Quietus

"I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul."

― Bram Stoker, Dracula

Shabine didn't understand much.

That was okay because she had her Mom by her side—but then, she didn't. The thing was, she knew that her Mom was a busy person; she couldn't just spend the day with her no matter how much Shabine wanted her to. Instead, it was much more complicated. There was a man that often took her away. And, worst of all, Shabine couldn't even be mad. He had been a part of her life ever since she could remember. He didn't talk to her or get close, but he was always there. Shabine hated him. Not only did he take her Mom away, but he made her cry, too.

Ever since Mom collapsed Shabine had been more or less confined to her room. She had company in the form of Mr. Tanaka—and Mr. Tanaka's wife who's name was far too difficult for her to say—but it wasn't the same. The foulest part of it all was that nobody let her see her Mom. Mr. Tanaka told her that she was fine, but that she was very sick and couldn't get out of bed.

That man told her it was her fault.

And maybe it was.

Shabine had been told she was a good child; if energetic. That she was studious, but headstrong. But before all that, she was violent and willful. That man had been watching. He never stopped. He saw when she got angry at her homework; watched with distain when she ran wild in the garden, had seen the moment Mom fainted with Shabine in her arms.

She did everything she could to apologize, honest. She promised to never complain about dinner and to always take homework seriously—but nothing fazed him. Shabine had a feeling that he hated her almost as much as she hated him.

"It's not fair," She told Mr. Tanaka as he brought her breakfast, "I didn't mean to hurt her. I want to see her, please." Shabine had been working on her dictation, Ms. Tanaka—who had taken over teaching her—said she was doing great. Also, that saying please, and thank-you were the best way to get what you wanted. "I've been really good."

"I know Little Miss." He told her softly as he set down her tray on the nightstand, "Be patient, won't you?" He smoothed down a few stray dry curls. Without Mom around, her hair had fallen into a state of disaster. Shabine had refused to let the maids help her with it. "She is recovering still, but I assure you she misses you dearly."

Shabine hummed indifferently, "I will." Her hands twisted in her bed sheets, "I miss her more."

He looked at her, his lips thinning at the corners and his forehead wrinkling, "I'm sorry, child. Master Vincent only wants the best for you two, I give my word. The boy simply doesn't know how to show it, honest." She really liked Mr. Tanaka; he always saw the best in everyone. But at the moment, she didn't want the best, she wanted her Mom's hugs and somebody to be on her side.

"I guess." She really didn't feel like talking anymore.

Mr. Tanaka sighed and motioned for the door, "...I've been informed that Madame Angelina will be by today; perhaps, if the Little Miss completes today's schedule swiftly, there will be time for a visit."

There were no words for what Shabine did to her breakfast. It was gone from the plate so fast that hiccups were soon an issue. She tidied up her table and rushed to bring it to the kitchens. She had no time to wait on Mr. Tanaka to return. If she wanted to finish her math before lunch, then she had to get started right away!

It had been awhile since Aunt Anne's last visit. Shabine had missed the woman dearly. Maybe she could convince that man—Vin-cent; his name was weird—to let Shabine see her Mom again. Aunt Anne was super smart, pretty, and just as stubborn as Shabine herself. Better yet, Vincent actually listened to her Aunt.

(—She wondered, did Vincent make Aunt Anne cry, too?)

So, Shabine dutifully completed the day's lesson without fuss. She could now read some books without the help of Ms. Tanaka and she learned how to spell Deficient. It was a word Shabine knew she'd never ever use but if she 'mastered' one Big—big with a Capital B because it was hard—word a day, then she'd get a pastry during lunch. After putting away the few books and refilling her ink well they moved onto the stupid math. Which, though Shabine was reluctant to admit, wasn't as bad as it usually was.

Between the few days of Mom's collapse and Ms. Tanaka taking over, a change in curriculum—a word she recently learned and found was very, very, relevant—occurred. For one, Ms. Tanaka used real items and not pretend stuff. She most commonly used the flowers from the hallway vases, or stones from the garden, when it came time to add or subtract. It was much easier to concentrate when she could actively move one object to another and make groups.

Ms. Tanaka said she was a Kinesthetic learner. Whatever that meant.

The only other task for the day was painting, but that would be done after lunch just before her bath. A good way to wind down from a long day, Mom used to say. Shabine still preferred to dance before picking up a brush, but she hasn't dared to since The Accident.

It just felt wrong.

Either way, her studies proved to be the perfect distraction and before she knew it, Aunt Anne had arrived and had greeted her warmly. It was the first hug she had gotten in a little over a week. It felt better than she thought it would. Still didn't compare to her Mom though. The perfume was wrong and so was the hair that tickled her cheeks, neck, and shoulder. Still, nobody could blame her for melting into the embrace.

"If it isn't my little scholar!" Aunt Anne giggled, "I've heard you've been studying, my dear. Decided to follow in your amazing Aunt's footsteps, have we?"

Shabine nodded aggressively, "Uh huh! 'M going to get real smart, just like you."

Her Aunt blushed a soft pink that contrasted beautifully against her dress and hair. She bent down, her fingers grazing over Shabine's ear, "I know you will, love. Just think, when we first met you could nary conjure up a sentence, and now, listen to you go. Such a lovely voice." Shabine laughed and buried her face into the voluminous skirts covering her Aunt's legs. "You'll sing for me soon, won't you?"

She agreed easily. Her hand reached up and tangled with her elder's, the two moved forward, Aunt Anne moving smoothly but swift, her steps full of purpose. Shabine wished with all her heart that she could grow up to be even a fraction of the woman next to her.

When they grew close to Mom's other room Shabine slowed. She wasn't sure if she could go there. It was one of those things that screamed danger. Off-limits. Do Not Proceed. But Aunt Anne hadn't slowed in the slightest. Despite the bulky bag in her left hand, she somehow managed to lift Shabine up and settled her against her right hip. "An'nie?" Shabine murmurs low into crimson hair, "You got'ta put me down."

"And why would I do that?" She teased, not at all aware to Shabine's internal turmoil.

"…I'm not allowed to go in that room."

That got her attention. Her steady gait slowing down to a sluggish crawl and then into a standstill.

Shabine could feel her Aunt's fingers digging into her dress, "Is that so?" She dared look up, and Shabine almost froze. The smile on her Aunt's face was cold. "Mhm." She huffed, "Well. I'm going in that room so I say you can go in that room. If anyone has a problem with that, then they can take it up with me."

"Okay." Shabine chirped. It would be the second time she would be allowed to view the room. The first time hadn't pleasant at all. Mom hadn't returned when night fell, and Shabine got scared. She had went looking for her, and that room had been the closest to hers. It was only natural that she decided to look there first.

(—It had been real dark. She didn't see very well. Light had spilled out from the crack underneath the door and that had been enough of a sign for her. She had decided to peek into the keyhole. That had been a mistake.)

She wished she had never gotten out of bed. The woman pinned beneath the larger body of Vincent couldn't have been her Mother. Her Mom never looked so submissive or pained. It simply had to be someone else. So, she had backed away from the door and slipped back into her room without a word about what she saw come morning.

(—She had felt nothing but disgust when she had to see his smug face at the breakfast table.)

Vincent had known she was there.

"Can you help Mam get better?" Shabine asked softly, afraid to speak as if someone would hear her and force her away from the area. She hooked her legs tighter around her Aunt. Just in case.

This time her Aunt's smile was much nicer. "I hope so. Her 'sickness' isn't the type that one can cure with medicine though." She hitched Shabine up higher, "Rest and good food will certainly help. But I'm sure my tenacious sister will refuse to stay down long."

"An'nie?"

"Yes, sweetheart?" Aunt Anne asked as Mr. Tanaka walked ahead to open the door to Vincent and Mom's shared bedroom.

"Will you teach me how to take care of Mammy?" Shabine had started learning to be like her Aunt. Now she wanted to continue her education. Not because her Aunt did it. But because her Aunt learned how to save lives by being well-educated.

"I'd be delighted! Will you be my assistant today? I could use the help."

It was as good of a start as any! "Uh-huh! I'm good at helping." Shabine told her Aunt, just to secure the position. It wasn't a lie, either. She sometimes helped her Mom read—because her Mom said that she did the best voices—and when she had the free time, she helped the cook in the kitchen with his leftovers. Too many of them, he said, they need to go somewhere, he said.

(—Mr. Tanaka still hadn't found the stash of dry tarts under her bed, and with any luck, it would stay that way.)

"I believe you." Her aunt said, "Now I think we've kept Rachel waiting long enough, haven't we?"

An understatement, definitely. If Shabine had any say so, then her Mother would never be confined to that room ever again. It just wasn't right. As much as everyone threw around the words fragile, delicate, ill—Shabine wasn't sure they were being truthful. Maybe her Mom couldn't catch her breath sometimes or even run around like Shabine knew she wanted to; but there was a desire like no other that lived inside of her Mother. It was like a fire, smoldering and sparking but never allowed to flame. They were smothering her; never truly allowing her Mom to live up to her fullest.

Shabine thinks—no, she knows—that before The Collapse her Mother shone brighter than Shabine had ever known. Even if it was just a moment, her Mom had been happy.

"Oh! Sister, I wasn't told you'd be coming by; if so, I would have—" Her Mother immediately perked up when they walked through the door. Her legs twisted until her feet were planted firmly on the floor, the blanket discarded around her waist, "Honestly, I'm not an invalid."

"None of that, Rachel." Aunt Anne tutted and let her baggage—Shabine included— drop to the floor so she could properly greet her sister. "Don't you dare rise from that bed until I've taken a look at you."

"My, how demanding of you Anne." Her Mom teased back, a Cheshire grin pulling at her cheeks. "Is this how you treat all of your patients? Such terrible bedside manner." Aunt Anne replied by sticking her tongue out. Her arms wrapping tightly around Shabine's Mom.

Hesitantly, Shabine toddled to the side of the bed and used the drooping eiderdown to hoist herself up onto the tall mattress. She decided not to interrupt right away, choosing to let her Aunt relieve herself of the worries she carried. The two of them were certainly a sight. From a glance people wouldn't think they were related because of the contrasting coloring but Shabine had a front row seat. She got to admire the finer characteristics. Be it the soft-set jaw, or the dainty brow and sharp nose, there was no denying their blood.

She glanced down at her own hands and wondered over the minute difference in color in comparison.

Shabine's skin looked like the milk-coffee she was sometimes allowed to sip. Closer in hue to the gardener, who had odd lines and varying shades of tan. But, Shabine squinted down at her exposed knees, she didn't have those outlines. She was the same solid color through and through.

That man too… he was as pale as her Mother and Aunt.

She'd have to ask about it later.

"It's unlike you to be quiet, love, what's bothering you?" Soft fingers danced under her chin. Her mother looked anxious, and Shabine felt horrible. "I'm sorry I haven't been by to see you."

"I'm fine! I was just thinkin' is all." She didn't look convinced, but Shabine was here to cheer her Mother up—to nurse her—not worry her. "And it's okay. Mr. Tanaka said you had to get lotsa' rest to feel better, so it's okay." She repeated, hammering in her assurance and twisting across the sheets to open the bag Aunt Anne brought. The stuff inside looked strange, but cool. "What's this?" Burying her arm in elbow deep she pulled up an odd-looking necklace. It was shaped like a Y and had a large metal circle dangling from the bottom.

Gently taking the device from her hands her Aunt started to explain, successfully drawing in both her and her Mother's attention. "Ah! Now this is a stethoscope—"

Shabine didn't help as much as she wanted to. She handed her Aunt certain equipment when asked but mostly sat out of the way, apprehensive of the various tools housed by the bag. Her Aunt assured her she did great and thanked her for her help but…

Once she was finished with the examination, she was quick to usher Shabine from the room.

Shabine wanted to protest but when Aunt Anne said a word that didn't quite fit the context.

Expecting.

Expecting what?

Shabine surely wasn't expecting the tears that fell from her Mom's pretty blue eyes. More so, she definitely wasn't expecting that nasty, bittersweet smile to come from someone as sweet as her. It just felt wrong.

Shabine never wanted to see her Mom look that that again.

She'd make sure it wouldn't happen twice.

As it turned out, expecting mean change— and change meant Baby. Her mom had told her, much more serene than hours before, that it was going to be much different around the manor soon. That she was going to be a big sister.

Shabine didn't know how to feel about it. She had told Mom that much; had shared her misgivings and told her that if the Baby made her cry, then she should just get rid of it.

The sting of palm meeting flesh still hurt after the sun left the sky.

That was the second and last time her Mother would ever hurt her.

Not that she'd know that at the time.

Shabine slept alone that night and kept the candle burning through the early hours of the morning. It was fitting that nobody came to wake her, she didn't want to see anybody, anyway. She went through her daily tasks, completed her homework, and avoided her Mother.

She didn't hate her Mom, not really.

She just didn't know how to feel about the Baby being more important than her, is all.

It was weird seeing Vincent fuss over her Mom. He seemed happy, and so did Aunt Anne. Their cheer was fairly infectious, it seemed. Even her Mother looked far happier than she had the day before—or maybe it was because Shabine wasn't there. Mr. Tanaka had tried to tell her otherwise and coaxed her to go mingle with her family, but she didn't want to.

And the week went on. She did her work and occasionally entertained her Mother whenever she decided she had the time to visit Shabine. More often than not, she chose to take her meals alone in the room that was once Rachel-and-Shabine's but now solely Shabine's.

Her mom said it was better that way. That Shabine get used to living independently. It wasn't healthy to depend on someone so much, she said, like that would make it okay.

"It's not fair." She told a servant boy around her age that she saw around the estate often enough to consider a companion, "Mother," Shabine said rolling the word around on her tongue—as of recent, she would receive a smack on her knuckles for mispronouncing words— "doesn't have time for me anymore."

The boy, several shades lighter than her with fair hair and dark eyes shrugged, "And? You gon' be a tit about it? It's not like the Lady is your real Mum anyway." He told her nonchalantly while eating half of her lunch. He had been hungry, and she wasn't, so he told her that he needed it more than she did.

Shabine held her tongue. The feeling of her nails digging into her palm hurt but helped her keep her calm. It wasn't proper for a girl to tussle; Ms. Tanaka had told her. No matter how much she wished to do so. "Take that back." She demanded instead, because it was one thing to be crude and dense, but it was an entirely different offense to be a nasty liar. "What would you know about my Mam—" she winced at the slip, "—she'd never lower herself to spend time with you." She spat.

He bucked forward and his shoes slid in the grass, "What's tha' mean, you bastard." His skin that was so much like her Mom's, Mr. Tanaka's, and Vincent's darkened with red.

"It means," She stressed, standing herself so she could almost look him in the eye, "that you are just a filthy, stupid, boy. She doesn't even have the time to see me much less talk with the help." She'd never say that to her personal attendants; and she hated how ugly it sounded, but she didn't care because the only thing that mattered was that she was hurt, and the boy was wrong. "You'll never be better than me. Not now. Not ever." She continued despite the feeling of guilt that ate her stomach. She had to hurt him— had to make him feel as bad as she did.

He shoved her. His thin, calloused hands grabbing at her dress and pulling her forward, so her body connected with his fist. She retaliated, her pretty, Aunt Anne Red nails tearing at the skin around his face and digging into one of his eyes.

Terence—Shabine thinks his name was— screamed.

(—Her heart was running, racing up her throat and choking out every other sound but it felt good, so, so good to hurt him. To feel his skin building up under her nails and to know that she was winning.)

The scullery maid whom delivered her breakfast, lunch, and dinner trays to her room bolted out from the nearest door. In hindsight, they hadn't gone very far from the estate. It worked in her favor. The maid yelled and then the head cook stumbled out, too. She was easily picked up into the maid's arms and carried inside. The older woman cooed softly and rocked her as she trembled. Outside, she could see that Terence was being led away by a tight grip on his wrist. Idly, with her cheek pressed to the maid's shoulder, she thinks that it's good for him.

She hopes it hurt.

Later, when she's been through a bath and thoroughly checked over by Ms. Tanaka, her Mom comes running. She looks worried and Shabine relishes in it. Shabine nearly cries once she finally gets a whiff of her Mom's favorite perfume. If she had known that fighting would get her Mom's attention, she would have done so far sooner.

Her Mom's fingers trace over the growing bruise on her jaw and just before the irritated skin of her chest. She looks sad and Shabine thinks she doesn't deserve to be. So instead of feeding into it, Shabine asks her about the word she heard from that boy.

"What is a bastard?"

Pretty pale skin bleaches further. Her Mom looks like a ghost. She never does answer her question.

(—She never sees Terence again.)

Things don't go back to normal, but Shabine doesn't want them to. What they have now is… okay. It works. A schedule is worked out one that accommodates both Shabine and Vincent. She is allowed privilege to her Mother from Morning to Lunch and after she retreats to her room for both studies and enrichment time.

Sporadically, Vincent joins them for lunch.

He's not approving, to say for certain. He doesn't talk to her—when he decides to look at her at all—but rather, he talks at her. He tells her about her progress, as if she's not the one improving in her studies, but she relents because it makes her Mom happy.

It surprises them both when he offers an apprenticeship.

"I'm sure your sister wouldn't mind. It would be… relieving, to have her here, for the duration of your pregnancy."

Her Mother puts down her fork, and placed a firm hand on her stomach, "I'd love to have her around, but it isn't right to pull her from her life." She looked over sternly, "Regardless, Shabine is more than content with Ms. Margaret teaching her, right dear?"

She was. But she also wanted to see her Aunt more often, too. Shabine knew she didn't live with them, but she didn't understand why she couldn't live closer. Besides, she could feel Vincent's eyes suffocating her under their weight.

"I understand, love. I do," Vincent reassured her Mom, "but… Shabine, is getting older and will eventually turn to alternative teachings." He sounded reluctant. "You remember what Angelina said the last time she was here. It is possible that you will end up bedridden and Shabine will only stress your condition. You can't continue to coddle her like this Rachel."

"Well, someone has to." Her Mother countered, a stubborn tilt to her jaw. Vincent looked contrite, but as Shabine's noticed, he was weak to her Mother. She clenched her fist under the table. "You can't ignore your daughter forever, Vincent."

Huh.

Shabine made eye contact with Vincent. Her Mother wouldn't lie, would she? A father. Vincent wasn't very much of a Father. The books she'd read led her to believe that Father's were kind. Father's raised you, protected you, loved you. She didn't think Vincent did any of the aforementioned.

(—If she had to given anyone that title, it would be Mr. Tanaka, who held her hand and fixed her ruffled dress or cleaned the occasional scrapes she'd develop on her knees. He felt like a father.)

…The revelation, for all that it was, seemed to trample any softness that man had for her mother. He closed up, immediately. He refused to look at either of them. His fingers interlaced and locked under his chin and suddenly Shabine felt like much more than she could possibly understand was happening around her.

"Very well. No 'daughter' of mine will go uneducated. As a Phantomhive Daughter only the highest can be expected, hm? You are correct, Rachel. I see now that I've been far too lenient with her. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. You are dismissed." Mom flinched back, her chair scraping across the hard-wood floor. Even slighted, her Mother was truly a sight.

She left without a word, dignified all the while.

"Tanaka, clean up here, would you?" Vincent murmurs and places his napkin on his plate, "Come to my office, girl. It seems that we have a few things to discuss, don't we?" He sighed, getting up as if it really pained him to do so. "Try not to dawdle."

So, she didn't.

Shabine stayed close to his heel; she never dared to edge close enough to him to walk with him, but she made sure he never left her sight. He had led her to a room she had never ventured. It was cramped, compared to most of the rooms which she had explored, and very dark. Bookshelves lined the walls and a few of the tomes spilled onto the desk. He waved her off—vaguely in the direction of a plush love chair— and sat in his own, at the head of the room. There was a weird grace to him, it was lazy, but sharp. Kind of like that thing that oft snuck in the garden and lounged in the shade. A cat, Ms. Tanaka had called the creature. It was present in the way he lounged and in the way he watched. He was looking for an opening but Shabine refused to give him one.

(—She thought about sticking her tongue out at him, but that was immature.)

"You look just like your mother. Not that you'd know." Vincent drawled, "Well, for the most part. You look remarkably similar to Francis now that you've had a taste of civilization." His thumb swiped against the ring on his right ring finger. "It's a compliment, feel free to take it as such."

"Thank you, sir." She said. Ms. Tanaka had never prepared her for this sort of thing. All of their scripted interactions were informal and more to practice her diction rather than to use in a social setting. Still, she didn't feel good about what he said. She wished she asked more questions. Wished she hadn't agreed to follow him.

"Please. Call me… Dad." He grinned, and it was ugly. His eyes narrowed but the rest of his face remained frozen, as if he hadn't moved it at all. "I knew Rachel couldn't hold her tongue. Really, it was my fault for assuming so. Hm. Tell me, girl, are you prepared to live up to Rachel's blunder?"

"…Mistake?" She tested, unsure of the word and what actually happened in the dinner hall. "I'm sorry but—" she bit her tongue. This man was too mean for her to try and wiggle around. It was best that she did whatever he wanted her to less she get her Mom in even more trouble. "—I don't understand."

"You wouldn't." Vincent sighed, "I shouldn't have expected you to. Advanced, Rachel said." He huffed though there was no mistaking the tilt of his grin, "Well. Let me clarify." He leaned forward practically shining with mischief, "You are mine. In every sense of the word, mind you. If it weren't for me and my admittedly juvenile error, you wouldn't exist. In fact, you shouldn't! Everything that I've worked for, that my forefathers built, could be destroyed in an instance. By. You."

Shabine could count on her hand the amount of times she'd been as scared as she was now. None of those past experiences could compare. "Me." She stammered.

"You." He agreed indifferently. "A bastard of the Phantomhive family being treated as a ward. It's laughable. You don't belong here. I can't introduce you to society. I can't use you to bargain. Keeping you alive is a drain my resources. My wife's' affection, even. But now that she's expecting our own, what is the purpose of keeping you around? By God I certainly can't think of one." He tapped his fingers against his jaw, "Now— I can't just rid myself of you. No, you've managed to thoroughly charm my trusted advisor and friend. He'd be disappointed. Rachel would be rather cross, too. And there is such a saying you know," She didn't. Not really. To be honest she couldn't keep up with his rambling and most of it was flying over her head. "'Hell hath no fury as a Woman scorned.' Funny thing, that."

This man felt threatened by her. But also amused. That much she could gather. She dug her recently painted nails into the fabric of her pretty green dress. "Very funny, sir." She chimed in regardless, doing so had always made her favorite cook and scullery maid happy. Ms. Tanaka said flattery was the best possible ne-go-tia-tion tactic. Whatever that meant.

"I'm glad you think so, pet." He opened up one of the great many drawers that lined the back of his desk and reached within the bowels. In his hand lay a small, black jewelry box. He shoved it towards her and regained that frigid persona she was accustomed to. "I'd like to make a deal with you. Mutual beneficial, I assure you." He tilted his head, "Open it."

So, she did.

The black felt of the box tickled her fingertips and weighed no heavier than a rock from the pond. When it clicked open, she felt awed—and confused, but mostly awed— at the collar and stone sitting in the container. It was a necklace similar to the ones her mother wore; which meant it was snug and supposed to wrap tight around her neck rather than drape down her chest like the one's Aunt Anne let her try on. It was simple black band with white lace spitting off of it. A thumb-sized blue gem rested in the center encased in a protective guard of gold. "Pretty." She gasped as she fingered the jewel. It was a deep navy color but when she twisted and turned it, it shone much like the lake at the very edge of the field. There was a symbol tucked away inside of the blue depth, only she couldn't make out the exact shape.

"You are Phantomhive," Vincent interrupted her inspection, "there is no denying that. I will offer you patronage. A chance to live and prove your worth. That is fair, is it not? It's a simple exchange, really. It would be foolish to turn it down. You can remain living as fancifully as you please but in turn, I'd like a promise. To be a Phantomhive is to protect the Phantomhive. To use every skill in your grasp to continue the tortuous legacy. We all play our part—Me, I lead, Francis supports; Rachel endures, and Angelina promotes—will you do the same?" She looked at him and wondered when he started looking so old. So devious. "Rachel is carrying my legacy. And I? I cannot live forever, however much I wish to do so, and neither can those I depend on to watch my back." He hummed and scanned the world separated by glass and décor, "Life is cruel, so; perhaps my dearest friend shall depart first. Weary of the world and approaching a finer age. Tanaka has always been my protector, my sword, my shield. Would you do the same for my off-spring?" He grimaced, "Could you protect them and always put their well-being first and foremost?"

Vincent closed his eyes, tired, Shabine thinks, "I'd do my best." It's easy for her to say because she doesn't understand. Her brain is sluggish and hard at work trying to decipher the meanings hidden below his mad word play. So, she answers honestly. She still doesn't know what to think about a Baby or what she'd do with one. If it would be like her, would come from her mother whom she loves so dearly, then she believes that she'd do anything for them. "I'd keep them safe. Watch their back," she parrots back at him. And for a minute, she is tricked into thinking he looks grateful.

"We have so much work to do." He tells her instead and in a fit of out of character behavior he greets her for the first time. He is on his knees and he searches deep within her eyes for something she isn't sure of. The weight of her new necklace weighs heavy and choking around her throat and not for the first time, she wonders if she regrets accepting.

Shabine is four and she is signing away her life without hesitation.

(—Because what other choice did she have—?)

"What do I have to do?"

.

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Welcome to the end of chapter three, I hope you enjoyed reading! I'm sorry for the inconsistent portrayal of Shabine, as uh, to be honest, I'm not sure how to write her as a toddler. She is smart, no doubt about that, and even excels in English/Grammar/Language studies but is that grounds to consider her able to pick up on more social cues? I'm using the excuse of a strict teacher and isolation as a motivator, but honestly most four-to-five years olds have a very selfish and straight-forward ideology. I'm sort of basing her off of the latest couple of manga chapters? Ciel and "Ciel" are fairly aware despite the young age sooo... Ah, well let me stop rambling about that. How is Vincent to you all? I always got the vibe of genuis without enough time from him. Someone smart and cunning but often run astray by his own musings so i decided to develop him as such. So sorry for his babble and large blocky dialogue.

To recap, Shabine doesn't like the idea of a new baby, might wanna be a doctor, and is finally welcomed as an "official" member of the Phantomhive family.

Unofficially, Vincent is going to start grooming her to take over Tanaka's position, Shabine may be more violent than normal for a child, and Rachel may not be completely happy about her pregnancy and is starting to urge Shabine to become more independent.

Finally, to my sole reviewer, thank you so much for the compliment! After not writing creatively for a while, it all feels very stiff to me, so I'm glad it's not a total let-down. Shabine and Rachel are... fine, for the most part, but how long will that last with canon quickly approaching?

Not beta'd, if you'd be interested in doing so for me, send me a dm lmfao.

Childhood Arc End.
Part: 3/3
Next Arc: Deficient