Author's Note: It's finally done! Goodness and didn't it take forever? However, I was a little addled regarding the plotline and where exactly I was going with all of this, but suffice to say I have it all worked out now. Thank you so much for everyone who has been patient and is still following this story. I've been writing Caym for over a year now! It doesn't feel like that long at all. In a way, I'm posting this chapter in celebration of Caym's anniversary and following the fact that yesterday I received an offer to study at the university I was desperate to go to. Thank you all so much, I adore your messages, some of which I will respond to at the end of this chapter! Please enjoy the latest installment of Caym.

Warnings: Gore. I must admit, this chapter does get quite gruesome. Sort of cannibalism? A little disturbing regarding mental health at the very beginning and just a little male/male at the very end (very inappropriate male/male, I might add.) Mentions of throwing up. And, as always, this chapter is un-betaed so please excuse any typing errors.

Caym

On the morning that Rachel Phantomhive was institutionalised, she did not fight the doctors' examination. She was perfectly still as they peeled back her bruised, lavender-shaded eyelids between meaty forefinger and thumb to reveal the pretty blue bloodshot eyes beneath with their gaping, dilated pupils. She did not spit nor gnash her teeth at them, as many patients had before her. She did not whimper nor squirm beneath their rough touches. She sat completely still and when they released her, a maid came forward to mournfully clean away the trail of saliva that had trickled from her mistress' slackened lower lip with painful tenderness and a mournful expression.

They mumbled to each other, puffing away on their stale cigars with their owlish eyes and their yellowed beards and mustaches. She was a good patient, they said - an unnaturally good patient. They had yet to decipher the cause of her apparent vegetative state, but their eyes were greedy as they looked upon her, sitting up limply in the bed of one of the many guest rooms that the manor had to offer. It was not every day that they were able to tend to the needs of such aristocratic clientele. They were not to know, of course, that she was burning inside. They were not to know of that foul, liquid sin running through her veins, trapping her internally in the pit of hell. They were not to know that she was screaming inside, because the only sign that she was performing any bodily functions at all were the shallow risings and fallings of her chest and the small bead of sweat dripping steadily down from her pretty temple.

Vincent Phantomhive had simply greeted them before they were shown to the lady of the house. He had been unusually haggard in appearance, his eyes rimmed with scarlet and the lids surrounding them swollen. Even his suit was crumpled, the tie pulled loose and the top buttons of his shirt undone. He had forgone his jacket, remaining in only his waistcoat, and his trousers were creased. He had greeted them weakly and had refused the offer of a moment to bid his wife farewell, instead bluntly claiming that the woman in the guest room was not his wife. He had also forbidden his son final access to his mother, stating that he would rather that his son remember his mother as she was prior to her seeming descent into madness.

It was clear to the doctors in attendance that Lady Phantomhive was not in her right mind and, naturally, it would be far better for her to be in a safe environment away from her poor son where her condition could be examined further and progress regarding her mental state could be made.

It was on a bright summer's morning that the Countess' bags were packed and she was quickly sent off to an asylum somewhere on the outskirts of London. She did not turn around in the coach to see her son gazing upon her exit with an expressionless face.

:: ::

"Where is mummy going?"

The red-eyed man quirked one fine, black brow and let out a sigh of exasperation. "Open, young master," he reminded him in a gentle scold. Ciel dutifully did as he was told (he wouldn't want to make Sebastian unhappy, after all. Sebastian was his... best friend) and allowed his jaw to relax so that his faithful butler could continue polishing the line of even, pearly little teeth. Sebastian told him often how lucky he was that the transition from milk to adult teeth had been gracious and left him with such a flawless set, despite the amount of sugary treats the butler would feed him. "Your mother isn't very well," the butler continued smoothly, "She has been admitted to hospital so that they can make her better."

Ciel's visible eye widened a little at that in surprise. Mummy not well? He wondered whether it was her asthma playing up again, he knew how awful that could be, having inherited the condition from her. However, she had never been hospitalised because of it before.

As it was, he relaxed back against the armrest of the sofa as the butler perched beside him and allowed to finish the job at hand, little brows crinkling in the middle as he frowned. A nasty nagging feeling settled at the pit of his stomach, something told him that he should be more concerned about his mother's wellbeing, but the thoughts were quickly falling away as soon as they entered his head. He found that he was often forgetful these days. He struggled to remember a time before Sebastian's appearance in his life, though he was sure that there had been something there. It was just that any happening before his butler had been in his life to care for him seemed horribly insignificant - more of a nuisance than anything, really. After all everything must have been terribly boring before he had a friend of his very own.

With a sigh, Sebastian drew away from his task. "Not to worry, my Little Master," he soothed, one gloved hand reaching to perch atop the crown of the boy's head with reverence. "I will not leave you. I will never leave you alone in that darkness." He was silent for a moment, seemingly reflecting on what he was about to say and he frowned just a little, something which, on any other face would have seemed perfectly human. Childishly, Ciel felt the desire to reach out and touch the moon-kissed cheek in return, to feel the ripple of that emotion beneath his fingers. "Your parents, Young Master, and their relationships with you, are fleeting things. They are nothing in comparison to the bond between us. That is something very important to understand," he added, "They can never understand you like I do. They are simply not... close enough. You are promised to me, and you have been for a very long time, and very soon we will be together always."

Though Sebastian's cool exterior never once faded, it was the most personal conversation, Ciel thought, that they had ever experienced together. Sebastian never revealed such things to him, and the importance of this very moment as the two of them sat in the most ordinary circumstances was not lost on him.

"Like getting married," Ciel found himself commenting softly, the whole description that had poured from Sebastian's lips reminding him of the arrangement that he had been introduced to from birth between himself and his cousin, Lizzie.

"Yes." A smile curled along Sebastian's lips, and he seemed contented with Ciel's response. "It is somewhat like marriage."

This confused him for a moment. How could he marry two people? But... ah. Suddenly he realised how silly he had been. Of course he wouldn't marry Lizzie, not now. Sebastian had just said that those sorts of things didn't matter, didn't he? He suddenly felt very small where he sat on the settee and very unsure of himself. Did he want to marry Sebastian? Of course he wanted to be with his butler forever, and this seemed like the most straightforward way to ensure that, but surely the relationship between husband and wife was different to what was between them. And surely they weren't allowed to get married - they were both boys, after all. But... his brows pulled together once again. Perhaps he couldn't quite understand what Sebastian was trying to say. Perhaps marriage was just the easiest thing that Sebastian could compare it to.

"You are thinking too hard." He was interrupted from his musings by the amused voice, soft and warm like melted butter. The gloved hand slipped from the top of his head, grazing down the side of his face over his eyepatch before coming to rest on his bottom lip, giving it a very gentle tug. "It isn't terribly important, not for a little while yet. Now, why not go and play upstairs? I have a few boring things to attend to here, and soon I will be up to bring you to lunch."

At the encouraging, little smile his butler gave him, he found himself standing with a weak smile of his own, making his way to the door of the parlour.

"Ah, and Young Master?" He turned to see the tall figure of the butler standing, hands folded behind his back. "Do not go into your father's study. Daddy is not very fun to be around at the moment."

With that, the door fell closed between them with a resounding 'thud.'

:: ::

[1892]

Growing up is an odd, rather tiresome process. And how are we to know, really, when it is over? The days roll by one by one and we do not even know it is happening until we glance in the mirror for a moment and we are met with the stark realisation that, that's me, and instead of seeing a bright-eyed little boy or little girl, we see a young man or young woman in their stead, and we are not quite sure for a moment who they are or how or when they got there.

Ciel watched as his cousin Elizabeth developed before him from the child she had once been to the young lady who sat at the table in the conservatory with him for afternoon tea. No more playing in the garden or on one of the drawing room floors with prototypes of the Funtom company's new creations. She no longer grasped him in a wrenching hug when she saw him, but instead she greeted him with a gentle smile and a delicate squeeze of his hand and he did not understand why her eyes were as blue as ever, but now sad when they saw him. He did not understand it, until he realised that he did not have the strength to reach for the sugar pot and add more to his tea (Sebastian had always reprimanded him terribly for his sweet-tooth) and she had to pass it over for him. He did not understand it until he glanced at his appearance in the glinting silver of his spoon and saw the sallow skin of his face, looking up to her own rosy countenance in comparison. He did not understand it until he bid her goodbye and, when he reached to put her arms ever so carefully, so uncharacteristically, around him, he realised that his forehead only brushed her shoulder.

He was seventeen years old now, would be eighteen in a mere two weeks, and the last time that he recalled having new clothes made for him was when he was twelve.

That night, when his ever faithful and never changing butler prepared him for bed, the words that had been churning around inside his head all day suddenly spilled out of him for the butler to hear. "Am I ugly?"

Sebastian stopped in his tracks where he had been folding the shirt that he had worn that day over one lean forearm. The wine-red eyes widened minimally as he glanced up at his young charge's face. "Of course not. Why would you think so, Young Master?"

Suddenly, he could not bear to make eye contact with the man, and he dropped his gaze to the thin hands resting entwined upon his lap. "Other children grow up. They get taller and they change and they turn into adults and I... I..." His voice was choked suddenly, eyes still completely dry, but he simply couldn't find the will to go on. The butler was immediately on his knees before him, his own hands enfolded within the man's gloved ones.

"You are beautiful." One hand released his own, gloved thumb coming up to brush the skin beneath his eyes, which was irritated and a little sore. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on, and anyone who does not see it is a fool."

"Father won't look at me anymore," he was quick to retort.

"Your father has been tired recently."

"He's been tired since mother left," Ciel snapped. He didn't mean to, and it wasn't Sebastian's fault that his mother was no longer there, of course, but he simply couldn't help it. His frustration had been bubbling within him for a terribly long time now. Sebastian's eyebrows raised, evidently surprised at his little outburst. Calming somewhat, breath coming a little easier to him, he felt quite remorseful. "I'm sorry," he admitted in a low mumble. A small, forgiving smile lined Sebastian's mouth and Ciel felt his body relax a little.

"Now, enough of that sad face," the butler chided gently. "That's no way to look so close to your birthday. My little master is growing up," he observed in a low hum. "We have a dinner to prepare for and, if I may, Young Master, I would rather like to invite a guest of honour. Another little boy just like you."

Ciel felt the hot frustration welling up inside him, the need to tell Sebastian that he wasn't a little boy, that he hadn't been for some time now. But the butler seemed so determined to have him remain a little dolly-baby. Instead, he compressed it all deep inside himself, hid it under a tight smile and nodded in agreement at the man's proposal. He was somewhat intrigued - he had not been allowed to have much contact with others his age, taking his poor health into consideration. He wondered just how alike he and this other boy could possibly be.

:: ::

On the day of his eighteenth birthday, Ciel was dressed in his finest and escorted downstairs to the crowd of well-wishers gathered in the main hall of the manner. There stood a horde of familiar faces; Lizzie, naturally, and her parents and brother, and his auntie Ann, and Klaus who had just recently arrived back in the country, as well as many unfamiliar figures, friends of his parents and business partners and those who held a particular significance with the Phantomhive family. And he wished that he could remain steadier as he descended the staircase, wished he didn't rely so heavily on the little cane gifted to him a few years earlier, wished he could ignore their forced smiles and the worry in their eyes and wished, most importantly, that the notable absence of both of his parents did not bother him as much as it did.

His half smile, however, remained in place and he shook the hands of his guests, catching up with them individually in his weak, throaty voice. It was not until his shakily excused himself, seating himself heavily at the side of the room and allowing them all to mingle among themselves, that he caught sight of Sebastian's 'guest of honour.' He did not, at first, notice the boy who was slightly than himself, until the clear, bell-like voice spoke directly next to him. "Ciel Phantomhive."

A little startled, he turned himself marginally to face the boy beside him. "Good evening," a pause, and then, "I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

A smile curled the slightly chapped lips of the blonde boy beside him, his blue eyes glinting though the paleness of his skin implied illness. "Alois Trancy," the boy returned. "I believe," he leaned towards him a little conspiratorially, "I believe that our butlers may know each other." He gave a little nod over in the direction of the burgundy-eyed man who, Ciel was surprised to see, was not standing alone. Another man, perhaps a little taller, a little broader about the shoulders, with golden eyes glimmering behind a pair of wire-framed glasses and slick black hair stood with him, mirroring his pose with his hands tucked away neatly behind his back. The two did not seem to be particularly close, but exchanged words now and then as though they were simply making polite conversation. "Claude never talks to people unless there's a reason behind it," the boy continued, amusement colouring his tone.

"How odd," Ciel commented lightly, "Sebastian always talks to my guests. He would think it rude and unbefitting of the Phantomhive butler not to."

At the masked jibe, Alois' eyes narrowed, and Ciel felt a strange exhilaration bubble up inside him at the effectiveness of his subtle gloating. The glare, however, disappeared quite quickly and instead Alois let out a shrill chuckle, waving a hand dismissively. "Either way, I thought it would be interesting to meet someone else who has one."

Ciel raised a brow. "Has... what, exactly?"

In response to this, Alois angled himself further to observe the boy next to him. "How odd," the blonde boy tossed back at him, blue eyes gleaming with delight, "You mean you really don't know..." his voice trailed away suggestively, lilting upwards at the end in a childish, keening way. "Of course, you know that your beloved butler is not quite normal, isn't that right?"

"What on earth are you talking about?" Ciel was growing more and more frustrated with the situation, and with the boy who was supposedly his guest of honour. Trancy's whole demeanour was insufferable, the gloating way in which he spoke as though he were vastly more knowledgable than Ciel.

The blonde boy chuckled. "Well, what with his behaviour, I'm amazed you never realised that something was out of place earlier." He drew himself up proudly like a foul ruffling its feathers and Ciel scowled.

"Enough. You're speaking in riddles and I don't have time for it. Good evening." With that, he stood a little unsteadily and began to stalk out of the ballroom. That was until he heard the reedy voice call after him.

"Phantomhive! Ciel... wait." Alois had also risen to his feet and was in hot pursuit of the smaller boy, it seemed, coming to a halt in front of him and appearing quite put out and almost reluctant. "There was something I wanted to speak to you about. Just... Look, come here. Come with me." Ciel's slender wrist was caught within the other boy's clammy hand and he found himself being tugged from the room. Ciel's flustered protests were cut off quite quickly with a sharp, "Shh!" from the other boy.

He was pulled out through the side doors of the ballroom and into one of the main hallways, upstairs and into one of the smaller hallways that branched off from the landing. "Now," Alois announced, when he seemed content with getting himself completely lost in the unfamiliar house, paused outside a door. "What's in this room?"

"That... It's just a parlour. My mother used to go in there quite often, I think. Now tell me what exactly is going on here," Ciel babbled in a frustrated rush of words.

"Ah, ah," the taller boy hummed as though indulging a child, "All in good time, little Phantomhive."

Ciel had barely pushed an indignant, "How dare you!" through his lips before the door to the parlour was opened and he was shoved inside, the heavy wood falling shut behind them.

"Now, then," Alois murmured, "Tell me all you know about your life before your butler entered it."

"I..." Ciel had been ready, poised with a quick answer on his tongue. However, as soon as the question was put to him, he found that he could not quite remember the answer to it. "I'm not sure. What does it matter, anyway?" he questioned defensively. "Sebastian is my butler, what has it got to do with you?"

The blonde boy was smirking once again. "You don't remember, do you? You don't remember a life before Sebastian, but you're so sure that there must have been one there. Now listen to me, I'm going to show you the answer to it all rather than telling you. After all, you're not likely to listen," the other boy muttered with a roll of his eyes. Nimble fingers drifted to the buttons of his waistcoat, before he paused. "And try not to throw up."

Ciel's hoarse cry of, "What do you think you're doing?" fell on deaf ears as the boy continued unbuttoning his waistcoat, and then the crisp white shirt underneath. Against the stark alabaster of his skin, Ciel could see the snowy white cloth of bandages. However, the bandages were marred with a deep red staining, browning already at the edges. Alois clucked his tongue in distaste at the sight, before reaching to unwrap the folds. At what was unveiled, Ciel's hands flew to his mouth and he gagged, starting to take the boy's final warning seriously.

Beneath the bandages, brutish chunks seemed to have been removed from the otherwise pale expanse of Alois' side. The area was littered with teeth marks, some of the wounds apparently older and scabbed, some shining pink scars, and some newer and still glistening dimly. "What... is that?" he pressed weakly.

Alois glanced up, as though he had momentarily forgotten that the other boy was there and, in some horrendous way, Ciel felt as though he was intruding on some terribly personal act. "The first one was a deposit of sorts. It was my payment." Payment? Something pulled at the very edges of Ciel's mind, some distant fairytale about a boy who had been told not to talk to strangers. "They don't bother me anymore," Alois continued with a fond smile, though he winced as he ran a hand over the mess of flesh, "Because they're gifts from Claude." Ciel's hands were clammy as he clenched them into fists, somehow unable to draw his eyes away from the boy's wounds. At the name of the distant butler he had seen in the ballroom, however, he felt his heart drop like lead into his stomach. That butler... that man had done this to him? And the other boy was somehow trying to apply this to his Sebastian? He shook his head caught in a stomach-churning mixture of disbelief and horror.

"No. I don't know what's going on here, I don't know what you're trying to say, but-"

"Seeing as I've shown you mine," the boy interrupted, "Perhaps you'd lift that eyepatch of yours and show me your payment."

Ciel's mouth was suddenly dry and something flashed across his mind's eye; a large claw and blood and the sight of rotting flesh. "They... They don't know who did this to me."

Alois was quiet for a moment, his expression bewildered. "You mean, you really don't...? My God, how young were you when it happened? You can't even see it for yourself, can you? He's draining you. Not as obviously, maybe, but he is. Look at yourself. You're weak and you just keep on getting weaker as long as he's living off you. That's the payment. They isolate you and then they drown you, that's just what they do. But," a grin twisted its way suddenly across the blonde boy's mouth and Ciel's immobile hands were clutched between both of the other boy's before he could do anything. "We're lucky!" The liquid that had oozed from the boy's wounds was being pressed against his own hands, they were slippery but the other boy's hold was tight and, try as he might, Ciel could not twist away from him. "We're lucky that they decided to even cast a glance at two sacks of offal like us!"

"Stop it, let go! Let-"

But Ciel did not have to struggle for much longer, because before he could finish his sentence, a small thread of blood began to trickle from the corner of Alois' mouth. The thread turned into a stream and the taller boy released his hands woodenly as his own flew to his mouth just before the blood flowed from it erratically, as though there was no stopping it. A great flood of the thick, crimson liquid gushed from his mouth as though he throat had been slit, running down the exposed, pale chest and dripping into a forming puddle on the floor. A great choking came from the blonde boy and, staggering back, Ciel found that all he could do was turn on his heel and run from the room.

The cold sweat of horror upon his brow, his hands trembling, Ciel found that his path was blocked off by a dark figure before he could reach the ballroom to call for help. Glancing upwards, the familiar wine red eyes were the first things he noticed and he took an instinctual step back, staring up at the butler like a cornered animal.

"Why, Young Master," the man addressed him in apparent surprise, "You look absolutely frantic. Whatever happened?" Without waiting for an answer, however, Sebastian clutched his face between gloved fingertips, tilting his head backwards so as to inspect his uncovered eye. "Do you feel fevered?"

"No-... Sebastian!" Ciel spluttered in frustration, managing to wrench his face away from the prying fingers. "The boy that I was just with, that Trancy boy that you invited - there's something wrong with him. He's bleeding, he needs a doctor, just do something, Sebastian." The words poured from him in a panicked stream, whilst the butler merely looked confused. Anger flared up within Ciel's chest and he felt the sudden desire to shove the butler back into the room, to have him see with his own eyes the horror that Ciel himself had just witnessed.

"Young Master," the butler interrupted, the rich voice tinged with mild consternation, "You did not enter that parlour accompanied by anyone. You were alone." The words settled in the boy's stomach like a lump of ice. He shook his head desperately in denial.

"No... No, I know what I was doing and who I was with, Sebastian. If you don't believe me then look in that room." At the butler's lack of movement, Ciel's lips tightened in a snarl. "Look! That's an order, Sebastian. As your master I'm ordering you to look in that room and tell me if you don't see Alois Trancy bleeding at the mouth." Chest heaving with each lungful of air he took, he raised one trembling finger to point down the corridor, staring unfalteringly at the man in front of him. With a sort of resignation but not another word of protest, the butler turned on his heel and retraced his master's steps until he reached the door that had swung shut behind the boy in his panicked departure. Without pause, the man pulled down on the handle and allowed the door to open. He hesitated for a moment and for the first time that Ciel could recall, those broad, suited shoulders sagged as the butler appeared to sigh. The boy could already feel the cold trepidation ripple throughout him.

"The room is empty, Young Master," Sebastian announced with a weariness in his odd, maroon eyes.

"No!" The boy insisted, pressing forward and leaning through the doorframe so as to see the contents of the room. He clutched his clammy hands into trembling fists, however, as his butler was proved right. There was no-one in the room; no choking boy, no pool of blood at his feet. Ciel drew backwards, leaning against the wall of the corridor outside as the weight of the situation settled upon him. "I saw it happen. I talked to him." The butler was silent as the thoughts flitted through his master's head. "The butler," he tried quickly, his voice barely more than a whisper as he raised his face to meet his own servant's gaze. "His name was Claude. I saw him. You were talking to him."

"Now, my little master," Sebastian began after only a moment's silence. He stepped forward to as to stand in front of the boy and bend at the waist to meet the young man's line of vision, "Why on earth would a servant attend an event if not accompanied by his master?" He dropped his gaze for a moment with another small sigh, as though put out by a small child's antics. "You are an adult now, Young Master. And I really must insist that you cease such games."

"Shut up." He had spat the words out before he even had a chance to register them. The butler's eyes widened slightly in surprise and it was no wonder. Ciel had always tried his best to be a good child, had always tried to please the man that he had deemed his only friend. But suddenly, something rang horribly true in the Trancy boy's words. Staring at the flawless face of the ebony haired man before him, Ciel could see with clarity that it was just that - flawless. He could see neither pores nor discolouration nor scars or any marks for that matter. Even the skin around his eyes, which on anyone else would appear shaded in blue, particularly in the case of someone with Sebastian's hectic work schedule, was a perfect ivory. The lashes were too thick to be natural, the whites of his eyes too clear, the maroon of the irises a little too pigmented to suggest any kind of condition that would result in such an unusual colour. His upper lip formed a perfect Cupid's Bow and it was in no way out of proportion with the lower one. His sharp jaw line was perfectly clean-shaven, as though hair had never grown there at all. But... Ciel's mind began working swiftly, ticking through each possible answer to his observations... Perhaps, if the Trancy boy had been telling the truth (whether he was a hallucination or not) hair never had grown there. He thought back to the pallid reflection that he had seen when taking tea with Lizzie, how he did not seem to grow, how his lungs seemed to burn with each breath he took. And all the while, Sebastian remained timeless - not a line upon his face, nor a single grey strand in the mane of his obsidian hair. "Stand away from me," he ordered hoarsely, unable to deny the relief to himself when the butler did as he was told and straightened up, standing back a pace. The wine red eyes he had previously been inspecting, however, grew suddenly cold.

"I shall inform the guests that you are not feeling well enough to continue socialising tonight," he informed his master, before turning on his heel and leaving without another word.

In the butler's absence, a thousand streams of thought ran through Ciel's panicked mind at once, most of them regurgitating the Trancy boy's words to him. Leaning his head back heavily against the wall behind him, he began to piece things together. Isolating and drowning seemed to strike a chord within him, repeating every now and then. His mind was drawn harshly to his parents, to his mother's sudden illness and his father's absence and something just did not settle with him. With only a moment's hesitation, he retreated further down the corridor towards a set of stairs that he knew resided at the end. The stairs brought him to his father's wing of the mansion and it did not take him long to reach the infamous study door that he had very rarely been allowed to walk through as a young child.

One sharp-fingered hand reached towards the handle, hovering in mid-air for a brief second or two, before pulling downwards.

As soon as the door swung open, Ciel was overwhelmed by the stench within. His eyes watered and he dropped his face to lower his mouth and nose into the crook of his arm before he could see anything of the contents. His ears were filled with a distant buzz, though rather than the hum that usually accompanies loss of consciousness, the noise in the room seemed to be more substantial, as though it was an actual presence. When Ciel gathered himself enough to look upwards, he could see the reason why.

There, sprawled in the freshly reupholstered leather chair behind the grand oak desk was his father's corpse. Flies crowded around it, landing, he was horrified to see, on the ivory of his rib cage that peeked through the great crevasse that had been ripped down his chest. His sunken cheeks were stained with drying blood, hid head lolling to one side, his eyes open and dull like misted glass. His papery hands clutched at the arms of the chair as though he had been in a restful recline at the time of his death, though his injuries suggested anything but a peaceful end.

Knees suddenly feeling very unsteady, Ciel staggered back away from the body a step, before feeling a terribly dry sensation at the back of his throat, his tongue too heavy in his mouth. He doubled over and threw up the elaborate dinner that Sebastian had served him earlier, the vile contents of his stomach staining his polished shoes. A dry sob wrenching itself from his chest, he lifted his trembling arm to wipe his mouth off on his sleeve, his eyes drawn in horror to the corpse in front of him. When his thoughts returned to him, there was no doubt in his mind regarding who had ripped his father's chest open.

And - God, was it too cliche of him to think of that infamous phrase 'speak of the devil?' - two gloved hands came over his eyes, covering them effectively in a sickening inversion of that 'guess who' game that young people in the fervent throes of early love like to play. Those hands spun him with a gentle insistence so that his feet were forced to follow the movement on his head, the butler's fingers sliding around to cup his face. He felt a tug at the back of his head as the strings that held his eyepatch in place were released, the robust fabric slipping between them and falling to the floor. One gloved thumb reached forward to brush over the mass of scar tissue that he kept hidden away from prying eyes, only to be quickly followed by the warmth of the butler's breath as he inclined his head towards his immobile master.

"Happy birthday, my little master," the man murmured, only to punctuate the statement with the clamping of his own mouth upon Ciel's in a kiss so wrong, so misplaced, that it made his stomach churn all over again.

:: ::

Mark 9:43-48

"And if your hand causes you to sin, cut it off. It is better for you to enter life crippled than with two hands to go to hell, to the unquenchable fire. And if your foot causes you to sin, cut it off. It is better for you to enter life lame than with two feet to be thrown into hell. And if your eye causes you to sin, tear it out. It is better for you to enter the kingdom of God with one eye than with two eyes to be thrown into hell."

:: ::

Secondary AN: And there we have it! I found Ciel a little difficult to keep in character considering the fact that I believe that being held captive was such a central factor in his later behaviour, but hopefully I did alright. I have added a little bite to him in his later years, as I think an absent mother and a reclusive (or dead, apparently) father would definitely have some sort of effect. Just to make it known, the next chapter should be the final one. I have no idea when it will be complete as I'm about to sit an English Literature exam in a week, but please bear with me! Also, as I've mentioned before, I have a few other things that I'm working on at the moment that will be more like very long oneshots for the most part, so please keep a look out for those as well. Feel free to message me anytime if you have any queries! For now I'll answer anything in particular that has been mentioned in the reviews lately.

To Vafreek - You flatter me! Thank you so, so much, I really appreciate your lovely comments, though I'm sure that you give me too much credit and there are plenty of other writers far more talented than me! But all the same, thank you, that means a lot to me.

To Spheals - Ah, I'm not sure we're talking about the same thing. I've never heard of AICE. Perhaps you're talking about an American alternative of some sort? I'm not sure, but I'm very happy that you like my story in any case!

To Santrays - Thank you so much! And don't worry, hopefully you won't have long to wait regarding Sebastian's plans. And I hope that you enjoyed seeing a little more of Ciel and his development in this chapter. Admittedly, it's very hard to control him without the influence of the backstory he's given in Kuroshitsuji. And I'm so happy you like my Sebastian!

To Pandora'sMoon - Your review made me laugh so much! I love to see readers getting so involved with my work. And thank you, I rather liked Rachel as well, but unfortunately sacrifices must be made for plot progression from time to time. Thank you for your wonderful review.

And to everyone else, thank you so much for your kind words! For the most part, I just respond to things that are particularly picked up on in the reviews and answer any queries, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate every review just as much, as well as the follows and favourites. Thank you, everyone, if I could I would fly to each corner of the world to give you all hugs.