Author's Note:

It has nothing whatsoever to do with this story, but I AM DONE WITH FINAL EXAMS! :D

This chapter involves a style of writing called floating consciousness, which I attach to Lydia. Things in italics are her thoughts/memories, which she is directing toward her dead grandfather since it's his funeral. This chapter also involves Biblical references. This chapter took a LOT of research to write, and I found some awesome troves of information about the Victorian era which I'm going to use in the future for this story. Without further ado, here are some Notes that Pertain to this Chapter:

Mourning: Wearing 'mourning' meant wearing all black clothing. People who were not members of the family of the deceased would wear it only to the funeral, but the family would be expected by custom to wear mourning attire for a period of months following the death. How many months depended on the particular familial relationship of the mourner to the deceased.

Don't speak ill of the dead: Victorian superstitions stated that to speak ill of the dead would cause the dead to come back and haunt you, or would invite misfortune. In modern days, it's more like "don't speak ill of the dead because they're not here to defend themselves."

Seven deadly sins: For hundreds of years, the Christian world contained these popular perceptions of the seven sins that could damn a soul: gluttony, wrath, greed, sloth, pride, envy, and lust. Notice that these are the cause of sin, not the effect. Murder, theft, and rape aren't on the list because these are actions caused by the human vices of wrath, greed, and lust which live within the heart.

Peerage: The Phantomhive family, an Earldom, is in the middle rank of England's aristocratic peerage system. Dukes and Marquises are above them, while Viscounts and Barons are below them. The higher ranks are afforded more privileges and honors than the lower ranks.

Mourning veil: Women, especially those in the family of the deceased, traditionally wore sheer black 'weeping veils' over their faces, to spare them the disgrace of breaking down and crying in front of strangers at a funeral. Men were expected to be stoic.

Open casket: The casket of the deceased was almost never opened in an actual Church. Those who wanted to visit the body and pay their respects came beforehand to the wake. In the case of the Phantomhive family, the whole thing becomes a big damn aristocratic social occasion.

Last glance: Those who had known the deceased in life were supposed to pass before the casket during the wake and take one final look before the lid was closed. Then the casket would be transported to the Church in the back of a hearse.

Honey: An old cure for soothing asthma that outdates the Victorian era. Since Ciel has asthma, it's not that surprising that Lydia would be randomly carrying around a flask of honey in her pocket.

*dies* Well, if you survived that barrage of information, then you definitely deserve to read the chapter now! XD I promise my other author's notes won't be this long.

One more note! I changed the rating on this story to Teen...because it needed to be done by now. XD

Dear Grandfather, when you were born, your doom was already set in motion. You were born and you were handed an evil spirit to use, to control, and to profit from. You were born the eldest in a family which held a supernatural contract that reached back for three generations and was directed to continue for three more. You were born into a family which valued wealth and prestige over their very immortal souls. You were taught to love the silver spoon you sucked on, to believe that you deserved it by virtue of the blood running through your veins. You learned by example the deeply entrenched values of patriarchy and business. You came into this world demanding, and you demanded all your life. It must have been enjoyable to have such a powerful creature at your elbow who could refuse you nothing, who literally had to lay down at your feet if you ordered him to. Sebastian. But then, you didn't have a name for him, did you, grandfather? You never bothered to give him one. You paid no attention to his shadowy figure except when you wanted something, and this was your biggest mistake, for you never saw what he was doing to you. With each order he obeyed, he fed your ego and boosted your pride, and with each expensive thing he brought you, he quietly led you to love the world a little more. You thought that you were the master, but you never saw the chain that he had strung directly into your heart. He was leading you exactly where he wanted you to go, that vengeful spirit. He watched you all your life with your ruin reflected in his red eyes, eyes which you never bothered to look into because you did not want to be troubled. You thought that you were the master! He led you like a pig to slaughter.

Lydia stood before the mirror, arms stretched out wide as Sebastian tied the ribbon at the back of her waist and did up the buttons on her warm black dress. His white-gloved hands contrasted with the rest of his body and now with hers, making each movement of his fingers leap out in the mirror. She was deep in thought. She could not help but notice that Sebastian walked with an extra spring in his step as he went about the manor preparing for the two Phantomhive children to leave in the carriage. Madame Red had gotten her way after much stubborn wrangling, and Lydia was going to the funeral. The young girl had thought that she would feel more nervous about what would happen once she arrived, but now her thoughts were preoccupied by something entirely different. She glanced over at Sebastian as he neatly folded her jacket over his arm.

"Just tell me one thing, Sebastian. Is he in hell?"

The demon looked up, and smiled one of those smiles that seemed to pull at his beautiful features. "Naturally, master. He has been sealed inside the pit, and his screams will rise up from that place unheeded for all eternity." Still smiling, he sauntered around her shorter figure to stand in front of her. "You've won. I told you that you would."

Lydia responded with an annoyed twist of her head, taking a step back from the looming silhouette of a man. "I don't understand what you're talking about, you know. What have I won? I see nothing."

Narrowing his eyes playfully, as if she were being difficult on purpose and he was going to meet the challenge, Sebastian draped an arm around her shoulders and leaned down, murmuring lowly in her ear," Your enemies have fallen, master. Be happy."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she murmured back, sighing. "I used to be happy when you'd tell me that they'd all pay for the things they had done to me. It was like a sweet bedtime story to me. I'd go to sleep dreaming about revenge, and smiling."

"You can smile now," Sebastian offered gracefully. "Come now, master. Try to remember who you were." Lydia thought about how odd the color black looked against her skin. The demon's eyes were boring into her own, and she could feel his energy fill the room, warping, twisting. Did it hurt him to do this? She wondered suddenly, remembering another time, another demon, awful pain….

She broke eye contact and gazed toward the door. "You did it, didn't you? You led him closer to hell every single day of his life."

"You could say that, master…." He told her calmly, nodding (no shame, demons had no shame,) "….but in the end, none go there who do not choose it."

But that's right, isn't it, Grandfather? You're probably down there cursing Sebastian even as your voice is consumed by the howling multitude of all those damned who are also cursing others whom they would prefer to blame for their damnation. But in the end, the choice was yours, the fault is yours alone. You were not damned from the start any more than I am. When my great-great-great grandfather made the contract that would enrich himself and his descendents, he sold his soul to the devil as payment. From that point on, he was lost. But he had no right to promise the souls of his descendents as well. Those were free things. You were never bound to hell in life, you foolish man. Even with your last breath, you could have reversed your fate. I tried to warn you. I tried. But you hated me so much that you would not listen, even though the only one who stood to lose was you. You lost forever. But I still don't feel like I've won.

Sebastian had prepared Ciel earlier, and the young Earl was waiting for them at the bottom of the grand staircase. The servants lined up at the door to wish them well as they departed. Lydia could not help but wonder if it was all right to leave these three alone in the manor- Tanaka was attending the funeral as well, due to his long term of service with the Phantomhive family, and Sebastian was accompanying Lydia for safety's sake. The demon gave the three a very distinct look as he closed the door behind them.

Tanaka sat next to Lydia and promptly fell asleep. Sebastian drove the carriage out the front gate while Lydia and Ciel watched the misty morning scenery behind foggy glass panes. Ciel was bundled in the opposite corner by himself, looking tiny but still very regal. That seemed to be his gift, to appear ceaselessly aristocratic in any given situation. Lydia was glad that she was wearing leggings and a warm coat, although she could bet that she looked did not look nearly as composed as her brother. Still, the permanently attached mentality of the older sibling prompted Lydia to murmur "All right, Ciel?" into the space between them. The young heir blinked his eyes passively against the morning sunlight.

"I'm fine. I just want to get the old man into the ground so I can carry on with Funtom."

Lydia ran her hand stiffly over the cold wooden armrest. Once again, his cold-heartedness disturbed her. "You oughtn't to speak ill of the dead. One may think all one wants. You know, don't you, that he's…."

"Of course I know." Ciel replied briskly. "It's completely obvious that the arrogant bastard would be damned." He lowered his eyes and sighed, his voice becoming softer. "At least we have that consolation."

I wonder what your damning sin was, Grandfather? There are seven deadly ones, or at least that's what I was taught in primary school. Greed- you wallowed in it. You died in a room filled with expensive things you had hoarded all your life, the sale of which could have fed thousands of starving mouths on the streets of London. You had no concern for the 'low-born,' as you called us. When you made donations to charities, it was only to uphold the company name in hopes that a good reputation would garner more business among the masses. You fattened your heart in the day of slaughter. Sloth- gracious yes- a sin which all you idle rich are guilty of. You never performed a day of actual labor in your life. You worked Sebastian day and night and didn't even give him gratitude in return. Justifiably speaking, he had every right to hate you. Lust? We lived in the same house for years, but you almost never spoke to me except to insult me. I never knew the inner workings of your heart. Still, the amount of control which you exercised over the women in your life- your own wife, your two daughters, the scullery maids and laundresses, me…. You viewed us more as possessions than as people, a state of mind which would have been conducive to lustful thoughts. Still, in the end, we all got away from you, like glass marbles scattering. Aunt Angelina became a doctor, moved out, supported herself. My mother managed to accomplish her one dear wish of starting a family with the man she loved, despite being forced into marriage with another man by your dominating hand. She never got to finish that life, but she died with us, not with you. I heard that your trophy wife put a blade to her throat some three years ago, so in a way I suppose that she eventually took her life into her own hands as well. And me, of course, I left the manor and never heard your cutting voice again. And you called us sinners, you filthy hypocrite!

Gluttony- watching you eat, drink, or indulge yourself in any way, was sickening. The pig-like look upon your face. It got worse as you got older, after you had gained enough power that you felt you no longer needed to concern yourself with appearance, with moderation. You insisted that you be served first and best at every meal. Self-satisfied pig! I wanted to slap the food right out of your hands! I didn't envy Sebastian- at least I didn't have to actually serve you your dishes. He used to entertain me by disrupting your meals at the head of the dining table. He couldn't seriously harm you, but he would make you choke on your food, spill your wine, and drop your utensils without even moving his hand, much to my secret glee. One time, after you'd slapped me across the face for coming downstairs late, Sebastian made the back leg of your chair snap off. I still remember the way your rotund belly wobbled through the air as you fell. You retired that night with indigestion. Sebastian took me upstairs and rubbed my stinging face with aloe, but I laughed out loud and he smiled that razor-sharp smile. We had our macabre little games.

Envy- it's remarkable to think about how little you had to be envious of. You had almost everything. Still, when you encountered a man with more, you leaped into envy. You put on an affable, polite front at social occasions, but you loathed the Marquises and the Dukes for having a higher rank in the peerage. At royal banquets you coveted the seats near the Queen, accessible only to the most esteemed nobles. You commanded Sebastian to procure you one of those seats, I remember. I don't know how, but he managed it. You were so swollen with victory that for weeks afterward you could talk of nothing else. Pride- you lived and breathed it, insufferable man. I could give a thousand and one examples of your disgusting self-love. The manor was built upon the foundation of your arrogance.

The street which led to the funeral home was intensely crowded. Sebastian had to slow the carriage down to a crawl, and sometimes stop outright as pedestrians darted across the road, dressed in fancy funeral attire. Normally the wake would be held in the deceased's home, the coffin opened up in the living room. However, her grandfather had lived too far out in the country for this to be a practical arrangement for most of the attendees. Lydia had never been about this particular part of London before. They finally halted in a space reserved for their carriage beside a small-looking shop. A widened sign with the word 'Undertaker' engraved upon it was spread out across the upper floor. As Sebastian tied the horses to a hitching rail, Ciel reached into his coat and drew out a folded piece of black material. "Wear this," he instructed softly, glancing out the window. "All of the ladies in our family will be wearing them. I made sure that the veil is thicker than what is standard, but you'll still be able to see. Don't remove it. It would be best if the other attendees at the funeral are only able to catch a distorted glimpse of your face."

It was a pitch-black bonnet, with a mourning veil attached past the part that overshadowed the face. Lydia understood Ciel's reasoning, and immediately began to tuck it over her head, murmuring, "Thank you." By this point Tanaka had woken up, and the old servant steadily guided Lydia's brown bun of hair into the silken net sewn onto the back on the bonnet, and tied the attached ribbons under her chin. Ciel reached out and hesitantly drew the sheer black veil over her face, a curtain falling in between her and the regular light. This strangely tender human moment was interrupted as Sebastian knocked on the carriage door. Ciel stepped back and let Lydia go first. The air outside was a hive of murmurings. Lydia had no idea where to go amidst the mass of black-clad people, but Ciel seemed perfectly comfortable with the surroundings. Lydia trailed behind him, Sebastian following closely at her shoulder.

In an inverted way, it was actually very convenient to belong to the family of the person toward whom the mourning was directed, Lydia mused to herself. The crowd made a clear path for you wherever you walked. She had been to two funerals during these past few years, both men whom her father had known, and she still remembered the chaos of trying to move anywhere when one was just another mourner in the crowd. She would have definitely been in trouble this time if that had been the case- her vision in the daylight was good, but she could barely see anything through her veil inside the darkness of the funeral home. Sebastian gripped the back of her elbow and covertly steered her as they went around corners and down a long row of stairs. The wake room was underground? It seemed so…. They were just about to pass through a doorway when they were waylaid by….someone. Someone with a very scratchy, unusual voice. "My, my, little Earl Phantomhive….you're running a bit late, aren't you?"

"We are planning on leaving early as well, but you are not to mention it to anyone else." Ciel commanded the person sternly, and a cackling laugh rang out.

"Now would I do that, do you think? Especially when you've enlisted my services for this rather ostentatious funeral? You can't take it with you, but no one ever told that to the late Earl, now did they?" Another odd laugh. "Good to see you again, Mr. Butler. Your latest joke was simply divine." There was a pause, and Lydia sensed that the person was directly in front of her. "….And you I do not know."

She wondered how they could tell that they didn't know her with this thick veil lying over her face. "This is my older sister, Lydia. Lydia, this is the Undertaker." Ciel announced regally, and a moment later the veil was snatched away from her face by a very pale hand. Lydia found herself looking up at a tall figure dressed all in black, but with hair and skin so pale that it almost shone. The eyes were completely covered by a mop of albino bangs, making Lydia wonder how the person could see what they were doing. One of the eyes appeared to have stitches encircling its fleshy border. Lydia tried not to gape while the person leaned in and scanned her face very closely. "Ah? A sister? Well, strange things happen every day, after all. People die, and new ones appear. Congratulations on your new sister, little Earl."

"She's hardly new," Ciel scoffed, and Lydia found herself inadvertently wondering whether to address the person as a man or a woman. If this was the Undertaker, she might assume that it was a man….after all, she had never heard of a female undertaker….but this person also appeared to be wearing a dress. The person grinned and reached out a hand to tug at Lydia's cheek. Their nails were long, black, and cold. The only other being she had ever known with black fingernails was Sebastian.

"Weeeellll, look at you. You're not nearly as tiny as your brother. You know, I've created a special coffin juuust for him, although he won't oblige me by stepping into it to measure it. Maybe I should create one for you too? You'll try it out, won't you?"

This time Lydia really did gape. Ciel clicked his teeth together in a frown. "That's really quite enough, Undertaker."

The strange person remained uncomfortably close to Lydia's face. "You'll be illegitimate, then, hmmm?"

"Undertaker!" Ciel hissed in outrage. Lydia glanced around to make sure no one else was listening.

"That's all right, child, that's all right. I don't judge. In fact, you should be glad. It means you were born into love." The Undertaker did not lose the maniacal grin as he/she finally stepped back a pace. Ciel opened his mouth and then snapped it shut again. Lydia's alarm was growing. This was clearly not a normal person, and she could sense that they ought to get away from them before anything else was said. She glanced toward Sebastian for help in exiting properly, but the demon was standing back and smirking in a satisfied way. It was Tanaka who stepped between Lydia and the Undertaker and calmly stated that they needed to be heading into the wake now. The strange being did not seem perturbed. He/she stepped back, still grinning, and called out, "You know where to find me when you need me, little Phantomhives," before disappearing down a dark corridor in which Lydia could spot no exit light. She was still half-gaping as Sebastian took her shoulder and ushered her into the gathering room.

"Good heavens, who was that person?" Lydia asked Ciel, quickly hauling the veil back over her face before anyone could turn to look at her. He did not glance behind him as they strode toward the front of the room. It was much lighter within, and Lydia found that she did not have nearly as much trouble making her way. The room was full of people; all were dressed in black. No one spoke loudly, and the murmuring filled the air like a constant, weary hum. The men wore top hats with crepe ribbons around the bands, and many of the women had their faces similarly veiled. Their jewelry was all of jet, as was apparently tasteful at high-class funerals. It had always amazed Lydia that whole industries could be built off of the making of fashionable attire for funerals. It seemed like too much of a focus on the living and the temporal, and not enough on the dead and the eternal. Materialism didn't belong at funerals. Then again, her grandfather had been the most materialistic of all, so perhaps it suited him….

"Undertaker….I met him when my father died. He's always like that. He has his uses, though. He is a valuable source of information concerning London's more hidden affairs, so I keep him in my acquaintance." Ciel replied.

"So he is a man, then? Why is he wearing a dress? And what was all that talk about coffins and death and….what did he mean, 'Sebastian's latest joke?'"

"It's a rather long story," Ciel told her flatly, and then Lydia looked up and saw her grandfather's coffin. It was an impressive and opulent sight. It was made of rich brown wood and polished in black, darkening the wood's appearance. The moldings and metals handles on the casket were covered by a sheer purple cloth, tacked to the surface with gilt-headed nails. The body of the man lying still under the open lid looked just as pale as decrepit as he had during the last few minutes of his life. The clothes were very fine, yes, but the body was withered away. Lydia thought suddenly of his dead-fish tongue still lying inside his mouth, unable to curse her as it had done in life. She recoiled in mild horror. Ciel glanced backward, seeming to want to say something to her, but then he turned his head and strode on past the body without taking his final look. Aware that Sebastian was standing at her shoulder, Lydia stepped closer and looked again, determined not to let herself be repulsed by this empty shell. He was dead now, powerless, and even in life he had not possessed the power which he's though he had, for no man could possess his own soul. She looked down upon his dead form. Underneath the casket lay a blanket of black ostrich feathers, the rarest kind, and the inside was lined with velvet ticking, as if he'd thought he'd be able to feel it after his death. He really had spared no expense for his own parting. Sadly, Lydia blinked her clear blue eyes. None of it mattered one bit now that he was dead, now that he was in hell. Even more hungry mouths would go unfed in the streets of London in order to buy a diamond-studded pillow for a dead rich man to lay his head upon. The diamonds were brilliant, but they reflected nothing.

What use is it to celebrate your life when it would have been better for you if you'd never been born?

Could he see them now? Lydia wondered. From the depths of the pit, could he see or at least sense that his funeral was going on in the world of the living? How did he feel now about all his wasted wealth, wasted life? Did he know that she was at this moment standing over his body, alive and well? Quite forgetting that she was in a room crowded with other people, Lydia turned around to ask Sebastian, only to stop upon seeing the look on his face. His eyes were flaming red and devilish; a crooked half-smile hung about his pale lips. His teeth looked sharper. It was as if he were drinking in the scene before him, happy to the point of being in pain. For a moment, he looked quite mad. It was highly frightening- but at the same time there was something pathetic about it, something which she couldn't quite put her finger on. It bothered her. Her parting glance finished, she turned away and slipped into the crowd, following the gray peak of Tanaka's head which was visible over the melee. When she looked over her shoulder, Sebastian was following her silently and his face was normal once again.

Ciel was speaking to an older coupe when Lydia emerged from the crowd beside him. Indicating toward her with a regal sweep of his hand, the young heir declared, "And this is my older sister, Lydia." He might have said that she was his alien nanny from Mars for the reaction that he got. The couple, obviously aristocrats whom Lydia should have remembered but didn't, gaped at her in silence. For the first time, Lydia felt extremely glad for the veil over her face. She had known that she was going to have to be introduced to the general public at some point, but still, hearing those words off of Ciel's lips deeply shocked her. Everyone was going to know now. There would be no returning to her pretended existence as an ordinary girl. As nostalgia for her father overtook her, the couple eventually moved to shake her hand, both squinting to try to peer through the veil while trying to avoid seeming rude. Ciel frowned and ended the conversation. Moving on, Lydia was introduced to a number of new people, all of whom came up to Ciel in order to wish him condolence in his grief, and all of whom departed their company looked shocked, scandalized, and (sometimes) excited. Lydia barely had anything to say, even to the people she remembered. This had never been her natural environment. Sebastian kept a gentle hand against the back of her shoulderblade, although Lydia wasn't sure whether he was trying to support her or keep her from running away. She honestly just wanted to get back out to the carriage. Fortunately, Ciel seemed to share this desire. After he finished speaking with a young man who was apparently in the Queen's service and had come to represent her, he caught Lydia's eye and indicated that they should begin to sneak toward the exit. This was rather hard to do, as everyone seemed to want to approach the young Earl and fuss over him. She could see her brother tense up every time a gentleman reached for his hand or a lady tried to hug him. What's more, the guests were gradually gaining an idea of who Lydia was as well, and now everyone was looking at her. The exit was coming no closer; it was like trying to swim to the shore against an undertow. Finally, sensing that her hour of patience was passing, Lydia leaned down and whispered in her brother's ear, "You've never learned to navigate crowds like a commoner, have you?"

"Of course not." Ciel huffed, looking displeased. "Why would I ever engage in such a thing?"

"You're too polite," she murmured back. "Take my arm, and hold on tight." She made a point of holding out her non-bandaged arm. Ciel hesitated for a long moment, then suddenly hooked his right arm through her left in a spurt of courage. "Stay close," she directed, and plunged into the crowd, leading. The trick was to make a space, not wait for one to open up ahead of her. People lurched forward to waylay them, and Lydia greeted them with a polite bob of her veiled head as she swept around them in a gust of black skirts and laces. She could feel Ciel gripping her arm like a child grips a kite string on a windy day. In no time at all, she was shunting them through the door- and just for good measure, she reached out and pulled it shut after them. Interestingly, the resounding clang seemed to relieve her oncoming headache.

Ciel was panting as Lydia led him slowly up the stairs. He did not immediately disengage from her arm. "Well, that was rather effective," he declared, glancing around him. "Have we actually lost Sebastian?"

"I doubt it," she voiced, and sure enough, the demon's footsteps suddenly became audible on the staircase behind them.

"Sebastian, find out where our carriage is parked out front, I don't doubt that Undertaker has moved it into position for the funeral procession." Ciel commanded. The demon murmured quietly in assent, and a moment later his footsteps vanished into the dark air. They continued upward alone.

It was a relief for Lydia to be back in the privacy of the carriage, especially since Ciel was being markedly less short with her than he had been in the gathering room. He hadn't been that way when they'd arrived, Lydia mused as she pulled a bottle of freezing cold water out from under the seat. Ciel handed her an empty glass from the traveling compartment of the carriage, and she fetched a small flask of honey from inside her dress pocket, pouring a touch of the golden substance into the glass and then adding the water, swirling it around carefully. Honey was one of the only natural remedies that had ever been shown to effectively curtail Ciel's asthma attacks. She handed him the glass and popped open the carriage door to let Tanaka in as Ciel drank the concoction slowly. Perhaps it had something to do with what the strange, gray-haired coroner had said, she wondered, gazing out at the stone face of the funeral parlor. Undertaker's words certainly seemed to have gotten a reaction out of Ciel, at any rate. Born into love….it was true. While Lydia had not been granted a stable home life under any definition of the term, she had been born of a man and a woman who truly loved each other, and she, Lydia, was a living expression of that love. That was what her parents had always told her when she was young. They had made sure she knew it, in order to give her a sense of self-worth in a world which constantly devalued her based on her illegitimate birth. She still remembered the way her mother's pink lips had moved as she had said those words, the ultimate expression of our love. Sweeter words were surely inexpressible. Being of noble, legitimate origin, Ciel had naturally never been made to feel low because of his birth. As a child, he had enjoyed his social position even though he had not completely understood it. But perhaps it had begun to bother him as he grew older, after mother's death, during the time period in which Lydia had been gone. She didn't know, of course, but she could imagine that she would be greatly displeased to find out that she was the product of a loveless, arranged marriage which had brought happiness to neither party. Even though it was not his fault-

Lydia suddenly froze, jerking her head up to stare wide-eyed into nothingness. Could Ciel have possibly become aware of the true circumstances of his birth while she had been gone? Holy Mary. Could he have gained that knowledge? He definitely hadn't known before she'd left- her parents had always firmly mandated that she could never, ever mention it to him, with the attitude that there would be terrible consequences if she did. His own father couldn't have told him, because he hadn't known- at least, not to the best of Lydia's knowledge. Mother had gone to her grave with the secret. Therefore, the only person who could have told him- Lydia's wide blue eyes jumped to the front of the carriage. Sebastian. Was the demon capable of divulging the secret? Mother had probably ordered him to keep silent, but Lydia wasn't sure whether demons could still be bound to obey orders after the death of the order-giver. Given all the hatred that existed between her brother and Sebastian, Lydia was fairly certain that the demon would have told Ciel the truth if he was capable of doing it. Something that damaging would be a jewel in the clawed hands of Sebastian. She remembered the cruelly victorious look on the demon's face, a look which delighted in causing pain. Lydia wanted to kick open the carriage door, march out there, and demand to know if he had told Ciel- but in reality, she knew that she would have to be much more discreet. There was still the possibility that Ciel didn't know. She resolved to ask Sebastian privately with the first chance she found.

The Church in which the funeral was to be held was a masterwork of Gothic architecture, according to Ciel. After riding near the front of the mourning procession as it passed through the city (Lydia could not help but notice that they took several detours, allowing the huge procession to ride through some of the most distinct and urbane parts of London,) they pulled up outside the wrought-iron gates, and Lydia thought that Ciel had been right. The cathedral-like Church was made of very dark stone, and it spiraled up into the sky like the Tower of Babel. It was certainly like no Church which Lydia had ever been inside of. It didn't help its rather morbid appearance that it was ringed by gravestones, or that every its window was covered by black drapes and had black flags dangling down from the ledges. Once again, Ciel seemed unaffected while Lydia gaped.

In a way, Lydia supposed as they disembarked, it was rather fitting that they were holding the funeral of a damned man in such a foreboding building. This was probably the first time that many of the arriving Phantomhive family members had even been inside of a Church in a long time. Due to the excommunication of the family five generations ago, they were permitted to attend on special holidays, but were not allowed to become regular communicants. Most just stayed away from Church entirely, as they were far too rich and proud to go along with a deal that did not grant them full access to anything. Lydia was not sure if she was technically officially excommunicated as well, but it had never been an issue she had had to face. She thought of her own little white-paneled Church on Kentish Street, with one steeple and flowers on the altar and more people than pews, and eyed the Gothic Church mistrustfully. The carved doors were open and gaping. She could see people in mourning attire moving about the hall, but there was no light issuing fourth from inside, and all the mourners looked like spirits in a darkened room.

"Ciiiiiiieeeeeeellll!"

Lydia turned on her heel to catch a glimpse of a black-bodied, blonde-haired blur approaching them at top speed. She knew that voice, even though it had been almost five years since she had last heard it. The next moment, Elizabeth Ethel Cordelia Midford collided with her brother in an impact that might have sent him flying if she had not been right behind them. The two fell into her, and for a moment everyone struggled to keep on their feet. "Elizabeth! Stop clinging!" Ciel hissed, trying to free himself despite the fact that his arms were pinned to his sides. "We're at a funeral, this is hardly dignified behavior-"

"Ciel, I didn't get to see you at the funeral parlor! I asked after you, and they said you'd already gone! I was sad, even though I hate for you to see me in this ugly black dress!" Elizabeth pouted, not releasing her grip on Ciel. She was as cute as ever, bouncing blonde curls framing her face and inquisitive green eyes. She had gained the promising figure of a budding woman, although her voice had not changed, and she did look rather strange in black. In the distance, Lydia glimpsed the Marquis and Marchioness de Midford in conversation with some people on the base of the Church's steps. She sighed, anticipating another awkward meeting ahead.

"Hello, Sebastian. Hello, Tanaka." Elizabeth greeted the servants with a curtsey before their young master could spit out another protest. Her overeager eyes then jumped to Lydia, and she stared at her for several moments before abruptly shaking her poor brother. "Well, aren't you going to introduce the lady in the veil to me? I'm sure her face is very cute!"

"You already know her," Ciel declared, finally managing to pry her fingers off his arm with great difficulty. "It's Lydia. She's come back."

"Hello, Elizabeth," Lydia added helpfully, stepping toward the young girl as several pedestrians slipped past them.

She had expected the explosion, but it was delayed. Elizabeth's eyes grew very wide, and she took a small, slow step toward Lydia. "That voice…." she whispered in shock. The next moment, Lydia found her veil pushed back over her bonnet again, and the younger girl's face was inches from her own. "LYDIA!" Elizabeth's cry was like the sudden swooping of a bird in the air, and she took a step back for a moment longer to stare before leaping into the brunette's arms. "Lydia, Lydia, Lydia! I was so worried that you were dead!"

"That I was dead? Why would I be dead?" Lydia asked, distracted from her momentary happiness. Elizabeth turned her angelic face upward with tear-filled eyes.

"You didn't come back for such a long time! Nobody heard anything from you….anything could have happened! We all remember how prone you were to having accidents when you lived at the manor! You almost died a lot…."

Behind Elizabeth's back, Lydia watched as Ciel's equally pristine face hardened and darkened. Sebastian stepped toward her, looking at her intensely for the first time since they had left the manor. She swallowed the grimness in her throat, and knew that they remembered as well. "Ummmm….yes…."

"But now you're back, it's just wonderful!" Elizabeth gushed, leaping into her arms again. As Lydia embraced her with a small half-smile, she glanced up at the darkened Church and noticed that the doors were closing.

It was at that moment that a sharp crack! rang out through the air like the breaking of a stone against the ground. Blood exploded from Sebastian's head and open mouth, his beautiful features becoming blank with shock an instant before he collapsed to the ground, facedown, unmoving.

Another cliffhanger! O.O I didn't even plan to do that this time, it just sort of happened...

Well, thank you all again for reading my story! Until next time! :3