September 1889

Even the sunlit gardens cannot eclipse your fair face and I wonder, dear one, if you might understand the depth of my devotion towards you? Of all the chances you've given me—of all the opportunities you've presented—I have missed each and every one. I am of two minds these days, half hoping you might return and half praying you do not. For when I die, no muses will sing. I will flit and roam aimlessly, a shade amidst the shadowy dead, unknown and forgotten. And you, Lizzy, were not meant for mourning.

However—my altruism and broken honor only extends so far and I am limited in my ability to do good. I want you by my side, even if I can never acknowledge you, even if you shall be left behind time and time again because even the thought of you Lizzy, just the memory of your smile, reminds me of so much. The subconscious contentment I derive in knowing that you are nearby, that you are by my side, is what I want and need, despite how little I give you in return. But that is the nature of the world, isn't it? The selfish and the selfless. You are selfless Lizzy, you will continue to love me even if I am of poorer pedigree and crueler heart and I will exploit that affection without shame because no one else will offer themselves to me so readily.

Yet now, under the whisper of the waning moon, against the promise of tonight, I ask you to come home.

Have I hurt you in ways I do not know? Have I pushed you too far, past the brink of tolerance? Had this occurred while you were still here, still dressed in spring with roses in your cheeks, I would have been glad—would have carried your anger and resentment with pride because Lizzy, it'd be the only decent thing I could have done since returning from that month. You've devoted yourself to me (I did not ask this of you) but have never once shown bitterness at the prospect of our bleak future together. Yet should you return to me, safe and unharmed, I swear to you that I will try, Elizabeth.

Here, let me whisper to you a secret—the same ones we told each other as children—ink now stains my right hand, a permanent fixture of blue against skin. Here, Lizzy—here is a caress for all the times I flinched away from your touch. Here, Lizzy, here is the kiss I forgot to give and here, here are the fragments of my brittle and broken heart.

You, Elizabeth. You dear sweet apple perched on the highest branch of the tallest tree. Tell me, if I bartered with Demeter, if I offered her my eternal penance, would you fall into me? If you have been captivated by the sounds and thrills of the Sphere Music Hall, by their boisterous songs and bright silver, then come home and see that I have built you a music hall twice as grand. Do you delight in their nonsensical verse and foolhardy dance? Come home Lizzy and see what I have created for you.

Come home and you shall have all the delights of this earthly plane. I will offer you every precious little thing—all the gowns and songs and dances you so love.

Because while the folly of man has kept you astray, I know now that it was my own hubris that blinded me, for I did not think I would miss you so.

I did not think my nights would be spent thinking of your smile and how you loved me even when I was young and graceless, falling over myself as we ran through the rose garden. I was desperate, then, to be by your side, to prove something inescapable and be acknowledged as your equal. Truth be told, I thought that month had burned the last vestiges of human emotion from my heart and when I looked at you, I thought you were little more than a distant dream.

But how can that be when I now bargain with the devil—when the madness of my mind deprives me of sleep and I sit for hours on end, awake and agonizing? It seems strange that the lonely night should conjure up images of you, bright and smiling. Would you like to dance, my lady? Take a turn with me about the ballroom? I was once reluctant to take your hand and you responded, my silly foolish girl, by shattering the Phantomhive ring. The noose and collar that ties me to queen and country.

Yet if you should return, if you should come back to me, I will give you the melodies of Mozart and waltz with you through the gilded Viennese halls without complaint or question.

So, let me gamble now with what little I have and ask, Lizzy—will you come home?

—Ciel

- "For when I die, no muses will sing…" — comes from Sappho's 33rd fragment

- "You dear sweet apple…" — comes from Sappho's 23rd fragment

- Demeter: Greek goddess of the harvest, mother to Persephone. (Ciel sees himself as Hades no doubt.)

- Hermes: messenger of the gods, conductor of souls into the Underworld, and protector of merchants, boundaries, and travelers.

A/N: Stage three—bargaining. This was a little harder to write than the previous two chapters but I decided to utilize a more desperate edge to Ciel's bargaining with deities, spirits, his own mind, etc. because everything is now so out of control that he's trying to bargain with himself thinking "if I do/promise her this, Lizzy will come back."

(Thank you all so much for the reviews and feedback ^^)