AN: TROLOLOL, huzzah and behold: I bring-eth with me a delightful – an exceptionally overdue – chapter of Kuroshitsuji Fanfiction for you to indulge yourselves with. Enjoy (at your own risk XD)

Thanks to everyone who fav'd/alerted/REVIEWED! I didn't expect that good of feedback for the first chapter, but YAY n_n. There were quite a few people who pointed out my errors and typos and such, so thank you again :)

And a HUGE thankies to JustSayNoToPants for beta-ing this for me. I love you :'D

Oh, forgot to put one of these in last time: Disclaimer: Kuroshitsuji does not belong to me and *insert awesome and witty disclaimer joke here*

Chapter Two: Rising Action

"You are stuck here with me until you have learned something significant or another. I'll make sure to put you through everything that you once put me through." Sebastian lightly pressed his lips to Ciel's in a mock seal to their one-sided contract. Another kiss was placed on Ciel's right eye, and immediately, the teal-haired boy felt raw excruciating pain stem from that eye.

"This is my mark on you, just as you have marked me," Sebastian lifts his hand to display the burn mark on his left hand. A pentacle. "I will do things word for word, Ciel, so prepare yourself."

Ciel bolted up from his bed with a scream ready to jump from his throat. Sebastian's voice echoed clearly in his ears; the raven-haired man's words etched into Ciel's brain. At first he didn't believe Sebastian, but when he felt the dull throb from where that man had stabbed him previously, he moved to a desperate sort of denial, not wanting to believe his character. The faded pain only added to his inner turmoil. He wouldn't dare show any signs of fear though—unless, of course, if his anxiety caught up with him and decided to oppress his actions—Ciel was too prideful for that.

The young writer rubbed his eyes, wincing as the sun peaked out from his window. He looked around his surrounds, panic-stricken that he didn't recognize where he was. It was a small room, with a bed, dresser and nightstand; a hotel perhaps?

Groaning, Ciel could only think that this was another odd delusion. God dammit, it was to early for this. Getting up, he stumbled over to a table in the corner where he found a crumpled up newspaper. 'The London Gazette.' London? I'm back home? Ciel thought, a pain in his gut suddenly arising - wasn't he in Canada last time he checked? However, when Ciel saw the date on the paper, he felt the contents of his stomach turn.

1888.

No! This is impossible!Ciel's mind quickly tried to fathom why an old newspaper would be in his room...and just where was he? It certainly couldn't be a coincidence that a paper with the exact same date as the one he used in Sebastian's story would just so happen to show up in his room.

Ciel growled angrily whilst throwing the newspaper rather childishly across the room. ("Does nothing make sense in this world anymore?" he wanted to scream.) After hearing a thud, Ciel turned to see that the newspaper had hit an elegant mirror. The looking glass was perhaps more sophisticated than the rest of the room itself. A silvery frame spiraled around a glossy reflection and Ciel was surprisingly drawn towards the elaborate markings on it's metal skeleton. Ciel went over to trace his fingertips over the indents, feeling the words atop the frame.

'All immortals sing when they die.'

Ciel frowned and read over the words. What use is carving an oxymoron into a mirror? Ciel thought. Mirrors don't lie; they only can show what stands before them. Ciel paused and withdrew his hand for a moment. The mirror was fairly familiar to him, and he solemnly remembered that his parents had owned a similar one with the same engraved words.

The slate haired man lowered his eyes to gaze into his own reflection. Delicate porcelain skin and two cobalt eyes...no, definitely not: one cobalt, the other...

No. Ciel's hand instantly flew to touch under his right eye. There, plain as day, imprinted in his eye was a amethyst pentacle.

A knock sounded him out of his thought path, and he covered his right eye before getting up towards the door. Peaking through the peep hole, Ciel felt his heart pound when he saw what stood on the other side. He instantly flung the door open to reveal a woman in a red frock with a matching hat standing impatiently behind it.

"Aunt An!" Ciel cried, making sure to cover his eye. "Thank god you're here, I thought I was going completely bonkers."

The woman gave the younger a bewildered look before sighing and stepping past Ciel. "Really now, I don't know how many times I've told you not to smoke things with Lau. That Chinese rat has turned you absolutely rotten, Sebastian."

Wait...what did she say? Ciel thought and gaped at the woman who apparently, now thought he was high. "What are you talking about? I'm not Sebastian! (Nor am I impaired,)" As he looked over her again, her rouge lips became a thin line and she readjusted her burgundy hat. "Who—who are you?"

The lady gave a annoyed huff and sat on the bed. "Have you gone daft?" She reached into her purse to pull out a cigarette and wave it around as she talked. "Alright, let's start from the beginning, shall we?

"I am Madame Red, and you are Sebastian Michaelis." Madame Red lit up her cigarette and took a small drag. "Unless I am mistaken and you are actually not Sebastian and are instead some impostor. In that case, than would you know where I could find the real Sebastian—preferably one who is not chasing the dragon? I do have some important business for him."

Ciel was aghast; so he really was in his own book...Somewhere inside his head, he heard a little voice optimistically chanting that it was only a dream. Though he was not ready to fully accept he was imprisoned in the ink and paper of his own creation, Ciel internally sighed and decided he might as well find out what exactly was going on.

"Right, sorry Madame." Ciel gave a faux smile. "I guess I'm just out of sorts this morning. Now, what is it that you wanted to tell me?"

Now, Madame Red was another one of Ciel's characters. She was a wealthy lady that had found Sebastian on the streets when he was little and decided to take him in as an adopted son—since she couldn't have children of her own. Madame's character was roughly based on Aunt An—both for her love of red, and her upper-class behaviour.

Madame Red smiled coyly and smoothed her dress. "It's nothing really essential for me to tell you right now, and if you aren't feeling the best then perhaps it would be better if we get together later. I must run an errand, anyways."

Ciel blinked at her before scowling. Then why are you wasting my time? Ciel wanted to ask—but he restrained himself from doing so.

"Well, I must be off." She said while moving towards to doorway. "But, why in the world are you covering your eye? Have you gone blind?"

Ciel shook his head and thought quickly, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention. "The sun was in my eye."

Madame Red chuckled and waved at the confused boy. "Whatever you say, darling." She stopped before shutting the door and turned back to Ciel. "Oh, I forgot to mention that Grell has been looking for you. He was rather persistent that you come see him as soon as possible." Madame laughed as though she found something funny about her own statement. "Ta-ta, Sebastian."

Once the door clicked shut, Ciel flopped face down on his bed and growled. What the bloody hell just happened? He wondered, irritated.

Of course, he knew who Grelle was. In the first book, she helped Sebastian escape from his captor for a short time. During the Undertaker arc, Grelle and Sebastian became familiar with each other—but after Sebastian became intimate with the red haired female (in a rather un-graphic scene, mind you), Grelle became excessively attached to the other. This lead to her character being cut out early and never heard from again.

But wait...Madame Red was implying that Grelle was a he; didn't Ciel create Grelle as a female? He also remembered that he made the character rather flamboyant, so it couldn't be that in this world Grelle was a male. Was Ciel dealing with a transvestite?

"Well, well, well, do my eyes deceive me, or is that my little kitten?" A voice chuckled darkly and Ciel felt a spidery hand skim up his spine.

Ciel instantly flipped around and glared at the intruder, loathing that he hadn't notice the other enter the room. "You again!" His heart still throbbed painfully.

"Is that how you're always going to greet me?" Sebastian asked with a teasing tone. He was dressed in ebony trousers with a navy jacket. He captured the fabric of his pristine white gloves between his teeth and tugged them off, tucking them into his pocket.

"Greeting is another word for welcoming, something that you are certainly not." Ciel snapped and moved off the bed. "What do you want, Sebastian?"

"Do I need a reason to visit my kitten?" Sebastian cocked his head in mock cuteness, ignoring the previous jab from the other.

Ciel almost felt himself blush—almost. "I am not yours, so, if you would, stop referring to me as such."

Sebastian shrugged and circled Ciel predatorily, his hands behind his back. "Goodness me, aren't you a handsome little thing. Though I think that I prefer you looking like, well, yourself." A long finger came up to run along the side of Ciel's face. Said boy frowned with annoyance the touch and Sebastian ignoring his question. "I'll have to see if that nuisance Grell can fix his little mistake." The finger came up to rest on Sebastian's lip. "You see, if you look like me, then the events will just play over again. And what fun would that be having you know exactly what is going to happen? We do want a little impromptu in our time together, eh?"

Ciel eyed the other menacingly and huffed. "What on earth are you talking about? What events? I demand you to tell me! And why the hell does everyone seem to think that I look like you?"

"Don't you know?" Sebastian chuckled ominously whilst moving to sit on the bed. "I thought I had made myself rather clear."

"All you are doing is blathering on about nothing! Spit it out, or I'm leaving." Ciel lashed out, waving his arm for emphasis. He moved over to where Sebastian had sat and crossed his arms. "Stop messing around and tell me what you want from me!"

Without warning, Sebastian grasped Ciel's hips and pulled him onto his own lap, forcing the other to straddle him. "Now, now, no need to raise our voices." Ciel instantly began to thrash about and flinched when the other nipped at his ear. "Do you really want to know what I desire from you?"

The younger shuddered and tried to push Sebastian away. "Stop." His voice wavered on the single word, but Ciel wouldn't let Sebastian manipulate him so easily. "Stop this nonsense, Sebastian."

"Oh? But we've just begun." Sebastian smirked maliciously while tightening his hold on Ciel. The raven haired man's tone gave Ciel shivers. His character's ability to weave a seductive tone with a dark tinge was nothing less than marvelous. "Haven't you ever wanted to experience more carnal pleasure—ones other than quality time spent with your right hand?" Sebastian breathed lowly into Ciel's ear.

Adrenaline suddenly burst through Ciel's being and he managed his way out of Sebastian's grasp. "Don't be preposterous!" His eyes glowered with distaste towards the other. He could feel his cheeks heat up from Sebastian's words, a sickening warmth settling in the pit of his stomach.

"But I only speak the truth. After all—" Sebastian stood up to tower over the younger, "—I reside in your imagination." He tilted his head to the side and leered at Ciel. "How else could I have possibly known about every little detail of your existence?"

Ciel wanted to slap the other across the face, and almost considered doing so, however instead he moved back. "Why did you come here?" He asked again, this time with more power in his voice.

Sebastian sighed and put his hands on Ciel's shoulders. "To make sure Grell didn't, for lack of a better term, fuck it up. Or, rather, so he didn't do anything that would damage you." Sebastian leaned closer and his breath ghosted against Ciel face. (He may smell delicious, but that doesn't stop him from being a arse, Ciel thought.) "You see, in order to fully pull you into your own book, we needed to do a couple things first. One of those included effects - that a mere human as yourself couldn't possibly understand - just so happened to be that you appear to look like myself."

"What are you saying—" Ciel wanted badly to pull away from Sebastian's proximity, but the other didn't give him a chance.

"Now now, wouldn't want to ruin the surprise." With that, Sebastian removed all contact and made his way towards the door. "By tomorrow you should be looking yourself. Just don't do anything irrational whilst in my body." And with that, he disappeared out the door.

For the second time in only ten minutes, Ciel felt the intense urge to throw something. (This cannot be happening, Ciel thought of the hundredth time. Stupid Sebastian.)

"I should have killed him off when I had the chance..." Ciel mumbled to himself sombrely. "That bastard."

::Modern Day:: ::North-West Canada::

Aunt An sat uncomfortably in a pale pink chair, the thin foam padding doing nothing to put her at ease. The smell of disinfectant didn't distress her, but usually the red haired doctor wasn't the one in a waiting room anticipating the verdict from another doctor.

A tall man approached Aunt An with a clip board in hand, white coat alerting Angelina that he was a doctor. "Miss Durless?"

"Yes?" Aunt An stood to shake the doctor's hand. "Is he alright?"

The doctor nodded, "The good news is that Ciel's alive; however, he's in a coma. We haven't been able to determine what exactly caused the coma, but we're doing everything we can."

"What about his brain activity?" From years of experience, Aunt An wanted to make sure she knew everything about what was wrong with her nephew. She would have examined Ciel herself, but she didn't want her overwhelming panic to distract her from working.

"Perfectly fine, actually." The doctor smiled and gestured for Aunt An to follow him. "In fact, his brain levels are higher than the average person who has suffered from a coma. We'll make sure to monitor his progress, though, and keep you up to date."

Aunt An nodded and the two had arrived at Ciel's room. (665, Ironic...Aunt An had thought, wasn't that the page Ciel had been stuck on before?)

The doctor gave Aunt An a reassuring smile, "I'll leave you. Don't be afraid to talk to him. He might be able to still hear you."

As a doctor herself, Aunt An already knew this, but nodded nevertheless. "Thank you."

The red headed woman didn't say anything for quite a long time, but instead took residence in a vacant chair beside her nephew. She soothingly rubbed the hand that wasn't hooked up to an I.V. A thin layer of perspiration had appeared on his pale skin and the heart monitor had increased slightly. Aunt An could only worry for Ciel, and she felt a suffocating fear wash over her. What if the young writer never woke up...

My vision is black. The sound of people shuffling and murmuring to each other fills the undoubtedly poorly lit basement. I feel the cheap fabric that blinds me—the cloth is tied too tightly, which causes me to feel light-headed. There's a rustle of chairs scraping against concrete flooring and a man clears his voice loudly.

"Ladies and gentleman; bidders and buyers alike: tonight an extravagant assortment of items are brought to you for your zealous purchasing. Our first entry is this dainty little one—" The Announcer's voice booms across the room, silencing all other chatter.

"Young and untainted, this small specimen stuns all who gaze upon him." His voice turns darker, "His angelic features are in desperate need for corruption from your animalistic desires. I warn you, he is a stubborn one, and his master or mistress may have some drastic work to whip him into the perfect slave."

My body convulses at his words, and I desperately wish to sink back into the bars of my rusty cage. I feel a pair of cold hands loosen my blindfold, but I do not open my eyes. I can tell that the podgy announcer—who is more like a ringmaster—sending me glares.

A sudden pain makes me jerk as his heavy cane comes into contact with my shoulder. He chuckles as I fall forward, the crowd tittering along with him.

I hear him whisper something lewd into my ear, although I can't quite make out what he says—his hot breath makes acid rise in my throat. I can almost picture his blubbery lips turning upwards in a victorious smile as my body shakes. I want nothing more than to personally rip it off his greasy face.

"If he was cooperative , you could gawp at his cobalt eyes, which appear to be more expensive than any mere sapphire. This rarity is one of a kind, do I hear a thousand?"

I cringe in disgust when people shout higher bids, all the while the image of the smiling ringmaster burning in my mind.

"Sold!"

I don't hear the highest bid, but I don't care. Whatever my fate would be, couldn't possibly be worst than being in the cage.

I feel another jab on my already bruised shoulder. "Won't you look at your new master?"

My eyelids reluctantly open and I adjust my eyes to see.

"My, My, what a cute little feline."

My heart pounds rapidly as I stare at the man in front of me. Although the images around me are almost only black and white, the raven haired man's amber eyes seem to reflect a lifetime of torture.

"What shall I call you, kitten?"

Ciel involuntarily shivered as he regained consciousness, his eyes fluttered open and muscles strained when the young writer forced himself out of bed. The short nap had effectively boosted Ciel's energy, and, despite his frustration over the whole matter, he found himself feeling prepared to face whatever Sebastian threw at him.

Still feeling a bit groggy, Ciel lugged himself towards to what he hoped to be a bathroom. A small yawn escaped his lips as the slate haired boy moved in front of the showers. Rubbing his eyes, Ciel blinked at the structure that stood before him.

It was at least ten feet tall and sported odd-looking nozzles. Ciel had studied the Victorian era long enough to know that this contraption was a very primitive shower. The Victorians fancied baths more than showers, but the convenience of showers had made them more popular in luxurious hotels. A bell on the outside of the shower signaled when one would like to shower, and water would be brought up to their room.

Ciel sighed before tugging the brass bell's handle and starting to undress. Water began to run within minutes of Ciel disrobing and he stepped into the shower, closing the curtain behind him. The warm water felt nice on his skin, and make quick work of relaxing his tense muscles.

The constant drumming of water blocked out all outside noises, and it was unsurprising that Ciel didn't notice the quiet tapping against the small mirror across the bathing room. Nor did the writer see that, beyond the thick cloud of steam that had arose, a murky silhouette began to inch it's way towards the curtain.

It crawled on the floor at first, but as more vapour formed, it slunk slowly up the mirror, causing the tapping to get louder.

Behind the curtain, Ciel continued to wash himself, unaware of anything besides the water pouring down his body. His mind drifted back to the dream he'd had earlier; he was used to the nightmares by now, but that wasn't to say that he was fond of them. No, the dark memories would forever haunt the author—images of those men and their pathetic faces still burned vividly in Ciel's brain.

However, this particular dream was different, and Ciel suspected Sebastian was behind the warped nightmare.

Ciel suddenly froze while he rinsed the soap from his hair. His eyes were shut - the soap stopped him from opening them. The author heard another sound, and he anxiously washed his eyes, glaring in the direction of the noise when his eyes were free of soap. Slowly, Ciel moved to turn off the water. The noise seemed to settle to a whisper when the water shut off.

His mind started to race as a screech came from the other side of the curtain. The sound continued; it was as if a boney finger was pressed against the surface of the mirror and dragged downwards - to Ciel's ears, it might as well had been a sharp nail against a chalkboard. A shaking hand moved to the veil and Ciel summed up his courage to whip the curtain open.

Ciel nearly wanted to sink behind the walls when the clouded image met his eyes. On the mirror, a invisible something (perhaps a hand) continued to clear away the steam on the mirror. The single path curved up to form an "o." It seemed that it was spelling out something, but drawing it from inside the mirror. Ciel brought a hand up to his face, confused by the compelling need to cover his eyes and yet being unable to do so.

A straight line formed and Ciel felt frozen in place, incapable of moving or averting his eyes. Another vertical line crossed through the previous one, creating a "t." Ciel unfocused his eyes from the beginning of an "h" and read the first two words that was drawn on the mirror.

You cannot

An "i" followed, and with two more letters, the word read hide.

Ciel flung the curtain closed, not wanting to see anymore. He slid down the side of the shower and covered his ears, trying to block out the continuous sound from the other side of the curtain.

A thick lump had formed in his throat, and his stomach churned with acid even after the noise had ceased. He could feel hot tears forming, but wouldn't dare to let them show. He slowly stood and opened the curtains. Without reading the words on the mirror, Ciel almost ran out from the bathroom. He grabbed his towel, keeping his eyes to the ground. Before he exited the bathroom, Ciel paused for a moment. This is childish. This isn't even 100 percent real. Ciel thought. Why I am scared over something that's not real?

Ciel (almost) fearlessly turned to peek at the mirror, his heart pounding as he read over the words.

You cannot hide from what you made.

After the bathroom incident, Ciel opted to escape the hotel and went off to explore the streets of London. The 1800's had definitely differed from the modern city that Ciel lived in. Luckily, Ciel was in a slightly upper-class area, and the streets were bustling with life. Putting on his hat, Ciel hopped off of the step of the hotel and smoothed out the clothes he had found inside his hotel room.

Ciel wasn't completely sure about what he was doing, but the vague memory of Sebastian telling him not to do anything irrational echoed in his mind. He thoughtlessly strolled down the streets of London, heading towards the East End. Although catching a taxicab—or, rather, a carriage—would save time, Ciel decided that walking would give him more perspective of the world he was stuck in.

Surprisingly, the lower end of London wasn't too far away from his hotel, and Ciel found himself on a grimy street quicker than he had imagined—or would have preferred.

From the vast mixture of housing and pubs, one particular building stood out from the rest to Ciel: 'The Devil and the Dame.' A slightly cliché name for a pub that was titled after the brothel that ran above the bar. Ciel created this imaginary pub as a set for Sebastian and his captor's first meeting—the meaning dimly warned Ciel to stay clear of the pub, but the author payed no heed to it.

Smoke and the strong scent of liquor filled the pub as Ciel stepped inside. Normally, Ciel wasn't one for drinking or prostitutes, but seeing as he appeared to be Sebastian, Ciel didn't seem to mind making an exception.

A few men nodded to Ciel—or who they though was actually Sebastian—when he made his way to the bar counter. He slid into the tall chair and motioned for the bartender to pour him a drink.

The drink was stronger than Ciel had imagined and burned his throat slightly. Taking a another gulp, Ciel eyed the man who had sat two seats down from him; He was tall and had a stoic expression. The bartender nodded to the new man and put a caramel coloured beverage in front of him—brandy, perhaps.

Another glass was emptied, and Ciel's mind became a bit foggier. A nagging voice in the back of his mind told Ciel this was a bad path to continue on—and, moreover, it was becoming both uncharacteristic and rational of him. He pushed it aside and moved to sit directly beside the new comer— Ciel felt a faint twinge of familiarity towards the man.

Once the third drink was downed by the young author, the other man glanced his way. "If you continue that way, you'll certainly become ill."

Ciel smirked and turned to face the other. "My affairs don't really concern you, now do they?"

The other hummed and went back to ignoring the younger.

The alcohol had already begun to take it's toll on Ciel; his judgement was slipping more promptly than he had expected. Was this unreasonable enough to draw Sebastian's attention? Ciel wondered as he cleared his throat as an indication that he wanted to talk to the other.

"I'm Ci—" He stopped before correcting his words, "—I'm Sebastian, who might you be?" The words seemed a bit garbled together, but came out coherent enough to be understandable.

The other thought for a quick moment before responding, "You may call me Faust."

"Oh? Like from the book, Faust?" Ciel laughed in drunk happiness. "That can't possibly be your real name!"

"Why ever not?"

Because I never put a single 'Faust' in my book. Ciel wanted to explain this blunt truth, and nearly did. Instead Ciel gave a (fake) smile, "I'd imagine that you'd make a faux name—an earl certainty wouldn't expose himself in a place such as this." Ciel took another sip of his drink.

The corners of Faust's lips twitched. "I'm flattered you think me an Earl." Ciel internally smirked, years of his aunt's babbling about complimentary skills had finally payed off.

(False) surprise sounded in Ciel's voice, "Not an Earl? Dare say, what are you then?"

Another almost smirk before mumbling something along the lines of, "I am merely a gentleman."

"Well then, Faust, what say you to a friendly game?" the wheels in Ciel's mind began to turn mischievously.

"A game of what sorts?"

Ciel finger's circled the edge of his glass, glazed eyes staring at the small bit of liquid at the bottom. "It's quite simple, actually. All you must do is drop a hairpin into a glass bottle. If you lose, you must do whatever I say for one hour."

"And if I win?" Faust sounded curious; his tone only had a small tinge of curiosity, but it was still present in that monotone voice.

Unfortunate for you, that 'if' will not become a reality. "If you for chance succeed, then I must do whatever it is you wish for an hour."

Stupid bet, Ciel thought sulkily, Stupid Faust.

Ciel was currently leaning against the cold brick wall of a lonely building. A chilly gust of wind made Ciel shiver—he had been waiting for Faust to show up for over thirty minutes, and had already compensated on leaving many times. However, a bet was a bet, and even if Ciel lost a silly drunk bet he wouldn't go back on his word.

The bitter beginnings of winter had already began to set in, and if that damned man didn't show within the next few minutes, Ciel decided that he would leave. However, before Ciel could even finish his thought process, an approaching figure surfaced from beyond the light fog.

"About time..." Ciel mumbled as he pushed off from the wall and stepped forward. In a louder voice, Ciel called out to the other. "What took you so long?"

The new comer gave no reply, but continued to stride in Ciel's direction. Ciel at first thought that the wind had prevented Faust from hearing him. He yelled a bit louder, "Faust?"

Again, no answer came. Ciel squinted his eyes to get a better look at the other, but what met Ciel's eyes was certainty not Faust. As the other came in closer proximity, Ciel could see a sinister smile in place on it's lips and the slate haired author quickly realized what kind of position he was in; a skinny male who was small enough to pass as a malnourished boy standing alone in a dark area of London.

Sensing possible oncoming danger, Ciel did what any sane person would do: he ran.

The moment Ciel turned around and darted away, he could hear the rough grunt of the other followed by the clunk of heavy shoes behind him. Fortunately, this part of London had not been covered in any ice, but this didn't give Ciel much of an advantage.

Ciel spotted a group of people ahead, and an idea began to form in his mind. He dodged the oncoming crowd, hopefully losing sight of his chaser. The novelist hadn't realized it had began to rain until a bolt of lightning sparked throughout the sky. The scent of salt water hit Ciel's nose, and adrenaline pumped in the young writer's blood as a dock came into view; as well as a departing boat where he could surely get help!

He was just about there when a sharp pain began to ache in his ribs and lungs, making it impossible to continue running. Ciel anxiously looked behind himself, and at first did not see his pursuer.

Then, from the thick fog, a man in a trench coat charged towards Ciel. Not wasting a second, Ciel attempted to run but only managed to hobble as a harsher pain closed around his throat.

He repeatedly cursed in his mind as he tried to yell out for help; what came, however, was a low rasp followed by a desperate wheeze. He could hear thumping of the other's boots draw closer, and he only caught the faint smell of brandy before a cloth was placed over his nose and mouth. A silent 'no' echoed in Ciel's mind as the wet streets went out of his vision.

When Ciel recovered consciousness, his heart immediately began to pound. The room he was in was dark, but a light could be seen from out the door. Thankfully, his hands weren't tied, nor was anything else. Ciel lifted himself off the ground, but regretted doing so too quickly—his surroundings were a bit fuzzy and Ciel suspected chloroform. As the slate haired author staggered past the doorway, a repugnant stench assaulted him. The closer Ciel went towards the light, the stronger the scent got; when the odour was at it's strongest, Ciel found himself in a kitchen-like room.

Another man inhabited the space, and turned to nod at Ciel. "Ah, you've woken up, have you?" The man's voice was a bit garbled up, and Ciel felt himself too delirious to recognize either the man's face or voice.

Ciel wanted to find the nearest exit, but found himself being pushed into a wooden chair. Boney hands tied Ciel's own arms to the arms of the chair, and fingers pushed Ciel's bangs back. Ciel's clammy hands flexed sluggishly as bleary images danced in front of his eyes. The man fazed between being an outlined figure and an indistinct splotch in Ciel's dizzy vision.

"Hmm...seems like I've given you too much..." he muttered, and went off to grab something. A damp cloth was presented to Ciel, and a thick vapour rose from it. Momentarily, Ciel's vision evened out a bit, but not as much as too give away the man's identity.

Ciel desperately tried to form words, but was unable to produce anything coherent.

The other man shook his head and chuckled darkly. "Rest, and let me eat."

Watching the other blearily, Ciel leaned his head back as the other went back to his plate. The man plucked a piece of what looked like meat from the china and held it between his fingers. With an animalistic behaviour, he resumed eating.

The meat's juice slide down the man's chin as he ripped off a piece. His thin fingers pinched the meat as he gnawed on the food.

"How rude of me, would you like some?" Ciel flinched when the piece was offered to him, the burnt meat had a slight pink center, but a umber outside. The smell nauseated the young writer; it was slightly familiar, but his pounding head was unable to place exactly what it was.

Once the meat was finished, the other man gave a dark smirk and moved towards the fridge. Taking out a wrapped package he went to turn on the stove. "I think I fancy another."

Ciel couldn't see what was taken out of the foil, but as soon as it hit the frying pan, Ciel's nose was instantly assaulted with a absolutely revolting smell. It was then, combined with the slight shakiness in the man's hands, that he realized what the previous piece of meat was.

It was the smell of burning flesh that made Ciel again want to regurgitate the contents of his stomach. This time, he did.

Images of human tissue being pulled apart by the other man's teeth invaded his brain. Muscles being shredded from the bone and fried as a side made Ciel's knees feel weak. A trail of vomit was wiped away by the same hands that had torn apart that human meat, and he could have sworn that chunks of cooked skin were underneath the other's fingernails.

The frying pan sizzled and a drop of hot juice—blood—squirted between Ciel's eyes; it was then that he felt bile rushing up his throat, and then the world again went black.

:: Whitechapel, London::

In the slum infested area of Whitechapel—where nobles and merchants snuck out to visit those lewd houses—there was a funeral home belonging to The Undertaker. In the midst of a street full of brothels, the mortician's shop stood majestically in it's gloomy pride. Within the morgue, three males sat uncomfortably in the presence of the Undertaker.

"Fufufufu...What do we have here?" The Undertaker giggled in a spine chilling manner. "Lord Trancy, whatever can I do for you today? Come for another body, hmm?" Another unnerving laugh spilled from the mortician. "I'm afraid all the bodies I have at the moment are distinctly dead."

The addressed lord scoffed in an annoyed manner. "No, No, that boy you gave me before was perfectly fine. I am here on business terms."

"Aren't you always?"

"Undertaker, sir, we're here to inquire about a rumour that has been floating around London." The other man - in his late thirties - spoke up. He looked significantly older for his age, but was far more pleasant looking than the other lord. "About the boy."

Undertaker tittered quietly and practically glided over to a cabinet. "You know what price I charge for such information...but-" Taking out something that looked almost like a dog biscuit, the Undertaker munched on the snack happily. "-but, you must be much more specific one whom you are wishing to inquire about. There are hundreds, if not thousands of boys in London."

The third male kept his head nervously down all the while. Despite him wanting to become the center of attention, the younger blond boy shifted all the more when the eerie embalmer noticed him.

"Deary me, aren't you an adorable little specimen." Undertaker cheerfully poked at the youngest boy's cheeks, causing the boy to flinch and hide behind his master. "Where ever did you find him, Lord Trancy?"

Lord Trancy huffed, and pushed the cowering blond away. "Where I found him is not important! What is it you want? Whatever your price is, I'll pay it."

The creepy man smiled and gestured to the blond. "If you would be so gracious to let me play with your little pet, then I'll tell you whatever you fancy."

"So be it." Lord Trancy said right away, while the blond looked at his master frantically. "Play nice, Jim."

"Well, if I am assuming correctly, you wish to know about our dainty little originator, yes?" Undertaker pressed his fingertips together, his long nails tapped against one another. "He is in London, but not in his own form. If you seek him, look for the particular fiend that our initiator favourites.

Lord Trancy was familiar to the Undertaker's riddling ways, but the other Lord wasn't so convinced. "What in God's name is that supposed to mean?"

The Undertaker only cocked his head and smiled, "That is for you to figure out for yourself."

"Well, then, perhaps you'd be so kind as to speak in plain English?"

"That will cost extra," The Undertaker sighed, "And although I'm willing to supply you with all the information your hearts desire, it seems there is nothing else you have that interests me."

He sighed. "Thank you for the information," The other lord said as he tipped his hat.

Lord Trancy nodded as well, but his tone was bitter. "Pleasure doing business with you. I'll be back to pick up Jim in an hour."

"Believe me, my Lordships, the pleasure is mine."

When the two lords exited the dark morgue (thankful to have fled from the shop), it left only the blond and the Undertaker to themselves.

"So," The blond started, "what are you going to do with me?" The younger instantly dropped his quiet and innocent façade-his tone quickly became haughty yet also cheeky.

"Hmm...what did you say your name was? Jim?" The Undertaker moved closer to the boy, ignoring his question for the moment.

"Don't call me that." He demanded, crossing his lead and adjusting his thigh-high socks. "Call me Alois."

"Alois? What a-" The Undertaker dropped to the smaller boy's level and chortled quietly, "-unusual name..."

Alois rolled his eyes and rose to his feet. Pressing himself against the taller, and much older man, Alois smiled suggestively. "What are you going to do to me? Tie me up in one of those coffins—or perhaps you'd rather have me tie you up." He wrapped his slender arms around the taller one's waist and looked up at him with lecherous blue eyes.

The Undertaker actually laughed violently. "ehehehe~! You suspected that–bahaha!"

"Eh?" Alois jumped back at the elder's sudden display of hysteria.

"Gyah-hah-ha, No, no, no. If you wanted to be treated as a whore, then you should have went to one of those cathouses." Undertaker calmed down, but an eerie smile was still in place. "No, what I desire is to see something else.

"Since your face is so charming, I was only wondering how wonderful your insides would be."

Alois widened his eyes and back away further. He felt the back of his knees press against a coffin as the Undertaker loomed over him. "Don't worry your sweet little head though, you won't feel a thing. Fufufufu~"

A piercing shriek echoed down the alleyway, but no one in Whitechapel paid mind to it.

Some Comic Relief: So, I was up until 3 in the morning one night typing this, and my dogs, Roxy and Misa, were snugging with me. Roxy gave me this looked that basically said: "Mum, quit your fucking typing and go to bed. NOW. Me and Misa-Misa are trying to get some shut eye. So STFU. Kthxbia." It was cute :3

Reviews motivate me, and make me happy :D

~Tiiley-chan