Disclaimer: I don't own Kuroshitsuji.
Warnings: Mentions of rape.
The first time they actually killed one of her suitors, Lady Celia Phantomhive was fifteen years old.
By that time Celia was truly sick and tired of constant unsuccessful attempts at catching – and holding – her attention. It started innocuously enough, with a number of expensive and luxurious gifts and requests for dance a few rare times that she decided to socialize, when she was newly orphaned and seemingly vulnerable. But as the time passed and she aged and became lovelier with every passing year, the number of admirers rose, together with increasingly inconvenient ways they expressed their interest. It wasn't uncommon to find one young nobleman or other visiting her manor at the teatime or sending tickets to various theatre performances and operas. Public outings became almost unbearable thanks to the fact that men tended to meet her at oddest places and always 'politely' insist to be the one to escort her around the city. And less said about balls, the better.
Ironically enough, Sebastian became her saving grace at times like that.
With his usual cunning efficiency, he became a veritable expert at getting rid of her various suitors politely and without any hurt sensibilities, sometimes even making them think that leaving her alone was their idea all along.
In Celia's opinion it was a work of art. Not that she would ever admit that to the demon – or anyone else for that matter – not even under the greatest torture. He was smug enough as it is.
However, the constant, unbearable crowding left her with immense loathing toward social functions, even more than before if that was possible. She became a hermit for all intents and purposes, only ever going out when needed for the good of the household or when the Queen came calling. And Sebastian always, always came with her.
And then Lizzy decided to host a ball.
Celia, for all her apparent iciness toward her cousin, didn't like to deny her anything. And she didn't dare to deny Aunt Francis. That path led to early death, demon butler or no.
...So.
She had to actually attend a ball.
And judging by her previous encounters with formal gatherings, it will be a disaster of astronomic proportions.
…
Celia exited the carriage in front of Midford London house, clad in her nicest dress of dark blue silk and black lace, her hair braided away from her face and clipped on her head with numerous bejewelled pins and her stomach ready to drop. She steadied herself on uneven ground, mentally cursing her high-heeled boots, but taking care to keep her face impassive. It wouldn't do for her to let everyone see her discomfort.
"Are you quite all right, my lady?" Of course, Sebastian already noticed. He always seemed to notice anything concerning her and enjoyed antagonizing her later with little titbits he collected, all in his almost painfully polite and courteous way so it was practically impossible to accuse him of anything. Not that it ever stopped her from trying.
"Quite all right, Sebastian. Now hurry! The sooner I meet with Lizzy and Aunt Francis the sooner this will be over."
"Yes, my lady. Although I sincerely doubt that it will be that easy. Your experiences with formal gatherings so far certainly claim otherwise," he said, falling into his place at her side and a step or two behind her, shadowing her while she walked to the entrance, both of them ignoring the looks they received from other latecomers.
Celia fought the urge to agree with him and thankfully succeeded thanks to the long years of practice.
They entered the lavish mansion trying to catch as little attention as possible, which was quite hard considering both of their reputations. Everybody knew who the Queen of the Underworld was, and her loyal butler, her constant shadow, wasn't any less noticeable. Both of them had been a source of much gossip for years now, their obviously 'close' relationship being quite uncommon in the circles of aristocracy. Most of them assumed, and rightly so, that the demon was her bodyguard, but few of the more irritating ones – curiously consisting of unwed young ladies seeking to mar her reputation – claimed that they were having an illicit affair.
Both of them took their revenge at such rumours individually and then they had a lot of fun comparing the results.
Naturally, they attracted attention wherever they went.
"Celia, you came! And you are wearing such a cute dress!" the exuberant voice of Elizabeth Midford caused the very few eyes that weren't trained in their direction to observe them with frightening intensity.
Celia stifled a sigh and endured Lizzy's hug without much protest, utterly used to such treatment after all these years. Sometimes, when she was in a good enough mood, she would even return it, but today she just left her arms to flap uselessly at her sides to demonstrate her displeasure in a way that even Francis could find no fault in.
And speaking of the devil...
The much feared voice of her formidable Aunt thankfully brought her cousin back to the reality. "Elizabeth, do cease acting in such an unbecoming manner and allow me to greet my niece."
The beautiful blonde retracted her hands and stepped back to her mother's side, her pretty pink dress rustling with every movement. "Yes, Mother."
The woman nodded, a movement as regal as the rest of her. "Celia, you look as proper as ever, I'm glad to say. And, Sebastian," the scrutinising look she graced him with would have been deemed immoral on any other lady, especially considering the handsome visage of the butler, "still indecent, I see. You should really follow Tanaka's example more closely in the future."
The demon bowed. "Your Ladyship, I'm sure I don't know what you are talking about."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm sure you don't," she allowed, her doubt clear in her voice, before turning on Celia again. "The refreshments are in the far corner if you wish them. We shall leave you to the party. There are still guests to greet."
Celia nodded appreciatively, and hurried in the direction of drinks, glad for the small reprieve from her boisterous cousin.
So far, there weren't any complications.
She could only hope it stayed that way.
…
The trouble found her only an hour later.
She was alone in one of the smaller corridors, having claimed the need for the fresh air as a means of a distraction and searched for the respite from the ball. The ballroom was too crowded to be comfortable. The stale air and the smell of perfume that caused a headache, and too much people in one place triggering the hard-won instincts that kept her alive in her numerous forays to the more disreputable parts of London, all of it forced her to look for a moment of piece.
So naturally, she was attacked.
Meaty hands grabbed her from behind, making her flinch and suppress a shriek, and turned her over so she was facing her assailant. She was pushed forcefully into the wall, the impact driving all of the air from her lungs, and her head hit the stone hard, leaving her slightly dazed.
She focused her eyes on her attacker, coming face to face with a small, portly man dressed in finery, obviously guest at the ball, grinning at her with his brown moustache twitching violently. He was completely bald, his head shining like it was polished and his small beady eyes were looking at her hungrily.
She felt the first stirrings of panic in her belly and clamped down violently on the urge to scream. The music from the ballroom was too loud along with the steady hum of the chattering guests. Nobody would hear her if she tried, not even Sebastian with his inhuman senses, and she would only make her fear obvious.
His grin widened. "Well, well, well, isn't it Lady Phantomhive. Not so high and mighty without your bodyguard to save you, are you?" His hand dipped to her waist and she tensed gritting her teeth.
They were touching her without her permission, telling her how beautiful she was when she was scared and how they will hurt her and kill her and why won't she cry they would like to see her cry it would be so so pretty, wouldn't it on such a lovely girl...
And..
No! She wrenched herself from the flashback with iron will that let her survive the most awful things one could do to a child with her mind relatively intact. The tremendous control of her emotions that helped her overcome the horrors that plagued her dreams night after night for years helped her to overcome the instinctive terror she felt whenever a man laid his hands at her, however innocent the gesture may seem.
She was not ten years old any more, she assured herself. Those men were dead, all of them. Slaughtered by Sebastian at her orders, and there was so much blood…
She felt the macabre grin settle on her face at the reminder, momentarily stunning the man holding her with its sheer ferociousness. She had made it alive and almost intact when she was ten. She can certainly do so again.
Celia cocked her head in a mock curiosity. "And who are you again?" she asked, mostly to stall for time, but partially to anger him. She knew who he was, of course, she had only met him and hour ago. And while she may not have been interested in his company and almost ignored him, her superior memory would never allow her to forget something so fast, no matter how insignificant she deemed it.
George Adler gaped at her, the very picture of stunned fury. "You… You don't remember me?! You arrogant little wench don't remember me?!"
He started to shake her violently, his grip tightening enough to leave bruises, and she once again hit her head on the hard wall behind her. She tried to ignore the stars in her vision, her manicured hands clawing uselessly at his flesh. He was too far gone, too angry to register when she drew blood in her attempts to free herself.
"You stupid little bitch! I'll show you what happens when you forget me! You might even like it. I'm sure I will, you're such a pretty little girl after all." His hands started to dip lower and lower and she had to force herself not to whimper, not to let him see her fear.
You're such a pretty little girl, they always told her, just like her mother used to, but mother was not there she was dead and the men hurt her and beat her and she wouldn't cry she was Celia Phantomhive and she wouldn't cry she'll live and she'll get strong and she'll kill them all
But it hurts so so much…
The pain in her throat brought her back, her frightened sapphire orb focusing at the hand wrapped around her neck.
She was Celia Phantomhive, she reminded herself, the panic making it hard to think. She is strong and she'll kill him.
His other hand was now lifting her dress, showing her boots and legs for all the world to see. Celia resumed her struggles, her hands clawing at his skin, the blood dripping from the sharp nails, trying to get to his eyes. But his arms were longer and she was at disadvantage, no matter the training Sebastian put her through at daily basis. Adler was bigger and stronger, and she was already pinned to the wall, without any weapons at hand, her movements constricted by the heavy skirts and the corset.
She felt his hand on her flesh, touching her legs virtually with no fabric between them, and she tried to kick him, to hurt him, but he restrained her with ease.
Nobody can help her mummy is dead daddy is dead Tanaka is gone the house burned there is nobody who'll miss her look for her cry for her…
And they still touch her hurt her say that they'll kill her soon sacrifice her to summon a demon and thenthey'll have power and riches and women all because of a demon…
Demon…
She buried her nails in his skin as deep as she could, almost breaking them with the force she used. His yelp was all the distraction she needed.
She reached to her face and removed the eye-patch.
"Sebastian, come."
She grinned when the shadows engulfed them.
…
Demons rarely hated.
Most people would disagree, Sebastian knew, because most people were idiots. They claimed that God is a being of love, and compassion, and all that is good, so surely demons, as beings made to be opposite of God, would also be beings of hate.
Most people also forget that the opposite of love was indifference.
To feel true, burning hatred, the one that could consume you, that caused you to hurt, and maim, and kill without question about morality, you have to care about something first. You must consider something worth of your feelings, of the effort you put in them, no matter how small it may be, how insignificant it may seem. It was a form of acknowledgement, negative one, yes, but acknowledgement nonetheless.
Demons didn't care. They were indifferent.
Sebastian surprised even himself when he felt the all-consuming hatred for one George Adler.
When he melted from the shadows at the Young Mistress' call, he never expected the sight that greeted him. Celia, steady, strong Celia, was in some men's arms, clawing and fighting, clearly frightened but with the same grim defiance and cold viciousness that first made him accept the contract.
He noted the bruises on her neck, the matted blood in her hair, her chipped nails and Adler's hand on her leg, and stilled in absolute fury.
Celia Phantomhive was his.
She had been his when she was ten and accepted the contract. She had been his when she trusted him to hold her after the nightmares, the only man that was still allowed to touch her. She had been his when he refused her soul even after his part of the bargain was completed, because she was just so entertaining and amusing and he hadn't had so much fun for centuries.
And that man was touching her. And what was worse, he was touching her without her permission.
For the first time in millennia he acted without thinking, moving faster than the human eye could see. The swine of the man was flying across the corridor before crashing painfully in the wall the very next moment, falling unconscious.
Young Mistress slid to the floor, her skirts flaring around her, graceful even in the situation like this. She didn't flinch, she didn't cry out, she didn't even embrace herself like women were wont to do when they were distressed, she just stared at the man with utter loathing written across her lovely face.
He approached her carefully. He knew enough about humans to know that they could be skittish in situations like this.
Naturally, Celia proved herself to be better than the other pitiful worms yet again.
"Sebastian, help me up," her voice was steady, calm, but there was a tinge of something frail there, something that demon recognized from the first few months of their time together.
"Yes, my lady;" he murmured, snaking his hand around her waist, his touch just a bit possessive. She leaned into him as he helped her stand and didn't protest when he refused to let her go when she steadied herself.
"I want to go home now, Sebastian. I think that this was quite enough for the night."
"Yes, my lady," he said, and then hesitated for a moment. Really this woman, making a demon worry about her feelings… "What about the man, my lady?" The tone he used made it rather obvious what he wanted to do to him.
The girl tilted her head, gazing at the slumped form of her attacker, looking eerily like one of those porcelain dolls that are so popular in these times. Then a smile stretched her lips, slightly feral and entirely vicious, reminding Sebastian of some of the female demons that he met in his long, long life.
And wasn't that a delicious thought…
"I want him dead and gone," she announced and then looked him in the eyes, both of hers uncovered. She looked more striking than ever, bloodied, bruised and with her teeth bared threateningly. "And, Sebastian, make it hurt."
His smile matched hers perfectly. "Yes, my lady."
…
George Adler woke to a stifling dark and glowing, fuchsia eyes.
The Phantomhive butler greeted him with a grin. "Finally awake, I see. We are going to have so much fun."
George started to scream.
He won't stop for a long time.