A/N And so, as one journey ends, another begins. Do keep an eye out for the sequel to this fic. The title: His Mistress, Vengeful. I'm already almost finished with the first chapter, so hopefully, I can have Lady of Kalam put it up within a week or so (then, I swear, I'll consider leaving her account alone...but no promises damn gurl about time ). I hope the epilogue doesn't make y'all cry too much! By the way, I just watched Ciel in Wonderland a few days ago. Grell as the Cheshire Cat was bloody brilliant. His laugh will forever troll me at night oh shut up pond~ Enjoy, my dears!
Epilogue:
She was gone now, his Lady Grace, his partner-in-crime, his...lover. Grell Sutcliff had not wanted to leave Philomena, but he had had no choice; she was on the List. He had known about her death for a couple of days now; in fact, he'd been dreading it. It was awful to have to go on, pretending as if nothing was wrong, when all along...he knew his mistress would not make it through the night.
The red Shinigami waited until the Nottingham butler scurried out of the blood-splattered room, probably to call the Yard or something, he thought grimly, before he entered to collect the souls of the deceased. The first he approached was the man. As always, Grell cut into him with his death scythe, releasing the man's Cinematic Record.
"James Nottingham," he noted, voice devoid of emotion for once. "Born on the 2nd of March, 1854. Died on the 7th of July, 1899 due to excessive hemorrhaging. Remaks, none." He collected Mr. Nottingham's soul with no problem and turned to Grace's mother. "Samantha Nottingham. Born on the 12th of November, 1860. Died on the 7th of July, 1899, idem. Remarks, none." Steeling his nerves, he willed himself to turn to Grace's body.
Even in death, the young woman was still quite beautiful; her reddish-blonde hair was sticky with blood, as were her face and dress, but it suited her. Red suited her. Grace had once told him she wasn't terribly fond of the hue, but he never understood why. It looked fabulous on her, and the carmine that stained her made her all the more alluring...like a poisonous flower, almost.
Her arms were sprawled at odd angles, for she had fallen to the ground awkwardly upon being shot, so Grell bent to arrange them. When he was finished her hands were folded just underneath the messy wound to her chest, making her look at peace with the world; if one ignored the blood that coated her, she could've been sleeping.
His yellow-green eyes came to rest on the delicate, gold locket that was around her pale throat. Curious, he clicked it open to reveal a tiny image of himself, in that dreadful disguise of his, with a smiling Grace at his side. When had she ever had a photograph taken of them? The day flooded back to him after a second of intense thought. In between all the planning for the finale of their performance, Grace had insisted the two of them take a moment for a lover's portrait.
"That way, if you ditch me after we're done, I won't ever forget you!" she'd teased on the carriage ride to the studio. Of course, he hadn't thought she would've gotten it back so soon...Carefully, he undid the clasp that hooked at the back of her neck and stuffed the necklace into one of the deep pockets of his beloved scarlet coat. The least he could do was keep something to remind himself of his Lady...
The last thing he did before rising to collect her soul was gently slide her eyelids shut so her sightless, cloudy blue eyes were hidden. It completed her illusion of slumber.
Standing over Grace's corpse was just like when he stood over Madam's body, but with one subtle difference; Grace had not died at his hand, like Angelina had; however; he had allowed her to be killed, which was practically as bad. Maybe it was even worse, because he'd had knowledge of what was to come beforehand. He couldn't help but wish he had not left her that way he had. He could've protected her from that fatal bullet. The Board would've been furious that he'd let someone so unimportant, so minor, on the To-Die list live, but...perhaps it all would've been worth it? Shaking the regrets and the 'what-ifs' from his mind, he set to work. He could not change what had happened, after all. Grace was dead, and her soul needed to be collected.
"Philomena Stanhope. Born on the 26th of June, 1881. Died on the 7th of July, 1899 due to a-" The Cinematic Record stopped abruptly. "What the hell?" he murmured to himself, glancing back down at Grace. Her soul was not there for the taking. That wasn't possible unless...unless...
Fearing he was correct, Grell Sutcliff fled the Nottingham Manor.
In the mean time, Grace's eyes fluttered opened, and for one brief moment, the sky blue flickered blazing red.