Chapter 7: In.My.Dreams.I.Never.Die

Come on, it's time to go...

~-~-~

Over the years, one thing I discovered was that lies were the greatest tool of the Evil Nobleman. Lies were, essentially, what made that black, secret world turn. For years, I had lied about my butler, lied about my parents, lied about my home, lied about how I really wished that sometimes I could bring myself to cry. I lied about my eye, about the brand on my back, about the real reason why I never wanted to be alone.

And those lies were all useful in their own rights. They allowed me to continue on as I was, walking that fine line between something which was wrong but excusable and something which could not be forgiven. However, they were not the lies that were the most crucial. The ones which played the most important part were the lies which I told myself—the ones which made the hate I felt for myself lessen just enough to keep on living.

That I continually had my house rebuilt simply for convenience's sake.

That I didn't feel a sliver of dread whenever I saw Her Majesty's seal in my post.

That I wasn't in love with Sebastian.

Those three were the most common, I think, and the most telling.

Once Elizabeth finally left, I seemed to flounder in that space between sleeping and waking for a very long time. Some part of me realized that I was in my bed, in my London townhouse, but a separate, more powerful part of me was intent on letting that reality drift away for the time being. It was another of my defense mechanisms—sleeping until whatever stress was being put on me had been reduced to a manageable level. Even though I had slept a day and a night away, my body was more than willing to succumb to sleep again.

As I slipped into sleep, I told myself over and over again that I wasn't a coward.

~-~-~

I felt fingers sliding gently through my hair, combing through the knots without causing me any pain. They were familiar fingers, though it had been a long time since I had last felt their warmth. My mother's nails were short and well-manicured, the same way they had always been. As her hand passed over me, her scent filled my nose with an overwhelming feeling of safety.

"Sleeping again, Ciel? I thought you had work to do."

Her voice had never been average. It was deep, and sweet, like honey, and seemed to float over me like a comforting blanket. This was the voice that had sung me to sleep when nightmares would have kept me awake. This was the voice that called out to me, pained, burning, when my mother locked eyes with me that one last time. Now, it spoke to me with a smile.

"I'm too tired to work."

"You know what they say, Honey—'you can sleep when you're dead'."

She laughed, a sound that I had gone too long without hearing. In the six years since her death, my mother had not changed at all.

"That's a bit tasteless, Mother."

"I couldn't help myself. I was hoping I'd get to see your smile while you were here."

We fell into a brief silence, with only the soft rustle of her fingers carding through may hair breaking the void. I wanted to tell her everything—tell her why I couldn't bring myself to smile much anymore—but I couldn't. The words wouldn't come out.

"You've grown into a fine young man, Ciel. I am proud of you."

I snorted suddenly, an undignified and inappropriate sound.

"There's nothing about me to be proud of."

"Not from what I've heard. I had a lovely chat yesterday with that pretty young maid of yours, Maylene. She seemed like a wonderful person. So did the others."

"You...saw them?"

She was quiet for a moment, and I realized that no matter how reassuring it was to see my mother again, this conversation was doomed to be full of things that would have been better left unsaid.

"I'm sorry, Honey. They arrived a few days ago."

I should have been sad, and I suppose a small part of me was. As much as I showed frustration towards my servants, I really did like them. I wish there was a better, more appropriate word for what I felt for them, but if there is, I don't know it. Their antics, on many occasions, brought me out of the deepest depressions, when nothing else seemed worth it. Sometimes, just looking at Finnie's smiling face was enough to pull a responding grin from my own mouth.

So, yes, I was sad that I would never see them again. I would never taste Bard's abysmal cooking, never see Finnie's beautiful roses, never hear Maylene's frustrated yell as another cart of teacups fell to the floor. But more than that, I was happy. Because, if they were here with my mother, it meant that they could live the rest of their existences in peace. I had no name for where this was, nor did I have a name for the feeling of completely overwhelming peace that flowed through my veins, but I was glad that they would be able to feel it too.

Even though the Queen's Watchdog would never rest in the Elysian Fields, it seemed that his servants would.

"I'm glad that you had them with you these long years. I must admit, I was worried when your father and I had to leave you. You were still so young." She brushed the fringe of hair from my forehead, pushing my black bangs away from my eyes.

"I was young. I was not, however, helpless."

For the first time, I turned my eyes toward her, looking at the face which I had been so reluctant to see after six years without doing so. She looked different than I remembered her, but I knew that was due more to the gradual distortion of memory than her actually looking any different.

She seemed saddened at my words. I felt a moment of strange insufficiency, knowing that I would never be able to understand her feelings. As someone at the head of such a bitter and bloody legacy, I would never allow myself to know the feeling of a parent's love for their child. My mind would never be able to grasp the sheer, overwhelming guilt my mother felt for leaving me, no matter how simplistic or unnecessary that guilt may have been. Somehow, I knew I would never understand her feelings, just as she would never understand my own.

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Mother. I was not alone, and sometimes I was happy."

"I would have you be happy more often than 'sometimes', Ciel."

I reached up and stole her hand, halting the motion of her fingers in my hair. Her skin felt warm under mine, something which surprised me almost as the same revelation had surprised me so long ago, in the carriage, with Sebastian.

"The legacy that was left to me does not leave much room for happiness. And I have done my very best to sabotage what little room there was."

"Oh, Ciel. Don't you have a right to be happy?"

"I gave up that right when I promised my soul to the devil. I grew up, but there were sacrifices that I had to make in order to do it."

She looked down at me, disappointment painting her features.

"Your father would be very sad to hear you say that."

"Father was the one who passed this burden onto me, Mother. Just as he should share some of the blame for my pain, he should understand what I had to do."

Her fingers curled more tightly into mine, and her legs shifted slightly underneath her lacy, white dress.

"Your father...is not here with me."

"I know. That's why...I'm glad I got this one chance to talk to you again. My time is almost up."

"Sixteen years is too short a life, Ciel."

Her honeyed voice had become choked, and she wrapped her arms around me. She smelled like patchouli, the way she always used to smell, and her hair was just as soft as I remembered as it brushed the side of my face.

As I sat there, with that scent flooding my senses, thoughts of everything that had happened in my life—everyone I had met, all the places I had been—flooded through my mind. In that moment, I came to a conclusion that perhaps I should have come to a very long time ago. Except for one regret...

"It was a good life."

~-~-~

When I woke up again, the eastern sun was just beginning to peer through the curtains, bathing the room in a sort of distorted half-light, where the colors were somewhere between glorious and dead. Somehow, my dream—whether real or not—had left me with a sense of peace. The stress that had pushed me into sleep had all but evaporated, leaving me feeling refreshingly hollow, like a vase emptied of dead remnants in wait for new blooms. There were many things that I understood, now. My house was gone, all but one of my mortal servants were dead, and my life would be over soon, as well. Somehow, though, I was still happy. It was still alright.

"I thought you were going to sleep forever, Young Master."

Sebastian was sitting in the chair over by the corner, barely visible, draped in his black clothing. In the room, only the slight rustle of a pant leg crossing over another broke the silence. There was a new understanding between us, a realization that the cage in which I had kept my demon had finally been opened, and nothing remained to maintain the facade of master and servant. My revenge had been realized. Sebastian's side of the contract—to keep me alive and healthy, and to aid me in the apprehension of my parents' murderer—had been fulfilled.

"I would have, if I could. I was having a very nice dream."

"You know that dreams are fleeting."

"I know," I said, with a brief look around the room. "Did Elizabeth leave?"

His eyes seemed to capture mine for a moment, with some sort of question, or some sort some sort of challenge hidden within them that I was not capable of understanding. Now that the time had come, I was both nervous and relieved.

"Yes. Tanaka escorted her home a few hours ago. She would have liked to stay, but she rightly assumed that her parents were quite worried about her."

"...good. Good."

While the first was said somewhat weakly, the second was said with much more conviction. The truth was, I didn't want Elizabeth here. I did not love her. I did not want to marry her. I did not want her to see me get taken away.

My stomach chose that moment to protest the fact that I likely not eaten in days. The rumble was loud enough to carry across the room, and I almost thought I saw a brief smile skitter across Sebastian's face.

"Would you like something to eat, Young Master?"

Yes, I wanted to say. I would very much like something to eat. Perhaps a roast, with winter vegetables and a glass of red wine. Only a week before, I wouldn't have hesitated for even a moment, but, as I said, there had been a change in the status quo. If Sebastian wanted to feed me, then he would do so. If he did not want to, then he was under no obligation.

He must have realized this, and I can imagine that the thought must have given him an indescribable amount of pleasure. After six years, he was finally getting exactly what he had always wanted.

"I believe that Tanaka has undertaken the task of producing a meal for you. Somehow he seemed to know that you would awaken soon."

I nodded. Tanaka had always had a sixth sense when it came to me. I wondered, sometimes, where exactly my father had come across the old man, or even if it had been my father who found him at all. No matter how illogical, It didn't seem impossible that Tanaka had simply been with the Phantomhives since their beginning.

I stayed silent, wondering how we could continue with the idle conversation when we both knew well and good how it was going to end. We'd known it since the beginning. Since the moment when I first felt the softest touch of feathers, I had known how the chronicle of my life would complete itself. Neither of us knew how long we would take to reach that end, but that we would one day do so seemed inevitable. Now that the time had come, I thought it must have instilled a sense of relief in both of us. I know it did for me.

"After I finish eating, I would like an hour or so to myself," I said. It was not phrased like an order. For the first time in my relationship with Sebastian, I was forced to ask for permission.

"Of course, My Lord."

~-~-~

The meal that Tanaka had prepared for me was not a roast with tender vegetables and a glass of red wine. Instead, it was a simple stew, one which he had likely chosen due to the recipe's ability to keep while they waited for me to awaken. It was satisfying enough, but for what I believed to be my last meal, I was hoping for something a little more memorable. After all, how often had I had a bowl of Tanaka's stew over the years?

After the meal, I excused myself to my study, where I had two things to do. The first, I began by taking out a clean sheet of paper from my desk drawer, and inking up my pen.

To My Dearest Queen Victoria,

For many years, I have served you. Even when I would have liked nothing better than to hide from my duty, I have never failed to do what you would ask of me. Many of the things which I have done, as I am sure you are aware, are very close to crossing the line between what is right and moral, and what is wrong. I apologize for this. Somehow, I feel as though, had I been a better servant to the Crown, I could have found different ways to do the things which you wanted me to do.

My Queen, I say these things because the end of this long, dark road I have traveled is at hand. My house has been destroyed, and all but one of my servants has been slaughtered. Despite this, or perhaps because of this, I feel the need to beg your assistance in protecting what little I do have left to my name.

As you may know, my fiancée, the Lady Elizabeth Middleford, also resides in London, and I would beg you to look after her. I would find it highly strange if she did not find another to marry in the coming years—she is young, affluent, and very pretty—but until that time, I do not like the idea of my fiancée being as vulnerable as she likely will be. She does not have much knowledge of the true workings of the world, not that I tried particularly well to help her learn them. Her innocence is one of her more charming factors.

I also leave behind an elderly servant, Tanaka. Without me, he will have nowhere to call home. I would ask you to take him into your household, treating him with the respect due to someone who has taken care of me when such care was much needed. I understand that I am asking you to go out of your way for someone who has likely caused you no small amount of grief in his six years of service. I am aware that I am leaving you with no heir, and no chance of continuing my family's service to you into the next generation. However, I hope that the things which I have done for you over these past six years will be enough to pay for these favors.

Most Sincerely Yours,

Lord Ciel Phantomhive

When I finished the letter, I didn't give myself a chance to change my mind. I waved the paper around lightly, drying the ink, and folded the thick sheet into an envelope I had waiting for it. With the application of my seal—an elaborate 'P', the same seal my father had used for his own correspondence—the letter was complete.

For my second task, I returned to my bedroom, only a few doors away from my study.

There were very few personal touches in the bedroom. It was where I slept, it was connected to where I bathed, and that was the extent of its usefulness. Perhaps, in a way, I was glad that my mansion had been taken away from me. You see, I had no particular connection to the townhouse. I purchased it when I was eleven, with the help of the Queen, as a way to be closer to the Crown when I was needed. Unlike my mansion, which I had received from my father's will, the townhouse had no sentimental value to me. When Sebastian would collect his debt, I would feel no sadness about leaving this dreary place behind.

The curtains were closed. Even though the sun was, by now, shining brightly outside, the bedroom was dark and shut-in, with small particles of dust floating lazily through the air. The white bedsheets somehow seemed to glow in the darkness, contrasting with the dark blue clothing I had chosen for the day. As I sat on the bed, I ran my hand over the soft cotton of the duvet, and I was comforted.

After a few moments of quiet reflection, I reached into the bedside table, pulling out the only item left in the drawer.

The golden locket was really a beautiful piece of jewelry. My aunt had given it to me when I had returned, a month after my parents had been murdered, as a belated funeral present six years ago. After I took down the portrait of my mother and father that hung in the foyer of the Phantomhive mansion, that locket contained the only remaining pictures of my parents.

I opened it with careful yet shaking fingers. It had been a very long time since I had last been able to find the courage to look inside.

My mother looked just as she had in my dream the night before. Her long, blond hair was draped over one shoulder, and her eyes were serious, yet kind. As for my father, it was much more difficult to force myself to look at his face. For the same reason that I dislike those rare moments when Her Majesty forces me to put myself in the mind of a criminal, looking at my father was like looking at myself in five years' time. In his eyes, I saw both the lie which he told the world and the truth which he hid away inside himself. In my father, I saw every problem that I, myself, had been forced to face in my work for the Queen. In the set of his shoulders, I saw the same hidden beast that I would have eventually become.

I looked so much like my father, and so little like my mother. It was a shame, really, because I would have liked to have been more like my mother, in a lot of respects.

Reaching up, I selected a single strand of my straight, black hair, and pulled it out. With the same care that had used to open the locket, I curled the hair into a small coil, put it in between the pictures, and shut the golden keepsake tightly. I filled my lungs with a deep breath, and slid its golden chain around my neck.

It was an odd weight, because I usually refused to wear jewelry of any kind, but it was alright. As I tucked it inside my shirt, I wondered if what my mother had said was really true—if there really was anything I had done in my life that she could be proud of.

~-~-~

Sebastian was waiting for me in the foyer. As I descended the steps, his eyes met mine, with the same unreadable expression that they had held earlier. There was a finality in the way which he bowed to me, both because I knew it would be the last time, and because I also knew that it was no longer inappropriate for him to refrain.

"I'm ready, Sebastian."

He looked devastatingly handsome. Standing there, in his black overcoat, with his piercing red eyes, he was more handsome than I think I had ever seen him.

"Yes, My Lord."