She was walking around the manor with no conviction or will. She felt nothing in her heart or mind. Nothing willed her body to move except routine-a familiar ghost who possesses her often, every morning, actually. Lately, she's taken a break from said ghost and hidden away from it as if ashamed it'll find her out. She's been doing such naughty things, the ghost will steal her forever if it discovers her.

Today she felt a ghost again, but this one was different to her, unrecognizable. It couldn't be Routine. It swayed her natural rhythm and steered her away from her path. She danced with it, humored it. Her steps were light like a specter fairy. She danced this waltz of unfamiliarity until she met a door. What possessed her to open, she couldn't name, but it moved her like a puppet. She couldn't help but feel this ghost was something of her own manifestation: bored and locked away emotions coming free to form this demonic angel is truth.

Ugly, naked conference-intervention.

"You've been holding us in too long, darling. Prepare to feel the wrath of our restlessness. A war will take place in the field of your soul."

"It will be amity for you, darling."

"It will be chaos for you, darling."

She entered the room, finally. She met the piano. She was possessed further to sit on the bench. Her hands readied themselves above the white keys.

"It will be chaos for you, darling."

She played the piano as if her heart were to fall, and her soul is already pouring . They key she plays are the Sparks of her being, what little humanity she has, she puts it into these white keys. This instrument of wood, string, and some thing else can express what cannot be said in words. Not by her or any other human or demon can express what this bulk of wood can. Her soul is translating the down pour in a rhythm of depression, indifference, and the moribund.

She plays nothing specific, but she holds onto the keys with care and grace. Her thoughts and what emotions she possess take hold of her hands down to the final crevice and last nail.

What is she? Is she more human than demon? Is she more demon than human? This body she was given or born with, is it really her own? Can you own something you don't understand? She knows that she is hard to come to emotions, like demons. She knows she is a stoic kitty, who heartlessly plays with hearts and strings of souls and lives. At first, she seems worth and graceful, but when her steel layers are revealed people run disgusted and scared. How can she be so heartless? Feel so little? Little, that si what she feels. She feels, yes. Sebastian says that demons feel no emotion, he reminds the master and her enough where she questions his consistency. If he feels no emotions how can he feel irritation, annoyance, and dignity? These are human things, he says, then why does he feel them?

The fingers crash into the piano, and a flood of senseless, confused, brutal, and ugly noise rains over the room. The rain, the noise, the ugly, disgusting truth disguised in a language she will never decipher pours back down, like a storm. A storm that will never end only become less painful when ignored.

She doesn't even realize her fingers on the to tell the tale of this newly discovered storm. A storm that is like a cloud, and once touched it turns to a scorching lightning and the cycle repeats forever more. Forever. For fucking ever. Crash! The song of storms comes to a crescendo again, this time it is organized chaos. A sound of thunder with rhythm. The crashing of rain falls into more of this devil song.

This piano already knows more about herself than she. If she were to play this dog until the conclusion of her home and place in this earth, then it would okay forever. Her hands would continue to play the keys strike the chords and strings until her hands turn to dust and dirt and become this earth.

If she were to play until whatever fucking soul she may have comes to peace and serenity, she would play all her life. She would tie her soul to this piano and play once she is dead. She would take the keys with her to he'll and play as the fires of the devil himself burn this piece of wood and string and something else.

But she will stop for now, and let the storm become dormant once more. She will pretend as if this game she is playing with Sebastian is only a game and it means nothing more than a crumb to her, but it really is all that is keeping the storm away. It is all that is keeping her from throwing herself into hell before her time, but she will never admit that to him or herself. She dares not touch that sealed box or else all the evils of earth and heaven and hell will be released. She holds onto the lies she tells herself because it's the realest thing she has.

She gets up from the bench and puts the cover over the piano keys. She moves to leave the room and halts in her steps. She sees the entire residents of the house in the doorway not-so-subtly listening to her playing. Mey Rin and Finny are crying. Bard looks as if he is taken back to a place be wish he could forget.

And Sebastian is there, behind them looking indifferent as always. His stoic expression gives her so much pain. And she realizes that no matter how little emotion she feels, he will never understand what little pieces of humanity she holds; yet, he is the one she chose to love and care for. She feels a pain in her chest. It feels like she is drowning and falling at the same time. It feels as if the Angels and the demons are tugging at her heart at the same time. They each want to make her suffer, suffer so much, but what poison she takes is up to who wins this tug of war. The ocean in her lungs reaches her throat and chokes her and she realizes she is crying. This ocean of pain, black as his tailcoat, is overflowing. The tears are falling down her cheeks but she is not heaving in sobs. All is silent, still.

And Ciel is in front of them all. He looks at her with sympathy. He feels for her and knows she hates this attention. He knows that she doesn't wish others to know of her unexplainable emotions. She doesn't want others to see and feel the emotions even Madison herself can't interpret. She can't have something up for judgment when she can't even name it.

He steps for ward and says, "Everyone go back to your duties."

They all disperse. The one to linger the longest is Finny, and Ciel repeats himself to send him off for good. Madison sees the sad, sympathetic look in his face, but she reveals nothing. In hindsight it was unkind to reciprocate sympathy with indifference, but she didn't care in the moment. She just felt exposed and wished him gone.

When Finny left, Ciel was left there. He closed the door behind him as he took to the room, fully this time. Madison avoided his eyes. She realizes her breath was haggard and her eyes bloodshot from the tugging of tears. She looked at the piano keys, her pens, only.

There was silence between them and Ciel spoke first.

"Don't avoid my eye; look at me." Madison raised her heavy head to meet blue eyes. His face was stoic as Sebastian's was, but in his eyes held hate, suffering, and all the unforgivable sins of character she held in hers. There was common ground here, at least, and that brought her comfort.

Perhaps why she latches onto Ciel so much was because they were so similar. This common suffering, burning they felt brought them consolation. They may be suffering pain and turmoil unheard of, but they were burning together; be meant to face the spitfire alone-comfort in company. Demons only understand other demons. Sinners only understand other sinners.

"Explain yourself."

Madison moved from the piano and stood before her young Master. Her hands were folded before her, back straight as a plank, and her eyes left Ciel's and met the floor.

"I have no excuse. I was wasting time in leisure when I should've been attending my duties. No excuse, young Master."

"I told you to look at me, Madison. Do not expect me to repeat myself."

Madison didn't realize the tears leaving her. Her face remained stoic and expressionless but her eyes lied to her position. She was so composed... exempt for her eyes, her ever-betraying eyes. She want d to curse them, but she couldn't.

Madison didn't realize she hadn't moved yet, nor did she realize her hands shaking and knees buckling. She nearly collapsed onto the floor.

Madison didn't realize she had fallen to the floor, her mediator, her equal. The tears poured into the floor below her. Oh no. They would ruin the carpets.

It took her too long to remember she was in the presence of her superior, who stood over her like a giant, though he was a small boy. She felt a shift in the floor boards as he approached her. He crouched to her level. His eye studied her. She couldn't look at him, still.

She felt his hand on her shoulder, a warmth she rarely feels. She often forgets that this 13-year-old boy is a human, capable of soft things. She felt his hand lift her head up. Their eyes met again. And she felt lifted out of her black as ink ocean, and set into the fire.

"No more crying. You are much too proud for that." He smirked at her and she thought it unkind. She looked away from him, to the floor.

"You are mistaken. I am not proud." It was true. She had little pride in what she is. She only had dignity.

Ciel removed his hand like a snake and stood up suddenly. Madison nearly fell over, but she did not look up from the floor.

"Stand up! No more! I will not have a servant of mind bawling like a child. Being such a delicate and experienced person, Id think you knew how to better deal with emotions. You're acting like a hormonal teenager. Look up at me! No more of this sulking, take pride in yourself." Madison couldn't look up.

"You look pathetic. You are more than this. You are Madame Red's sister and thus my Aunt, and you are my servant. No servant of mine is this weak and unheld. No more. Stand, you are not weak and pathetic as I remember you to be strong and graceful." Ciel spoke wig such passions an ferocity, Madison felt compelled to listen to this boy, to follow him. She looked up to him, finally. "No more. Stand with me."

Madison's eyes widened and she realized how stupid she's been. She is not weak, no. If this tortured boy, wiser beyond his years, wanted to take such a feral, broken creature to his side, she was worth standing. She was worth fighting for. And I'd she is something worth fighting for, she will act the part. She is the part. Madison will be as Ciel remembers, so as not to shame him. She will make him proud to have at his side. She will take pride in her form and essence for him, or else she'll shame the one creature who understands her turmoil. And she's heard humans die for such a thing.

She stood up and looked Ciel in the eye.

"No more," she said.

Madison woke up to tears stinging her eyes and cheeks. Her eyes felt hot and her face cold. Her face submerged and eyes burning.

Madison stood up, back straightening like a board. She stood as still as the dead, or death himself before he killed the one he loved.

She had betrayed her master, it is true. She realizes her mistake, her unforgivable betrayal. Her promise to herself was no more, it shattered like glass.

She had no more conviction or sense of self. The thing that Cirl had given her was gone, the rjkmf she compelled herself so much to have was taken away from her by desperation. All she wanted was to be happy. She wasn't the simple life given to stagnant humans. They are so unaware f their five of simplicity and identity. They know their job is to lay through life and die in peace, leaving behind a dent in the grass which they laid. Madison's life has been so insufferably excited, it has ran her ragged. She wants nothing more than to lay down, watch the sky, and die when it cracks.

But her life is unforgivable and is punishing her for being what she is. So she will take it for its ugliness and take pride in it. Hold it like a child a she must love despite its monstrous face. No charm; nothing. She forgot that she is gorgeous despite her broken soul. She will not pity herself again. She will break this stagnation, though it be a gift, it is not true to her being. It does not fit her jagged puzzle.

Madison say there as still as a dead flower, until a breath left her.

"No more."

/

A/N: I've deleted a lot of this story, because I wrote it when I was a horny 15-year-old. I cared not about my character at all. I wanted to rewrite this bit and beyond to give her more substance and make true to her. I want to tell the tragic story of her love and depression. I will be re-writing this story from this chapter and beyond, because I have new ideas. I hope you like them and understand.