Pairings: Our-Ciel/Lizzy; Alois/Doll; Ciel/Sieglinde.

Genre: Romance, Drama, Thriller, Horror.

Notes:

Hey Everyone, Zancrowe Here!

Thought I abandoned this one, didn't ya? Well, if you are one of the three readers who even remember this story, well, welcome back. To the rest of you, welcome, to this story little fic that basically asks the questions of:

1. "How would the married life of Ciel Phantomhive and Elizabeth Midford be if he survived long enough for it to take place?"

2. "What would happen if Alois Trancy were part of the canon manga?"

Disclaimer: Don't own Kuroshitsuji / Black Butler / Majordomo Negro.

Ciel Phantomhive hates it when Elizabeth Midford calls him by his name.

He is well aware of what it means. He knows who she means. Who she sees, and who she doesn't. And despite playing it coyly, acting as if nothing matters much, because such was the Phantomhive way, he could never quite disguise his discomfort entirely. It was an insult to him, and worse still, it was an insult to her. He had never intended to lie, not for this long. Not until this moment, and now, he has no idea, as brilliant as he was praised in being and as malevolent as he knew he could be, on what to do next.

Ciel Phantomhive likes Elizabeth Midford.

At least this was how he understood it when he was just six years old. Elizabeth, or Lizzy, as the older-by-one-year girl preferred (o requested, or, at times, threatened) to be addressed as, was to be his future bride one day. She was to become what his mommy was to his daddy, and perhaps, they'd also have a baby together, however that worked. To the boy, it was simple. He liked having her over, and playing with her. She was funny, and always happy, except when she was hungry. She could be somewhat annoying there. But, he noticed, Ciel also liked being with her, so when he was told they had been arranged to be married, one of them happily accepted it.

Ciel Phantomhive misses Elizabeth Midford.

This was clear to him, at least now. The ten year old, behind the cold bars of that dark cage, missed seeing her. After he was branded like an animal, had his pleas and cries ignored, he just accepted the fact that he would not see anyone else ever again. He had others there with him, boys and girls their age, some a little older, some a little younger. They had all been hurt in the same way, stripped to the flesh, and assaulted in ways he couldn't even describe. The boys tried to be brave at first, but in time, all they could do was cry. Beg. Plead, yet no help came. The girls cried, and they bled, and every day, one of them died. Every time those people came, they took one away. And did that to them. Blood went everywhere. So he knew, in due time, he'd be next. So, even with the solace that he had Ciel with him, he still missed her. Because her laugh and smile, while annoying and goofy, was something he knew he'd never see again… But, even in the recess of his mind, he couldn't help but think… at least she isn't here. At least she is safe. Then he should have been next… but he wasn't… And his entire world turned to black…

Ciel Phantomhive tolerates Elizabeth Midford.

She was the biggest pain in the world. At twelve, the boy who now carried the name Ciel had a lot on his plate, from running his company, to working for the Queen as her loyal spy and executioner, the infamous Watchdog that, according to official records, did not exist, to secretly trying to find his family's murderers with his demon-turned-butler. He did not have time for Lizzy, of for her dumb little games, or her dumb little things. He was not the same Ciel she had lost, she should not expect him to be. He knew it best to keep her at an arm's length, less she notice… Still, he tolerated her presence, because despite it all he still wished for her to be happy. And at least, whenever she forced herself into his home, into his life, it still felt like if everything had not gone entirely to hell. That he still had a future to believe in. He could at least fool himself, for just as long as her laughter lasted.

Ciel Phantomhive admires Elizabeth Midford.

The girl knew how to hold a blade, in a way Ciel both envied and was astonished by. At thirteen, Ciel knew how to handle a sword, even if he was better at guns, at least enough to hold his own in combat. He had lived through quite a bit to get to the point where he was. But her, dumb, ignorant, little Lizzy? She was something else entirely. When the Campania sank, and he tried his hardest to save her, just her if nothing else, if no one else, they were on the verge of death. He couldn't, wouldn't allow her to die, allow the last light in all his darkness to fade. But he couldn't save her. And as he felt his world outright collapse, he came to learn, shockingly, that she didn't need him to. She fought, swords on hand, her feet on the very walls themselves, poised before him and the monsters that threatened them all. She took her stance, and announced herself to them. The future wife of the Queen's Watchdog. Then, after the carnage was over, and the Gods of Death had retreated, he saw her tear up, and for once, he couldn't quite possibly fathom why…

"I'm the kind of scary girl Ciel hates!" he remember her crying, as if it were yesterday.

"What?!" he couldn't help but blurt out. "What do you mean by that?!"

"B-But before you said you don't want a strong wide, didn't you?!" she explained through the tears. How one could shift from slaughtering to crying he'd never know.

"Th… That was in the past," he tried to play it off, instantly realizing what she meant. Who she meant. "And anyway, I should be the one apologizing right now."

"Then," she quickly spoke past the tears, edging closer to him, both of them still on the increasingly sinking floor, with Sebastian crouching right by them. "You will still take me as your wife? You won't hate me?"

"I could never…" the reply came far faster than his own mind could even process it. He then froze in place, because he was never one to speak without thinking. And also, he was admitting to something way too close to his heart, never meant for anyone to hear. Especially not her. It was here he also noted that he wasn't as good an actor as he prided himself as, as his face betrayed him, turning beet red in an instant, as the implications were all but clear. "W-We don't have time for this! Let's go upstairs already!"

He recalled Sebastian mocking him for this, the very few times the butler let out a genuine laugh. He hated it.

He tried to play it off, demanding the thing pretending to be a man to shut up, all the while Lizzy just looked adorably confused.

But, through it all, through the fight that came, the reveal of Undertaker behind it all, and to his utter shock, Sebastian (and by extension, his own) first real defeat at the hands of a superior opponent. As the ship sank, the bizarre dolls were dealt with, and he was reunited with the crying blonde girl who he was to one day wed, the one thought that kept pushing itself into his mind…

'What on Earth were you even thinking… brother? She's never looked prettier than she did tonight.'

Words he'd take to the grave.

Ciel Phantomhive is afraid for Elizabeth Midford.

Because, now at sixteen, he knows that his time is coming. He knows he is expected to pay what's due to the netherworld, and he has no soul left to give. But there she still was, right beside him, still laughing and smiling, trying to cheer him up from something she couldn't even begin to comprehend. He is afraid. Because as he got older, he realized life gives very little, and you only notice when life takes it away. And he's afraid it will take her. Her brightness, her light. And Ciel Phantomhive doesn't know what to do anymore. Because…

Elizabeth Midford loves Ciel Phantomhive.

…And that's just not who he is.

-0-

He took simple steps, guided and calculated, because he felt that nothing ever shocked him anymore. There really shouldn't be any urgency in this situation, not anymore. As always, they arrived too late to do anything meaningful. Clean up, that was all the Watchdog did. Preventing death was the Scotland Yard's job, and quite the pitiful job they did at that. His job was just to hide their failures as best he could. Make it look like London wasn't as cursed as it really was.

So he walked thought the pile of bodies that adorned the floor in peculiar patterns. Shaped in ways no human body should be able to contort itself into. This had no urgency because the dead should have no movement, and since the bizarre collection of the Undertaker had all but vanished off the face of the Earth, he no longer had to content with those living dead that even Sebastian had difficulty understanding. It was almost poetic, he imagined, for his demon butler, whose very existence thrived on death, misery and pain to see something so supernatural that even he had not been able to fully process it at first. Had it not been so horrific, he would have praised Undertaker for it.

Only that man could best Sebastian so.

And he loved death. Loved the dead. And Ciel could almost understand why. Death was the only certainty in this world. There was beauty in that eternal rest.

"…I'm here Sebastian," Ciel voiced softly, contemplating his surroundings, as he placed his makeshift cane on the cleanest part of the floor he could spot and held it firmly with both hands. The hand-crafted handle, that hid the sharp blade he had slowly forced himself to get better at using, still felt alien to him. He didn't like change, and even such a simple ornament made him uneasy. Ciel turned, his one visible eye facing towards the dark corridor he had just walked in from. The Earl of the Phantomhive household couldn't see his demon servant in the area, but he figured he wasn't far. He was never far.

It didn't take long for Ciel to realize why he had been sent to this place, a closed up site that had not been used in years. From what Ciel gathered from his underground network, which admittedly had not been the same ever since Undertaker had deserted his role, leaving the families of the victims of the Campania and the Weston College with no solace to their grief, was that this abandoned area had once been used for illegal trade of stolen goods. Those "goods", as rumors would suggest, could be anything from material possessions to, more likely, people.

"The stench is strongest here, my Lord," his butler spoke up from what seemed to be directly through his spine, which would have caused Ciel to become ghostly paled had he not experienced this sensation for years by now. He had grown used to it, and tired of it. Tired of all of it. This endless game of cat and mouse that never went anywhere. "My guess would be underground."

"It's the new trend after all," Ciel replied, eyeing the ground with his uncovered eye, said ground still moist thanks to a storm that had hit the upper London area without warning a few hours ago. It had made his search that much harder. He proceeded to hit the soil with his cane, verifying its stability briefly, before turning to face the man in black next to him. "What are you waiting for then?" he asked, irritated at being forced to be out here in the cold and damp weather, even if he had been "promised" he could take the day off by the Queen. "Start digging."

"Yes, my Lord," the demon wearing the skin of a man replied with a soft bow, before proceeding to scavenge the area for what they were searching for. Because there was no one else there, no one else who still possessed a beating heart at least, Sebastian had no need to hide his abilities. It took him seconds to dig a hole ten feet wide and at least fifteen deep. He stopped the moment he uncovered the object.

"That was surprisingly deep," Ciel commented, wondering how they managed to dig so much to hide this thing and then covered it so efficiently. "Is it the coffin?"

"You are certainly welcomed to come down here and see my not so young Master," Sebastian told his Master, still up high and looking down at him, which caused Ciel to frown and glare, both at once. Sebastian just laughed. "You mustn't be afraid of traversing the unknown Master," he said with a sly little fanged smirk, "Least of all so close to your wedding night."

"I'll order you to sleep in that coffin!" his master barked back, equal parts flustered and annoyed. Such unnecessary innuendo was beneath him, but given the fact that he grew up with a demon as the closest thing to a paternal figure (not the best of role models) he was used to it. "Just open it up!"

"Yes, my Lord," Sebastian replied, mischievous smile still featured, and proceeded to open the coffin. It wasn't locked or sealed in the slightest, so the top easily came off. Or rather, it just broke off. As the wood scattered everywhere, the stench of the freshly deceased hit all at once, and Ciel quickly covered his mouth and nose with his handkerchief that sported an initial that wasn't his.

"Is that…?" he asked, his glare now fixated on the decay.

"Indeed," Sebastian confirmed, looking inside at the body they found. "Christopher Hummer, aged forty-one, married man, father of two. Time of death, I'd say…" Sebastian verified, as he bent down and opened the deceased mouth, which gave little resistance. "…about two days, with three to four hours at most. The maggots have barely began to feasts, which is a compliment to the maker of this coffin. High quality stuff."

"Could it finally be him?" Ciel wondered aloud, thinking back to the rogue Shinigami that had eluded him for so many years.

"That's a definite possibility," Sebastian considered. "However, our friend Undertaker has never been the only owner of a funeral parlor in all of London, so we can't ignore the possibility of another individual. Or even if what we are seeing is the handiwork of a buyer, not a seller."

"For your sake I hope your right," Ciel commented, taking out a notepad and writing down the details of their find. "The last thing I need is to be reminded of is your pathetic displays against Undertaker."

"…Now that certainly was a rather low blow Master," his butler, now suddenly at his side carrying the deceased, commented, although Ciel couldn't still fully tell if he had spoken with honesty or sarcasm. Then again, had his butler ever spoken to him openly when it came to feelings? Did the creature even feel? "I protected you, didn't I?"

"An animal will always protect its next meal," Ciel replied, as he returned his notepad to his coat pocket. "Regardless, let's finish up here, I'm freezing. We must contact her Majesty and inform her that our biggest lead in this… Oh, for goodness sake, such a stupid name," he added, scoffing at how absurd the London populous tended to be when it came to naming their monstrosities. First "Jack the Ripper", which while the "Ripper" part sort of fit, it should really have been plural rather than singular, and neither party had been named "Jack". He paused a bit, the sudden ache in his chest at the memory he had sworn to himself he had long ago conquered once again appearing. He shrugged it off, as he always did.

"Spring-Heeled Jack," Sebastian noted with a little laugh.

"…They are so obsessed with naming everybody Jack, for some reason," Ciel annoying added. "But, yes, inform the Queen that our latest possible lead on the Spring-Heeled Case has grown cold," he paused, looking at the cadaver. "…Quite literally if I may add," he added, poking the thing with his cane, and pushing it away. He wanted it further away, please, "…We might be looking at a few more weeks of research. What we need now is –"

"Cake," Sebastian cut in rather gleefully.

"– Yes, cake so we can…" a pause, a little self-reflection, then a snarl, "What are you making me say?! This is no time for treats!"

"On the contrary," his butler corrected, looking at his pocket watch. "It is definitely time for cake, or rather, it's time for us to be heading back otherwise we'll be late for the cake. Wedding cake of course."

"…Oh," Ciel murmured, frowning.

That was right. He was getting married today.

An event he never gave a single shred of thought to, since ever since he first made contact with the demon that now worked as his servant, he knew he was a dead man walking. A dead child walking. He would live for a few more years, acting the part of what everyone expected of Ciel Phantomhive, until he could get his revenge. For his family. And for his revenge, he would fool everyone, even what was left of his family.

His aunt wrongly believed she had her favorite nephew back, as did his uncle.

His servants believed they were working for the bright future of a young man, when in reality they were simply guarding a dead man's belongings.

And Elizabeth…

He inwardly shivered. How did it come to this? Was Sebastian simply so damn mediocre when compared to other demons, and little Ciel just never noticed it? The man was absolutely flawless when it came to practically any situation, save for whenever he had to deal with the supernatural. Even then, he always came out on top, his brushes against Undertaker being the sole exception. So why? Why was Ciel allowed to reach this age? Why were his parents' killers still out there? Why was he being allowed to actually fulfill his commitment to Lizzy of actually marrying her?

He had heard her, go on and on, every now and then, about the day they'd marry. About the people she'd invite, about the dress she'd wear (that he was forbidden to see until they were at the church), about how happy and excited it made her. He'd just shrug it off, play along for a little bit and then try and change the subject to something else. Anything else. He did not want to think of any such what if. Of having something that was never meant to be his, tragedy or otherwise.

Poor, sweet, little Lizzy, so bright and happy.

She had always looked forwards to that day, to this day. And he allowed her to keep her false reality up, he lied at every opportunity just so she wouldn't feel down. He told her he'd be there, in the best attire he could buy that matched whatever dress she wore, and that he'd take her dancing as soon as the event started and after they both said "I do". She was thrilled the day he said that. She was always happy about the prospect of being his wife, for reasons he couldn't hope to fathom, and even back at the Campania she had been clear on those intentions.

Poor desperate, blood-drenched Lizzy, so serious and fierce.

He shook his head. If there was one image he still couldn't fully get out of his mind was of that side of Lizzy, even after all these years. Even now, that he was finally slightly taller than her, he was certain she could kick his ass in fencing with her eyes closed. He didn't like his odds in a fist fight either, but that was neither here nor there. She was a horrible shot, if anything.

"I'm getting married…" Ciel muttered, while Sebastian looked on curiously, at his spaced-out Master, as they both walked out to the empty streets. "I'm really getting married…" he spoke again, processing the statement. "Oh my God Sebastian!" he shouted this time, his butler scoffing at how contradictory his statement had been. "I'm actually getting married! How the hell did this come to pass?! Why?! How?! I wasn't, I'm not prepared for this day! I-I don't know how to be a husband, I don't know what I'm supposed to do!"

"I could show you my Lord, but it would be improper," his butler amusingly stated, which earned him another glare.

"I'm not referring to that!" his master barked back, which comically made Sebastian understand why the Queen appointed him as a Guard Dog. "I was never supposed to live this long! I was never supposed to be with… her. You stinking bastard, you couldn't find them in time! Hell, you couldn't even kill me right! I was not supposed to go through this!"

"Oh my, so this is what Bard had mentioned, hmm?" his butler proceed to grab his master by the collar, not in any way disrespectful, but to merely fix what had been ruined thanks to the younger man's fidgeting. "A groom-to-be getting cold feet is nothing to be alarmed about."

"You think this is cold feet?!" Ciel asked as incredulously as he could manage. He knew what that phenomenon was, but that didn't apply here. That applied to a would-be groom, a normal would-be groom, who was not entirely sure if getting married was best for him. If he was really prepared to leave his bachelor's life of women and freedom in favor of a life of monogamy and commitment. If he was really certain, to the greatest of security, that he actually loved his wife-to-be or if he just desired her.

That was not the case for Ciel. He was sure it wasn't. Getting married would not affect Ciel too much, since Lizzy was aware of most things he did as the Watchdog. And everything she didn't know, mostly about Sebastian, they've been hiding it for so long that sometimes he found it hard to believe it was true. And Ciel not once even tried to engage in anything with any other woman. Not with Doll. Not with Sieglinde, especially not with Sieglinde. The little witch and her perverted and clumsy nature had almost earned him an unexpected one-way trip to the grave.

If he had been like pretty much ninety-nine percent of the Weston boys, he would have taken advantage of his freedom. He knew he was good-looking, and for all of his "better-than-you" attitude, he could understand the allure of a woman. But, as he always thought, if he couldn't ever hope to actually marry Lizzy and make her as happy as she deserved, he could at least be faithful to the very end. Because, when it came to actually loving her, well…

…No, that didn't even matter. This wasn't his choice to make. It wasn't his bride to take!

"We should really get going Milord," his butler mentioned, in a more "move-your-little-butt-young-master" tone that reminded him of when he was younger. "It is not proper to keep a young Lady waiting, much less on her own wedding."

"…This is too much," Ciel mentioned, covering his exposed eye with his palm, trying to calm himself. He refused to look at Sebastian anymore, because he knew he was a prime target for the demon's teasing. So he avoided looking at him, as the still-taller-than-him butler proceeded to take both Ciel and the body they found towards their carriage, whereupon Ciel would return home and Sebastian would take care of the evidence.

-0-

On the opposite side of England, as opposed to wearing her fanciest wedding dress, or getting the final, minute-details ready for the big event, the recently turned seventeen Elizabeth Midford instead held her rapier tightly, her eyes narrowed behind the mask that was meant to shield her face from any cut, but really, no one had been ever able to even nick it. She had been a protégé with the sword since a very early age, and now fully grown, she managed to even go above such expectations.

Training uniform instead of a wedding dress.

Steel rapier instead of a bouquet of flowers.

Iron mask instead of a bridal veil.

This were the things that Lizzy had long grown accustomed to, all to protect. All to save the boy… no, the young man she was finally going to marry. Oh gods, even thinking of it made her heart threaten to burst right out of her chest. She flinched, trying to keep herself calm. Trying and failing to keep herself from getting all giddy and just shouting it to the winds that she was going to be Mrs. Phantomhive in just a couple of hours. She –

Her opponent's rapier cut through the air, aimed right at her face, which she managed to dodge at the last second. A parry, pushing the offending blade to the side. A frown, because she had been caught off guard. And a glare, because of course he would jump at any opportunity to try and strike her down.

"You're not one to get careless," the ever sarcastic Charles Grey mocked in a tone that anyone else would have sworn carried a hint of flirtatious undertones. Everyone but Lizzy herself, because of course he knew she was engaged and that he also probably hated her. "Don't tell me after the wedding Phantomhive will have you shut away in the kitchen, so you're already giving up on the study of the blade?"

"They have servants for that," the other Charles, Charles Phipps, noted in monotone, standing to the sides, watching this last minute match that the Marchioness Francis Phantomhive-Midford had requested (read: forced) them to take part in, despite Lizzy's protests that she needed to get ready for the wedding.

Of course, her mother had been clear that her role as "bride" would always come second to her role as the "blade" of the Watchdog, so if she expected to finally take things easy just because she was wed, then she had another thing coming. And despite almost throwing a childish tantrum, which in retrospect was not the show of maturity Lizzy had intended, the blonde girl inwardly sulked, there she was, forced into this last-minute practice sparring match with the most annoying of opponents. It wasn't that she disliked Charles Grey, it was just… well; it was hard to explain.

"If you keep insulting my sister I will cut you down myself!" she heard her older brother, also standing by the crowd, next to the other Charles, shout with quite a hefty amount of venom at the offending Charles, who simply scoffed at the threat.

"Oh please," he said. "The only time I've been threatened by you Midford is when I saw you dancing," he mocked, and she could feel how her brother contorted himself at his words. She behaved like a good sister should and forced herself not to giggle.

"If I may interrupt… Grey?" Lizzy cut in, tilting her head a bit to the side.

"What is it prin –"

He never got the word out. She made a massive thrust of her blade right at his torso, forcing the man to dodge at the last second in order to not get the wind knocked out of him, and the crowd there could have sword they felt the wind actually shift in the direction of the lady's blade. Grey tried to parry the blade, but it was no longer in his sight. His eyes went wide, as he saw her now on the floor, twisting herself in a way he could no longer tell which way her torso was facing, before in a flash, she swung her blade upwards right from the ground, looking less like a slash and more like an outright uppercut. Charles Grey bolted backwards, and while he managed to avoid the worst hit, the tip of the blade still caught his mask, in the resulting jolt smacked him right out. His mask flew into the air, and at the echoing gasps of the crowd, Charles Grey fell backwards, on the floor, glare ever-present at the match's victor.

Lizzy retook her stance, taking off her own mask and letting her sweat-drenched hair fall into place. She frowned at him in turn. "…Apologies, but I am in a hurry," she finally said, and her little smirk made his blood boil. "I'll play with you on a later date, okay?!"

A wink, a smile, and the crowd was cheering.

Charles Grey got up, annoyed, but a part of him also envious… and not just at the loss.

Charles Phipps just applauded as the others did. His partner had asked for it after all. He just knew he'd be hearing about this all day.

Edward Midford quickly rushed to his sister's side, quickly taking her into his arms into a tight hug, which despite her age and "maturity", still made her feel all giddy. She giggled, turning to face him properly. "Brother, stop," she said in-between laughs. "I'm all sweaty, and I really have to go get ready! We both do!"

"You still have time to cancel it, you know?" he said, and she wanted to smack him.

"Edward," she just voiced, trying to sound disapproving but her pout gave her away. She really couldn't get mad at him. Especially not today. Before the siblings could argue it further, however, they both heard a tapping on the floor, and the entire crowd turned to see the Marchioness approaching. In an instant everyone was utterly quiet, minding their own business. Lizzy couldn't help but feel both pride and a little intimidated at the commanding presence her mother had.

"You got a little distracted there Elizabeth," her mother noted, and Lizzy felt her face flush.

"Mother!" Edward quickly jumped to her defense, as he always did. She was fidgeting a bit now, since she looked a bit silly still being in his arms, like she was still little. In part, he could still carry her if he wanted to, but not in public, much less in front of their mother. "Lizzy did wonderfully. And you can't blame her for having her mind elsewhere. She is about to make the biggest mistake of her life after all!"

"…She is not a child, Edward," Francis replied, wondering where she went wrong when raising him. Too much of his father in this young man, she noted. "And yes, I suppose it is understandable, but do note Lizzy," she then addressed the bride-to-be, who still stiffened like a soldier getting called upon. "This is but a change in social standing. Your duties remain unchanged. You have this clear, correct?"

"Of course!" she replied almost in salute.

"Very well then," Francis replied, before she signed. "Then let's get moving. Elizabeth, Edward, gather your things. We have to get you ready for the wedding. It is not proper for the bride to be late, let alone leave my future son alone in the altar."

"Couldn't we?" Edward asked with a small smirk, which caused Lizzy to playfully shove him to the side.

"Let's go," their mother commanded, and the Midford family quickly gathered their things, bid their farewells to the group (for whatever that was worth, as Lizzy was sure she had invited all of them to the wedding anyways (yes, even Grey)) and went on their way. The patriarch of the family, Marquess of Midford and the Head of the Order of the Garter, Alexis Leon Midford awaited for his precious little girl by the horse-drawn carriage they owned (one of many) and he promised himself (and her) that he wouldn't cry until after the wedding.

He failed instantly.

So upon getting showered in kisses by her bawling father.

Getting reprimanded yet again by her mother (admittedly directed more at Alexis than at her, but still).

And Edward pouting through the entire trip, Lizzy had a hard time finally accepting the reality of the situation that this was really happening. After dreaming of this moment ever since they were outright children, she was finally going to wed the boy she loved before she even knew what love was. But, as the carriage carried them to go get her dress (and a proper bath as well most likely) she couldn't help but feel a very heavy pain in her chest at those that couldn't be present to see the big day.

All those they had lost way too soon.

Her Aunt Angelina Dalles, who she knew would have been dressed in the most captivating red dress imaginable.

Her Uncle Vincent Phantomhive, who despite her fuzzy memory of the man, she knew he was a class of his own, elegant, handsome and the only man on the entire world who could tease her mother and get away with it.

Her Aunty Rachel Phantomhive, who had the kindest eyes of anyone in her family, who she still remembered taking hold of her at every opportunity she had, much to the annoyance of her mother as she was "babying" Lizzy too much, to which Rachel would always reply with the brightest of smiles, "Of course I am, because she is my baby girl".

How she missed them all so dearly, and, for as little they talked about him, she also missed the little boy from yesteryear.

The sick, timid and kind younger twin, whose eyes reflected his mother's to near perfection, unlike Ciel's own who had taken after the father. Always soft-spoken. Always polite. He would have grown up to be such a gentleman, of that she was sure. And, if they shared looks where anything to go by, every single eligible girl in all of London would have given anything to have been his bride. Gone way too soon, to whoever those monsters were, and she couldn't help but feel her chest burn at the thought. Such a kind boy, lost to such depraved monsters. She shook her head… she couldn't do anything despite how she'd give her very life if she could bring him back. Any of them back. But, she'd treasure the ones they had, and she'd make sure she'd take care of the last of the Phantomhives. Keep Ciel safe, make Ciel happy.

That she swore to them all.

'Aunties, Uncle, I swear I will be the best bride the Watchdog could ever ask for, and then some,' the promised the very heavens themselves, '…And I hope you can now play to your little heart's content up there in heaven, my dearest cousin Astre.'

%