It is too cold.
The bed provides little to no warmth for them, mattress slowly beginning to lose all the heat cradled within as the seconds pass, more so when a late autumn chill cuts in through the cracked glass of the window.
Much too cold.
The blankets are just as useless, tattered to the point they are little more than loosely wound threads, so rough from use that it only irritates the skin if they brush too hard against them. He's sure it is beginning to rub them raw.
Shivers wrack their body, but only one of them is conscious enough to notice.
He lies completely awake in the bed, mind plagued by insomnia despite his eyelids being weighed down by exhaustion. There is nothing he can do to remedy this state he has been forced into, the few times he manages to drift away met with a rude awakening when only nightmares come to greet him in unconsciousness. If not them, then the discomfort of the mattress or the pulsating agony still lacing his chest - prickled with fingers of ice each time the breeze brushes against the wound - is the perpetrator which drags him back into reality. Each time, the cold sweat forming along his brow only grows, steadily worsening his situation.
Exhaling a soft breath, his eyes shift to the side. This is where another person identical to himself lies, somehow able to rest peacefully as he remains ignorant to his sibling's discomfort. A blessing-in-disguise he wishes he could enjoy, rather than harboring all of this alone. His twin's expression is calm... undisturbed. A sight that almost allows him to forget how twisted this situation is, until he is brought back down to reality each time he dares to move away more than his body permits. It's something he wishes he could enjoy under different circumstances, but inside he knows he cannot allow himself to forget: this is not truly Ciel, and it never will be. It is nothing more than a false mockery of his true brother - something inhuman puppeting a face of tarnished memories - that he has been tethered to for the unforeseeable future. That tether is what blocks him from freedom, and what blocks him from ignoring the truth to seep down into the bitterness of a self-provided illusion of peace.
Hazily, he wonders if it will ever stop hurting. Despite the overload of pain-numbing medications the reaper forces into their bruised arms, the feeling of being torn apart with every movement never ceases. Sometimes when he is laying restless in bed at night just as he is now, and as he has been for the past three days, Astre feels as if they both may be decaying from the inside out. Worse still... he is almost beginning to welcome the idea. It couldn't be worse than living this way, even if he cannot stand to think about giving up.
From what he can recall, within the fragmented slips of reality formed despite the haze of medicine, Undertaker had mentioned at some point that they'd be forced to remain in this filthy place for longer than expected. Supposedly just until he could manage to dispose of "the demon" and finally rid himself of that which threatens his plans, whatever those may be. They had been almost his exact words, except he wasn't vague about just how much dislike he holds for the boy's butler... nor was he vague about what he intends to do when he manages to track the man down and eliminate him once and for all.
It sends a shiver up his spine to even think about, one too violent for even the cold surrounding him to provide. Astre wants nothing more than to call out to him, to force him by his side where he is intended, and command him to undo this horrific curse laid upon him. No matter how much he calls though, he receives nothing more than silence. Though he dreads to admit it, he can feel it at the very core of his soul... Their bond has been weakened. Enough so that he can't be entirely sure if it is still intact. The reaper has certainly done something to interfere, but there is no way for him to pinpoint specifically what is blocking their connection. All he has left is the blind hope that the thoughts directed towards the demon are enough to warn him of the coming storm and to guide him to where he has been trapped.
As he turns his head to the door, so close yet so far out of reach, only one thought crosses his tired mind.
Hurry, Sebastian.
It is difficult to place just how long he has been here.
Repetitive, monotonous days have started to run together, with only the passing sun and moon outside of the window reminding him that there is a world on the other side of these walls. A cruel world, carelessly continuing without him while his reality is nothing more than this very bed, filthy sheets and dirtied pillows steadily becoming all he knows. The medicine doesn't help matters, only forcing him to further lose track of time with how groggy it makes his head feel.
Often, when he gets lost in his thoughts, he can't help but wonder if it has been months. Years, maybe. Just how long has he been trapped here, confined to this singular room? Is there anyone out there waiting for him, wondering where he has gone… or has everyone already moved on without him?
There is no way of knowing. His brother never tells him, if he even knows anymore, and trusting Undertaker the limited times he does bother to mention the date is something he isn't too keen to do.
What he does manage to recognize as the first few weeks though… They were the most frustrating of them all. His desperation for anything to free him from this glorified cage only grew to the point he needed to be sedated, else he rip apart both his and his brother's bodies in a maddened daze for escape. Sometimes he had been successful in snapping the threads binding them together, but it did little more than forcing them to be put under the needle again.
The needles… He despises the needles the most. Even hours after the two of them have been patched up, he is never able to escape the feeling of them digging beneath his skin, his throat turning sore and raspy from screaming out even in his unconscious state. When he blacks out from how unbearable the pain is, meeting the demise of sickening dreams, he guesses that is when the reaper takes care to diligently clean the wound, else they develop an infection from the poor living conditions.
Now though, however much time later... he isn't able to feel anything more than dim bitterness and exhaustion, watching the skies outside of the boarded-up window with an empty gaze. Rarely now does he ever find himself frenzied enough to claw at the wound, only because he has recognized it as a useless endeavor. His only accomplishment in doing so is agony and blood.
Still, he can't deny that the temptation taunts him, more so when he notices the wounds beginning to heal and it dawns on him he may be stuck like this forever. He tries not to look anymore, for his own sake, and blocks out Undertaker any time he points it out.
During all of this, Ciel never leaves him be, constantly assuring him things will get better and whispering into his ear complaints about the constant cold or the soreness of their stitches… as if this wasn't something he played a part in. He swears he can deal with it though, he never neglects to mention, so long as his younger twin is permanently here at his side.
Astre tries to tune him out as often as he can, focusing instead on the books or other activities the reaper sometimes has the courtesy of bringing him. He refuses to give either of them the pleasure of conversation.
Yet, even when words elicit no response, empty promises of visiting the bakery or the candy shop for numerous treats they can enjoy together never cease… as if others outside of this room wouldn't gawk and glare at them. Just a freak show for all the world to see.
Even so, he blindly swears, things will be perfectly blissful once they've both healed and are at last free from the icy reach of his demon…
The one place he would rather be.
"Astre...?" Ciel mumbles at his side, surprising the younger from his sleepy stupor. Normally by this time, the other boy is fast asleep, leaving his twin to dwell on the thoughts which bother him every night on end. "Are you awake?"
He would like to pretend he is not, wanting nothing more than to ignore he who had a hand in doing this to him, but it is a feat easier said than done when their shared body leaves no room for privacy. He knows the imitation of his brother can feel their unified heartbeat quicken from the suddenness of his voice.
"...What is it, Ciel?" he resigns himself to answering, after many long seconds of silence pass. The most words he's said in weeks.
From across their chest, where a sloppily sewn white shirt covers them beneath the blanket, a numbed hand he has no control over reaches to grab at his own. Fingers lace together in a gesture he feels is intended to bring them both comfort and security.
He only wants to pull away.
"I can't sleep..." he admits, lulling his head intrusively onto his twin's side of the bed.
What a pity. Astre, meanwhile, hasn't been able to sleep in days... Not for longer than a few minutes, that is. Enough time for nightmares to haunt him, but not enough to lift the exhaustion from his eyelids.
He opens his mouth to answer with the first snide remark that comes to mind but finds it halted on the tip of his tongue when those fingers intertwined against his own give a gentle squeeze. It gives him pause, just enough time for that soft voice to chime in again.
"Astre… you know… I am sorry for all of this…"
Ciel's tone is unlike anything he has heard since the boy's return, the usual sour tinge even his cheeriest of words carried suddenly nowhere to be found. Almost nostalgic, it's enough to bring forth memories of quiet nights filled with whispered secrets and soft giggles… A vision of two boys curled up beneath warm sheets and trying their best to stifle their laughter else they alert any wandering servants.
It may have been peaceful once, but now the echoes of the past only leave him feeling hollow inside.
Sorry, he says… A word he had never expecting to hear.
Even without prompt from his younger sibling, the elder twin carries on, words hollow and distant. "I don't need you to say it for me to understand how much you detest this… I understand the feeling just as well," he murmurs. "This existence is terribly painful… I can't say I ever wanted this for us. Not really."
Glancing over, Astre finds him staring idly at the same window his gaze is drawn to every sleepless night. The only spot worth looking at when everything else is draped in dust and mold. Moonlight shimmers on his cheeks, almost appearing to make him glow.
His words… They carry a tone of calmness, and possibly even the smallest tinge of regret and melancholy. Something unheard of since all of this began.
Once upon a time, it may have drawn forth a reaction of sympathy from Astre, but now it only digs deeper into the void within his heart. For him to have regret now… after all of this has already been done… After everything but Astre's sanity has been snatched from him…
His hand clenches before he can stop himself, unintentionally drawing forth a questioning look.
Barely able to refrain from scraping teeth together, he asks, "…Then why?"
It was all he intended to say, but just those two words were enough to loosen the floodgates… and he couldn't stop himself as all of the pent-up rage from days of impatient waiting came pouring out.
"Why… would you do something like this? Are you bloody mad?" Livid words pass through his lips with scarcely any thought or care. He has held back his thoughts for too long now. "You return without even a bit of warning, waltzing in and acting as if you are once more entitled to what became mine when you were killed… You try to seize hold of everything I earned, humiliate me in front of everyone, then still have the nerve to take it a step farther and destroy my last scraps of free will!? All of this… yet the best you can muster is sorry?!"
Though his words are harsh and leave no room for argument, as he only dared speak the truth, his twin hardly even blinks.
Only once he has finished spilling his infuriated words does the other boy finally decide to scoff. "You didn't give me much of a choice, Astre… You're the one who went and trapped yourself in some despicable contract, all over something as petty as vengeance…"
Eyes narrow deeper into a glare, fiery with anger. "...What did you say?"
"You heard me, Astre. I wouldn't have been forced to do this if you weren't so damned stubborn. Despite anything Undertaker and I could have done, you would inevitably have found some way to crawl back to that detestable creature you call a servant... I know by now how stubborn you are." His voice drops, both expression and tone becoming sullen as he frowns at the bedsheets. They're still stained with old blood. "You and that thing are utterly inseparable, and I will not accept that. This was the only way to make sure you would never be able to leave me, just to obtain your own selfish desires. I did this for both of us, brother… Why would you need revenge when I'm here now? You can understand that, can't you?"
"You… You're disturbed…. How can you sit there and say all of these things with such a straight face?" The other boy's words slice him down to the core, digging up old pain from the past. Memories he despises to recall. "Do you think I had any choice in that? I was going to die, and you were gone… What was I intended to do?" Nails dig deep into the fingers still gripping onto his, leaving behind crescent imprints. "No… I don't need to justify my choices to you. You aren't even my brother. You're dead, and all that reaper did was make you into this. A soulless husk, just like all of his other foul creations."
Emotionless laughter bubbles out through Ciel's mouth, no traces of amusement within. Just haunting noise to fill the silence. "Is that what you think? Surely you must have grasped the truth of this situation by now... How cruel of that reaper to not explain it to you." He grins smugly as if in on some twisted joke nobody else knows of. "Perhaps I had been soulless before, but… Well, our bodies weren't combined only to prevent you from running back to that demon, you know."
A simple sentence, but the sinister air about it is enough to send cold prickles down Astre's spine. "W…what the devil are you talking about?"
The smile that rises to the other boy's face is only able to be described as deranged. "Certainly you've wondered why that foul demon can't seem to hear your summons. I'm no fool, I'm sure you must have tried calling for him more than a dozen times by now… Though, I would say it's a bit difficult when you've been rendered with only half of a soul…" He giggles again, and the sound is verging on manic. "That contract you're in would automatically have to be considered invalid if you were to have no soul to give, don't you think? After all, you wouldn't be able to hold up your end of the bargain if you have nothing to offer…" He hums to himself. "So if your soul had to partially adapt to becoming my replacement, I suppose that would mean… the contract is only half as strong as it was before?"
He jerks his body harshly against the bindings embedded into their skin, a scowl painted across his face with fury in his eyes. One or two of the stitches are torn in the act, but the feeling is nothing when hot rage boils within him. Blood begins to soak against the off-white of their shirt, red as the angry flush on Astre's cheeks.
Ciel notices, but he pays it no mind aside from lightly wincing. "Correct me if I'm wrong, of course… Even with that reaper's explanations, I'm not too informed on matters such as these… He did mention soul sharing like this wouldn't work on regular people, but us being twins gives us that benefit most do not have. Imagine that. It's funny, wouldn't you say?"
"You… you bastard! You're sick - you and Undertaker both. All of this just to interrupt my contract, and for what? To 'protect' me? From a decision I chose to make? I knew what I was signing up for… It is not your place to undo my choices!" Astre's voice steadily rises in pitch as he dwells further on the twisted words spilled from his brother's mouth. "Honestly, not to mention that this is your supposed idea of protection?! I'd be better off dying at the hands of a demon than living in this way! You gave me no say in this matter whatsoever, doing as you like, just as you've always done! Yet I'm the selfish one?! That's bloody rich. You're nothing more than a nuisance. You should have just stayed dead in the first place!"
Each second of this is more agonizing than the last. It's all too much to even be real… and it stings. Even now, in whatever this warped life-after-death is intended to be, Ciel still manages to stain the younger twin's life with his greedy wants and desires, giving no care to what anyone else around him thinks as long as he is satisfied in the end. All in the belief he knows what is better for him… as if trying to control a helpless little child.
A helpless child… Just what you'd expect from the spare…
The spare…
No. Not anymore.
I will not allow myself to be ridiculed and controlled any longer.
I am not your spare.
Much too lost in this deranged fit of despair and resentment, he isn't even able to acknowledge nor care for the abrupt hurt look on his sibling's face. Instead, every bit of his focus works to snatch his only functioning hand away from Ciel, nails unintentionally dragging over skin as he does so.
Without a moment of hesitation, he smashes it upon the growing red stain of their shirt, barely wincing as it makes contact with the newly reopened wounds. He prepares to dig already stained nails into the thick strings keeping them tightly bound, the only obstacle blocking him from freedom in his feverish mind, but is jerked to a stop when his wrist is caught in the grasp of another, cold fingers wrapped in a vice grip.
"A-Astre, stop! There's no need to do something this drastic. You're only going to hurt both of us. Put your hand down and we can talk instead of resorting to this."
The pacifying voice only serves to upset him more. Nothing more than an attempt to calm what is a misbehaving child in his eyes, shortly before the same child receives a scolding.
"Let go of me this instant! I refuse to play this stupid game any longer!" He fights to release his hand from the firm hold, uncaring who gets hurt in the process. "I refuse to be controlled by the likes of you!"
"You're just going to get us both killed! Stop this, or I'll have to do something drastic too. I don't want to do that, Astre." He puts on a calm face, as if confident he has control over this situation, but lilts of quiet panic can be detected beneath the facade. He's afraid; Astre can feel it too, deep inside of them. Fear of losing his life for the second time… or of his twin losing his?
It doesn't matter.
A deep breath, and finally he manages to tear his arm from his brother's grasp. There's no time for him to be stopped as nails unhesitatingly rake down the still-healing injuries dividing one side of their torso from the other, shreds of strings splitting apart one by one.
It's excruciating, like fire racing down his chest, and he can hear agonized screams - those of which he can't place as his own or Ciel's.
He doesn't care. Nothing matters anymore except separation from this nightmare, something so easily obtained if he could just reach the door. It taunts him only a few steps away from the bed holding him prisoner.
Sebastian will save him. Sebastian always saves him. He won't die. He just needs to be free. Everything after that can come later.
Another hand stops him halfway down their chest, stronger this time, just as he was beginning to finally feel this unbearable hold on his body loosen. So close… so bloody close. He looks up to be met with a sheet of gray hair, barely concealing sharp and disapproving lime irises. His brother must have called for the man at some point through the static ringing in his ears, else the shouts of torment had alerted him.
Astre knows it is fruitless to struggle against this level of inhuman strength, yet his wrist still quivers to be freed even as fresh stains of dark crimson seep down his fingertips and drip onto his palm.
He struggles and struggles, even when his vision begins to blur at the edges and his heart pounds painfully against his chest. Even when his lungs begin to burn and his adrenaline begins to fail him.
He can't stop. Not when freedom is only a few broken seams away.
He can't stop. Not even as the room spins in a spiraling blur of colors.
Gray and red stand out the most. Everything else... incomprehensible.
He won't stop.
Let go of me, damn it! I'm so close...
Just a few... more...
Just... a few...
More...
...Now there is only black.
The grasp on his arm finally loosens, as does his grasp on the waking world, and it falls limply to the mattress.
When Astre comes to again, the room is only a bit lighter than it had been before. Candlelight remains snuffed out where it is usually lit during the day, and the entire room carries the strong stench of copper and medicine. His eyes are still fuzzy and resist his attempts to focus, and his body – specifically his chest – still aches from the sudden exertion.
He reaches blearily to tug the blankets from his person, room too warm for his liking, but his wrist only gets so far before jerking backwards against the bed frame, the jangling of a chain twinkling in his ears.
Glancing behind, he is unsure of what to make of it until eyes meet the firmly locked bars of handcuffs, the other end buckled to the metal bars of the bed. Confusion fills the gaps in his mind until the memories of the night before come back to him…
"Ah, you're awake, little lord."
The familiar voice, which has become so frequent it hardly startles him at this point, turns his attention from the cuff to find the owner sitting in a chair opposite the room. His hair is brushed back out of his face. It gives him the full view of an unamused glare. Long black sleeves are rolled up too, usually pale hands covered in subtle stains of copper; there is little reason to question why when he looks down at his own body, finding the gash presumably repaired again beneath layers of equally stained bandages. It prevents him from seeing just how much damage he had caused in his blind panic, but the presence of the cloth itself where it is usually never needed… It tells him enough.
He quickly notices that they're layered thicker on Ciel's side of their torso, and he feels - for just a flitting moment - a tinge of guilt brush his heart. Whether it's enough to prompt an apology does not matter though, as the boy at his side is not yet awake. Shallow breaths fill the eerie silence of the room, as well as the occasional bubbling from a strange-looking machine hooked into his arm. One he recognizes.
"I hope you'll forgive the restraints," the voice utters again, sounding unapologetic, "but you made a considerable mess of my hard work... Much worse than usual. I simply can't risk you pulling something like that again, you understand."
Blinking, he nearly attempts to sit up before the aching tug reminds him that is no longer possible and decides to instead prop his head against the edge of the pillow. "You can hardly blame me," he points out, voice raspy from shouting. "I didn't want this… though I can't say I remember quite what I did either." He glances up at his cuffed hand… There is blood still caked beneath his nails and staining the tips of his fingers. By now, the color has become an ugly brown.
"Allow me to fill in the blanks then." The reaper stands, feet dragging him closer to the machine until he is soon gently cradling the bag hooked into the center. A familiar name… Sirius. "You managed to dig your nails deep enough to split open a decent number of those stitches… Why, you nearly bled out before I could get you back together again. I didn't imagine I would have to use any of this blood I had stored quite so soon…"
Astre raises an eyebrow at the choice of words. "…Soon?" He glances over to his twin. "Right… He's still not quite alive, even if we're… like this…"
"Correct, earl," he seems to praise, running one of his sharp nails along the tube connecting said substance to Ciel's arm. "Even though you are perfectly alive, your body can't always supply enough blood for you both. A temporary solution until I figure out just how to fix that tiny issue… A shame I have to waste some because of your little stunt."
The boy goes silent. Inwardly, he hopes there will never rise a need to tweak this situation more than it already has been. Sebastian will come for him before this becomes permanent... He knows it. He can still fix this, even if it's at the cost of... of…
It doesn't matter.
Having no more words to say on the subject, or at least none that would be taken kindly to by Undertaker, he instead elects to eye the unpredictable man while the opportunity presents itself. Rarely is he ever around without some sort of pain, unintentional or not, being involved.
It's strange... Even taking everything that has happened up to this moment into consideration, he hardly looks any different from when this all started – from when he had been the unassuming, if not a bit unhinged, funeral manager. Just another informant prepared to offer his knowledge in exchange for a good laugh or two.
A clever facade it had been, with everything he thought he knew about the man turning out to be all lies. Now... he knows nothing.
Nothing in the slightest.
He breathes out a heavy sigh, trying his best to ignore the stinging in his lungs. If the opportunity is presenting itself, then… well…
"…Undertaker?" he mutters decisively in attempt to return the reaper's attention to him. Only when he glances over does he dare to continue. "There is one thing I still… do not understand."
A twinkle of curiosity rises to his eyes. "Oh? Only one, is it?"
He nods, just barely. "Only one I care to know, at least for the moment."
A chuckle leaves his lips, and one of his arms comes to rest atop the blood contraption. "Hm... I suppose there's no reason to not humor you since you've finally decided to start speaking, though I will admit... it would be wonderfully nostalgic to charge you the usual fee..." A shrug. "Ah, well… What is it then?"
Astre swallows, locking his gaze onto the floor rather than piercing chartreuse. Though he is wary to admit so, he is on edge. Even if the man has shown no intention to genuinely hurt him, there is still nobody by his side if things at all happen to take a turn. He has always been unpredictable, now more than ever. It fills him with a deep sense of dread he cannot shake.
Despite his better judgment though, he persists.
"…Even after all this time... I do not understand why. What is your reason for doing all of this to me? To us? You must have some reason if you even went so far as to…" The sentence trails away, but a subtle glance by his side is enough to indicate what he means. The resurrection of those meant to be dead. Even for one such as him, it can't have been an easy task.
Yet the question he believed to be mostly harmless is enough to render the room silent. Despite his await for an answer, several long moments pass until his only choice is to finally lift his gaze back to the source of the tension.
Though Undertaker is still partially relaxed onto the blood-transfer machine, his shoulders have become tense in contrast... and a chilling stare with difficult to perceive emotion stares down upon his sleeping twin. If he did not know better, and if the change in the atmosphere of the room didn't give it away, he would believe the man had not even heard the question.
A full minute has to have passed before he receives an answer, one in the form of a quiet laugh ringing in his ears. It's soft, contrary to usual, with not a trace of genuine amusement found within.
"Ah… Always with the most difficult of questions…" he murmurs, sounding distant. "So much like him… I would expect nothing different." A deep sigh drifts past his lips, heavy, as if carrying years of burdens. "Though I'm afraid there is no answer I can give that will satisfy that curiosity of yours."
The boy's brows furrow, shared by both confusion and mild annoyance. "…You mean to tell me... you don't know?"
"Ah-ah… Now, that isn't what I said… Allow me to put it this way…" Contemplative, he turns away towards the dim light leaking in through the cracks of the window.
There's no way to read him anymore, other than the tenseness persisting in his shoulders.
"When you have lived as long as I… you tend to take things for granted. History repeats itself time and time again, and things become dreadfully dull. That is why I never considered… that I would still be able to discover value in this world. Value of the sort I had never expected myself to find." He turns his head, just enough to catch a glimpse of flickering chartreuse. "I would like to give you an answer, earl. Yet things are never so simple. So I must ask you to trust me when I say my motives… come from a place of great devotion."
Devotion...
The words Undertaker provides are not clear… but Astre still strangely feels as if he understands. It is confusing and weighs heavily on his mind, but he manages to get what the man hints at: words are not sufficient enough to give him the answer he so desires.
Though it maddens him to not know, for the man before him to still be so veiled in mystery, he holds his tongue. This situation is far more complicated than he imagined… but it doesn't matter either way. No reason he could give will ever be enough for him to abandon his goals. It will never make what he has been subjected to justified.
"Ah… Honestly though, you Phantomhives…" the man murmurs in the silence, just loud enough for the boy to catch. "I try my hardest for you, yet you all are so quick to toss away your life as if it is simply meaningless… What agony you cause me…" A soft, melancholic, but determined sigh. "Even if I have to break my promise after all this time and take matters into my own hands, so long as I walk within this world… I will never let your family meet its end."
These words, Astre feels, are not meant for his ears. As if intruding on a conversation he has no part of.
Almost seeming to agree with him, a soft chill washes through the room, brushing through his hair and sending prickles across his exposed flesh. Different from the cold breezes he is becoming accustomed to. It washes him with a sense of melancholy… and he can't help but notice how the hushed whispers of it slipping in through the walls almost sounds…
…like a gentle voice.
"In any case."
His voice breaks the sudden eerie atmosphere of the room. Without a moment's pause, he stands, long hair swishing in time with his coat. He turns to reveal his bangs have fallen back in front of his eyes, concealing them from view, and - fake as it may seem - that signature grin is stapled to his expression once more as if nothing is out of the ordinary.
As if the entire conversation never happened.
"I think it may be best if you rest for a bit now. That stitching will take a while to heal, and I'm afraid I won't be undoing that cuff until you're not able to cause any more nasty damage like before. No need to risk that, don't you think?"
Rest…
The idea is so ridiculous it could almost be considered humorous, knowing perfectly well that sleep with not be coming anytime soon, but Astre knows he has little other say in the matter. Whether he does or not, it isn't as if there is much else to do so long as he is restrained in this way.
Until he manages to find some way of contacting Sebastian, this seems to be his life now. A miserable, dull existence, held prisoner in a multitude of ways.
Ignorant to his internal conflicts, or merely unbothered, Undertaker gives the boy a final wave more for principle than any real need to do so, disappearing past the threshold of their bedroom for the final time this morning.
A deep sigh passes through porcelain lips.
Thus begins the agonizingly slow passage of time. Just as usual, he can only hope the demon is receiving his demands for help. His last remaining hope in this situation.
Lost to his thoughts, he has no idea of the man still lying stiffly against the shut door, having gone slack and dropping his facade now that he is out of view of peering eyes.
Shadows cascade down the face framed by thick gray hair, and a soft mournful mumble goes unheard by all.
"Yes… Goodnight, Astre… and goodnight to your dear family as well."