Ciel, light of my life, fire in my empty stomach. My sin is his soul - his sin is his own soul. Cee-el: what a simple, sharp name for a boy of his stature, of his nobility. The tongue flattens and teases the roof of the mouth, barely grazing the hard palate, the textured roof of the mouth, separated by a hiss released similarly to the felines that he was so allergic to, before burying the tip behind the teeth. Cee. El. Meaning sky, meaning heaven - sounding of the ocean and of romantic language.
He was called 'Ciel' by his family - his fiancée, his in-laws, and his parents buried within the ground. He was 'Young Master' to his loyal staff first thing in the morning, adorned in a white oversized shirt, crinkled from tossing and turning within his white sheets, perched on the edge of his regal bed at five feet even. He was 'My Lord' during our contractual exchanges which bound me to do nothing but acquiesce to any request. He was 'Phantomhive' in business...and perhaps, more colloquially, 'That Phantomhive Brat' to gossips and crooked clients, aiming to sabotage my young master. But, within the safe confines of my wicked mind, because the promise of his soul prevents me from verbalising so, he was Ciel. My contractually obligated Ciel.
The void within my belly wriggled and squirmed with memories of past souls, some beloved and some execrated, but that untenanted emptiness longed for that surly, sour scion. I predicted nothing would satiate my hunger more than the inclusion of his tender, nubile soul, marinated in regret and trauma that I, no doubt, contributed to over the years. Rest assured, I believed, and desired, more than that boy's soul. A demon such as myself could never reciprocate (or emulate, for that matter) the feeling of love or attraction towards a mere human. This does not strike me as strange, but I would assume individuals unfamiliar with the divine, or the unsanctified, may kick up a fuss.
I pose you this, reader of mine: would you fall in love with your meal? Do you desire to kiss, to caress, to lasciviously devour objects that keep you from feeling ennui?
But only the Devil knows just how hopeless, how hapless, and how sloppy I was to allow my temporary human form to fall in love with my Master.
No bother; I would never let my attraction towards Ciel affect my work whilst Ciel remained none the wiser. A Phantomhive butler who cannot maintain a mask of indifference like his life, his job, and his appetite depends on it is not worth his salt. Being the jet-black butler by the boy's side is a position I would sacrifice for nothing. Each interaction with Ciel tantalised me so, and the mere thought of losing a single moment in my esoteric role made me envy (yet, another sin I could add to my already strong repertoire) my hypothetical successor. Strangely, for somebody as old as I, memories I have accumulated of him shooting deliciously dyspeptic daggers towards my person became so precious to me that I dread losing them.
Each instance had been scribed in an old blank book, hidden within my servants' quarters, by a quill coated with ink until the pure parchment became tainted with my poetic, satanic thoughts and feelings.
Every day, without fail, I scribe every detail I can remember about Ciel, hoping to experience each desirous thrill and tremor once more. I found my eyes dilating, losing focus in exchange for fluffy paragraphs, head becoming sick with vertigo and heart beating faster and faster to match the rush of human hormones through my bloodstream each time I read his name - Ciel. Each loop, to loop, to loop, of his elegant name fit for only the finest cursive my devilish hands have to offer. Only then did my mind wander, helplessly navigating between the maze my desire built hedge by bushy hedge, and ponder methods in which to claim Ciel as my own.
Perhaps, I could take him by force...not yet, for I would lose his hard-to-earn trust.
Perhaps, I could deprive him of anything and everything until he willingly submits to me...absolutely not. Immoral as I am, I would not willingly sully my future conquest, nor would I enjoy living out the rest of Ciel's days or contract with a pathetically permissive master. Not again...not from him.
Despite his independence, despite thwarting any attempt to let warm people immigrate into his icy heart, with wounding words and vicious action, remaining in sight and underground, despite using my powers, and my body, and our shared contract full of pretence and pretend, despite our lack of bond, or future, I found myself madly in love with him. The child, the little Lord, the Young Master, the betrothed, the virtuous orphan rife with nightmares, the august and acclaimed Ciel Phantomhive...my, I loved them all, whoever he decided to presently embody. And I, his faithful servant, vow to protect whomever he decided to embody.
Day by day, I never failed to recall anything.
Wednesday: a warm day...by Great Britain's standards, at least. Ciel allowed himself to be doused in navy cloth, juxtaposing heavily to the pale azure sky. From my vantage point (my role as Phantomhive butler to dress my little master) I gazed upon his slender form, daringly tasting his skin with my gloved fingers. Consumed and distracted by his morning tea, lingering sleepiness, and naivety of trust within his loyal staff, the boy remained none the wiser.
What a treat!
A long day of paperwork invited Ciel to relish in its ennui, sucking his soul before I myself could do so! After breakfast, I readily accompanied him to the office, dutifully following him down the hallway like the wretched cur I was. Every movement Ciel made exuded nobility, but completely unaware was he to the devilish doom that trailed behind him - how he managed to tease the secret and sensitive chord within my temporary human body remained unknown to me!
Thursday: a charity event beckoned my glowering master. The sun still persisted from the day before, much to Ciel's disgust. He remained underneath an umbrella (perched over him by yours truly) to protect his skin, his oh so pallid English skin without a blemish nor tan. The organisers blissfully unaware of the huffing and puffing Ciel childishly exhibited as a tantrum before arriving by carriage and horse that morning. Behind the gentle hint of an aristocratic smile persisted repugnance, of contempt to the audacity of these people to drag him away from his real work. Nobody knew how infantile Ciel's nature was - and I loved it. My God how I longed to force those emotions to run wild within him, to kiss that curled, snarling lip of his, enveloped by the sweet hatred in his hot breath. I, Sebastian Michaelis, found myself utterly moved by his monotonous voice and explosive nature, marvelled by his metamorphosis from a perfect little Lord to a vengeful monster before my very eyes.
Alas, I could not help the smirk that graced my face, widening even more and positively angering the teenager even further. I do not smile at your expense, my Lord. Not this time, at least.
Friday: Ciel requests I ply him with chocolate and sweets to keep his appetite satiated (while worsening my own!) during his working hours. Occasionally, I concoct a recipe I am fully aware does not suit the young master's tastes to keep him irritable and on edge. Today, however, was an exception. I worked to keep Ciel even-tempered and calm for he had plans in the afternoon. I bent myself to his every beck and call, acquiescing to the most ridiculous request, knowing I'd have my revenge. Later. Much later.
Ciel planned to depart with his fiancée to spend the day entertaining her. To match with her forever fashionista tendencies, I adorned him in the most lucrative dark green blazer and matching shorts. His accessories remained black, as usual, rather complementary of his moody, calamitous features. And, selfishly, an immature metaphor for my own squashed envy.
She was a single drop of blood within the water that made my mind and my instincts run wild like a bloodthirsty, insatiable shark.
The Milford fiancée, call-me-Lizzie, arrived in the early afternoon, emerging over the bend and down the hill to sweep my young master away until evening. Ciel stood perched on the top of the manor's steps waiting patiently, and perhaps disgruntledly for spending the afternoon with Elizabeth often drained him of the minute pleasantness he maintained, as though the blonde girl was a sponge sucking up the soapy scum Ciel exuded. No matter; all the more for me to enjoy, and to revel in.
Before the carriage could come to a complete halt, Elizabeth's pale arm, wrapped with a lacy pink silk sleeve, shot from the door in a desperate attempt to grasp my young master. A piercing squeal of Ciel's name, the frantic flick of her curled pigtails, and brightly beaming smile became Elizabeth's archetypical greeting. What a premature, childish gesture, I tutted to myself, to bestow in the presence of a dignified lord such as Phantomhive. English ladies may be raised as strictly and lavishly as purebred pups, but none befitted my young master. Ciel need not concern himself with immaturity overshadowed by his years of experience. But - I pat myself on the back, sinful with pride - Ciel remained the perfect gentlemen in their presence. In her presence.
No haste, nor rush, overtook him as he descended the stairs; coolly...as though gliding on ice. And, admittedly, I seemed to not be the only person captivated by the boy's movements. Elizabeth openly gaped; the staff openly gaped (which I would most certainly discipline them for the moment they stepped inside); he seemed to possess magic powers that pale in comparison to even I!
Elizabeth's wonder seemed to falter for a brief moment with an overexaggerated frown. "You're by yourself today, Ciel? Where is Sebastian?" Elizabeth exclaimed incredulously as though she expected my umbra presence haunting his side. Disappointedly so, my young master commanded I remain at the manor to attend to surplus business, and against my will and my right, I must follow his orders.
"He's taking care of important matters today," Ciel divulged flippantly, implying my presence did not matter. How wrong I was, though, when I noticed the young master pause on the very last step - cane in hand, hand on hip, daringly dignified - and briefly cast a glance over his shoulder upwards the very window I stood surveying. Ah, my heart struck gold! Neither of us gained the courage to tempt fate, or each other, by straying from each other's gaze. Bravely, as expected of my little master, he swiftly turned and ascended the manor stairs once again. Ciel betrayed everybody's expectations and the commitments he had to fulfil for the day in order to encase himself once more with the manor doors. Even though I was not observant enough to read my young master's expression, I could feel his soul athrob with every step he took and knew he was locating me!
Quicker than anticipated, his presence outside of the study I remained frozen inside overtly rustled something foreign within me. I, Sebastian Michaelis, long-time immortal demon and current pursuer of tasty, vengeance-filled souls, never experienced the carnal, daunting feeling of being somebody's prey. I refused to succumb to the terror.
Ciel flung open the study doors in a whirlwind of urgency; urgency that beheld him; but the urgency was not enough to interrupt his smooth stride to a sprint. Our eyes simultaneously greeted each other to become overwhelmed in a mutual desire I never knew Ciel possessed for me...and I, assumedly, for him. As soon as Ciel was able, he leapt up to my tall form without a single falter of body nor expression, however, exactly as unagile as I had expected. No matter, Ciel, I would always be there to catch you and encase you within white-gloved hands, and my charcoal blacked sleeves. Foolish to believe he had caught me, when I, for a known fact, had captured him instead.
I'd sunken my claws into him and knew for a damned fact that after this display of zealousness, he'd never want me to let him go.
Arms slung intimately around my neck, fingers tangling in the tendrils of my unkempt locks, and all but suffocating me with the intense sapphire hue of his irises, my young master clung to me as though he were a small child again. And in a tangle of muttering and wrestling, until suddenly (finally), Ciel allowed me to accept him in a tranquil gift. Ciel could not compare; not as dominant as I; not as warm as I; and certainly, most importantly, not as vivacious as I. His body relaxed, melting into my chest, in my arms, on my lips and my tongue, and I knew, oh God, I knew, I had him! His surly mouth unravelled under mine, undermining his position over mine: my immortal adult experience. What striking contact! What a sinful, melting child!
But, the fog lifted, my concentration returned, and I heard him. I heard Ciel disconnect from me and connect with the fiancée and her delight. I saw him disappear into the carriage, instead of from my arms (and my mind) and down with me to the depths of hell. My hell, ruefully enough, might as well have been actualised the moment the Milford carriage rode away with my young master. My gloved hand burned with the longing his lanky teenaged limbs wrapped around me, chest stinging with regret from needing his immature form against me. In the goodwill of our contract, I poignantly plunged my desires into the depths of my unconsciousness and returned to my duties. I would revisit them one day once Ciel's soul remained writhing within me, finally free to corrupt, or to love, to rape, or to hold - whatever I please!
After all, a demon could dream, even deliver praise to my godly rival, couldn't he?