversationally, making her meandering way back towards the devil. And this time—Skye was amused to note—he took the tiniest of steps backwards, instinctive and startled. Her callous grin lessened. "I apologize. Perhaps that was not the most polite way to address such beings. Nevertheless, that is what they are, correct? At their core, demons are nothing more than the twisted husks of humans, imbued with all mortal sin and corruption. And while they have no souls, these powers act as something similar—animating them, giving them personality and rank within the dominion of Hell."
What are you—
Rosy nightgown flaring, the scarlet-splattered teenager glided softly over to her servant, dark delight increasing as Sebastian's back collided with the waiting wall. To her far right, she could see Ciel fuming, pale features flushed with fury and panic as she reached out a thin hand, gingerly dragging it down the clammy expanse of the demon's face. Though the devil made no sound, his chest was rising and falling frantically; his eyes reflected the muted terror of a caged animal.
"Haven't you ever wondered about this before, Sebastian?" Skye inquired sweetly, even as her sultry gaze remained, locked and taunting, upon her incarnation's shrieking spirit. "What would happen to a demon if that power—their 'soul'—was to be drained out of them?"
Don't be stupid you insufferable t———nd there are absolute truths in th—!
The butler swallowed; she could feel the muscles of his throat working beneath her ginger touch. "I… cannot say that I have ever given the concept any thought," Sebastian breathed, the response both hoarse and bitterly cold. It made his mistress shiver with pleasure.
"Well, now that I've brought the idea to your attention," Skye cooed, free fingers tracing meaningless patterns upon the front of his velvet vest, "tell me, what do you think? If you were to lose your demonic powers, would you become a human? If I were to gain them, would I become a demon?"
A pause. If the servant had yet formed an opinion in regards to his charge's hypothesis, he did not voice it. And it hardly mattered in the end, for the girl was almost immediately distracted— gaze glistening in validation.
"Oh my." With a histrionic inhalation and a malicious moon of a smile, Skye's doodling digits came to a sudden stop over the left half of the devil's chest. Two fingers became three, three became four, and then—with unnecessary force—, the young woman folded her entire palm against Sebastian's fabric-covered flesh. Her eyes flashed with impish satisfaction as the butler's own face fell. "Is that—? It is! My dear Sebastian, you've not just lost, but gained in my presence! How marvelous. But oh, feel it race… not healthy at all. Tut tut, no no. Why this speed? You can't be out of breath… you hardly seem excited…"
Sharpened talons cut into the servant's wobbly chin; with a rough yank, nose met nose and heated—
"Could it be that you are frightened, my—?"
But for all the dramatic tension that this moment could have caused, the attempt fell flat— ended on a note of puzzlement, rather than the fear that Skye had hoped she might cultivate. And she, as per usual, had the bane of her existence to blame.
"What do you think you're doing?" she growled, redirecting her rage-slit glare. For, at the very last moment, Ciel had somehow managed to force his way into his reincarnation and butler's entangled embrace; his own hand had coiled around Sebastian's head (affectionately covering his eyes), while the other had made a grab for the girl's exposed neck.
Skye dodged the strike with sickening ease, and instead engaged herself in a stare down with the earl.
"And what will such a gesture of comfort accomplish?" the young woman mocked through her sneer, even as Ciel readjusted his attack, roughly pushing her backwards. She could have avoided this strike, as well, but out of twisted amusement allowed the boy to worm his way between them—like some sort of ghostly blockade. "Do you honestly think that you can protect him?"
The infuriated nobleman bared gritted teeth, arms extended outward as if to shield the helpless demon. I warned you to leave him alone.
"You also warned me that, someday, he would realize he doesn't need me," Skye retorted frostily, looming over the smaller spirit as if in preparation of a physical assault. Her swirling eyes narrowed— half in a show of heartfelt loathing and half in an attempt to find the other's disintegrating outline. "This is really all your fault, you know. If you hadn't brought my attention to the facts, we wouldn't be here right now. I wouldn't have decided to do him in before he finished me. And you know that, don't you? That's why you're trying to save him. Ha! Too bad your precious knight can't see you anymore. I'm sure your display of nineteenth-century chivalry would have tickled him as much as it does m— what are you looking at?!"
The startled butler jumped—jolted as if struck—, as his tilted head snapped violently upward. As if a caught and guilty child. "Nothing," he choked, trying vainly to disguise his stupefied tone in its usual shroud of innocuousness. "Nothing, I just… I thought I saw… of course, there's no way…"
It was a fruitless effort. Despite his mastery of masks, even Sebastian could not erase the look of sheer astonishment that had made a hostage of his visage— the dazed blush, the quiver of his lower lip. Nor could he hide the way his distracted eyes kept darting downward, disbelieving, as Ciel quietly beamed, victory in his gaze.
Skye watched this display of reunited camaraderie with a glare as hard as diamond. All good humor had left her, now. "…what does it matter," she then heard herself mumble, though the mantra was far too low for the ears of the others. "He never saw me to begin with, anyway. And soon, I will no longer see either of them… for our roles will have completely reversed."
At this, the translucent earl glanced upward. Whether he had actually heard what she'd said or had merely timed the motion well, Skye could not be sure… nor would she ever find out. For again, he was speaking—words that seemed… oddly gentle, to match the peaceful smile that had painted his alabaster face— but she could hear nary a thing. All she knew was that his hand was on—then in— then consumed by Sebastian's heaving chest, and that the rest of Ciel's fragmenting body was quickly following suit, and that the butler was watching (no doubt, he was watching) with eyes full of wonder and mouth full-agape.
The tender exchange made Skye's writhing insides boil.
A fragile fist slammed into the whitewashed wall; crumbles of dust and plaster flaked upon the ground. But it was the noise that garnered Sebastian's attention, even as his raised hands found and clenched around the weird warmth now-emanating from his resurrected heart. At the sight of such compassion—as if it were an invitation— the girl's free hand moved to rediscover that sacred heat, as well… though her thoughts about the incident were far more sinister in nature than the butler's own.
"…dear me. That was an interesting interlude, wasn't it? Though hardly a waste of time— he certainly made things easier, didn't he?" Skye murmured, in a tone so light and flippant that it triggered warning bells in the butler's mind. "I was wondering how to rid myself of him. I suppose the phrase 'two birds, one stone,' would apply rather well… though I'd never use a stone. That would be far too uncivilized."
As she spoke, five spidery fingers creaked into motion—mechanical at first, but gradually finding grace, rhythm. A soothing sort of stroking, meant to relax its recipient. But the only thing the girl's calming gesture succeeded in doing was setting the servant further on edge.
"Young mistress…" Sebastian hesitated, hands slipping downward to find balance against the wall. She could see his knees were trembling… "What is going on—?"
Skye smiled. A familiar smile, a malevolent smile: folsom and mordant with both lids clamped shut, as if to try and hide the fact that the expression could never reach her eyes.
The smile was his own.
"Simple, Sebastian," the young beauty explained, pushing herself to her tip-toes and decorating his cheek with a nibbled kiss. "I'm answering your question."
"Question?"
His incomprehension was acknowledged with a blithe, merry nod; Skye fell back onto her naked soles with a waft of spider lily perfume. And in that instant—trivial though the detail surely was— Sebastian found himself completely captivated by the scent that made up the oil's compositional base (or perhaps it was the odor that radiated from the girl's very flesh). For, if he concentrated, the creature could smell the faintest trace of chrysanthemum, of burgundy poppies… of the most addictive opium. Why did that surprise him? It made nothing but sense, the demon thought, for she was the worst kind of narcotic—killing him even as he begged for more. And oh, his head felt so heavy…
"Don't you remember?" his young mistress was prompting, voice a cloying, audible syrup. At some point, wholly without his notice, she had drifted closer: breath teasing his neck, tongue tasting his ear… "Once, you asked me what I was. At the time, I couldn't tell you, for I was undergoing a metamorphosis… But I can, now."
His stare flitted downward; hers drifted up, lazy and seductive through the gaps in her lashes.
And through the curtain of ebony fringe, her irises flashed an incandescent shade of vermillion.
It was only recently that Sebastian had begun to understand the concept of "fear:" the terror that made his new heart thud faster, the dread that enticed his faux-mortal innards to contort; the horror that added a sheen of sweat to his skin. And it was that strange feeling—that raw panic that he had never known in his past life at Phantomhive—that forced the single word from his lips:
" …devil."
Skye giggled, tinkling and sweet. "So you finally realize," she congratulated, deriving all sorts of satisfaction from the gaunt, paste-green countenance that her own face now shadowed. And so the darkness grew: an exuded, feathery blackness that was both known and entirely alien to the butler. Beneath the girl's perpetually-steady palm, Sebastian's overactive heart was pounding again, louder than before—thrumming within her ears, within her bones, within her soul… vibrating in the place where her own had once resided. The sensation made her sick.
"Now, let me ask you in turn, Sebastian…"
The twisted hybrid leered, fist drawing silently back from her servant's vested breast— pausing to hover portentously over her cocked and haloed head.
"…what are you?"
SQUELCH.
Sebastian's answer was a look of wide-eyed shock— a stagnant, graveled wheeze— a slippery trickle of crimson down the chin…
Then he collided with the carpet, his perforated corpse joining his discarded heart upon the bloodstained floor.
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