All things must come to an end, the evening and Rachel's breezy sense of well-being were no exception. Ciel was whisked away by Abigail for bed as the sunset waned, and Rachel had never felt so lonely. Without anyone to distract her from her thoughts, she felt her blood slow and thicken into tar. The tears that rested precariously in the corners of her eyes fell like raindrops onto her blouse. As she watched the dark dusty clouds swallow the sky again, she wondered how someone like her could be allowed to live. She ran her hands over her thighs. She could still feel his hair, like fine silk against her skin. She bit her lip, remembering how soft his were. She bit down hard until she drew blood. How she wished she would sew these sinful lips shut, so that they would never bring disgrace to her or her family again. She stood abruptly. Trying her best to wipe any residue of tears from her eyes, she went to search for Abigail.

"M'lady!" Abigail gasped upon seeing her. "Oh my! What has happened to your lip! Are you okay?" Pulling out a handkerchief, she attempted to dab the wound. Rachel winced and took a step back.

"I'm okay, Abigail. I was… So lost in my thoughts I wasn't aware that I had bitten my lip. Please forgive my carelessness."

"Oh! Lady Phantomhive! A lady shouldn't think so much that she causes harm to herself! And to ask a maid for forgiveness!"

"Yes… Yes, you're right… Abigail, please fix me a bath."

"A bath?"

"Yes. As soon as you can… Please."

"Ah… C-Certainly milady." Abigail twisted the handkerchief tightly in her hands. She remained in the hallway for a moment, staring at Rachel as though she could decipher the woman's secret through sight alone. Rachel offered no resistance, making no attempt to flee nor offering any defense. Abigail's expression began to mirror hers. Her deep blue eyes, now wet with worry, shown like glass. Rachel felt herself falling apart before her gaze. The maidservant gave a slight bow and hurried off. Rachel stayed in the hallway. She leaned against the wall, still as a statue, until Abigail returned to tell her that the bath was ready.

In the bath she ran her hands down her legs. The warm bath water caressed her and brought her ease. But as the warm water relaxed her tense body, it also relaxed the restraints she had on her thoughts. They drifted back to the mortician, the decrepit funeral parlor, and the indescribable pleasure that like the water, caressed and warmed her body. Vincent… had never made her feel that way. No. It wasn't for a noblewoman to feel so vulgar. But still, she couldn't help herself.

Rachel sighed and looked up at the ceiling. She hated herself. She was certainly the most sinful creature to walk the planet. But still, even with her heavy sense of shame, she couldn't let that man go. The excitement of escaping her home, the sense of danger of journeying to East End, life had never seemed so real to her before. Her mission was dreamlike, something that should have never been possible, and yet it happened and awakened every one of her senses. Every detail of the squalid street on which he resided, each speck of dust that enveloped the shop, every word he spoke in his smooth baritone… They would forever be etched in her memory.

And yet she wasn't satisfied. Her womanhood ached at the thought of him. How she wished she could jump from the bath and return to him. How she wished he could steal him away, keep him hidden in a secret room in the manor, where she could escape to and indulge in her depraved fantasies. A proper woman would hurry to church and beg for forgiveness from the priests. But the thought of Rachel spilling the truth from her slatternly lips at confession seemed impossible. A proper woman would throw herself before the feet of her lord and husband. She would flog herself if her husband proved too virtuous for the task. But Rachel knew that there was bliss in ignorance. Telling Vincent, that would not change the past, she reasoned. She could hide the extent of her affliction from him, she was sure this could be hidden from him as well. It was certainly for the best. It was to protect him. It was too late for Rachel now. She had tasted forbidden fruit, and she couldn't return from it. She'd carry her burden alone, and wait until the judgment day to face her sins.

She thought that when Maude arrived tomorrow afternoon, she would return the novel. That awful, dreadful thing had done its damage. It was nothing more than evidence, now. Her thoughts continued to drift from obscene fantasies of that mortician to superficial reasoning that maybe, maybe it wasn't too late to save herself. It wasn't until Abigail began knocking on the door that she realized how long she had been in the bath. She forced a smile and reassured Abigail that everything was alright as the maidservant suddenly rush in, panicked. She returned to her bedroom and changed into her nightclothes. But as she turned to look at the bed, Rachel felt her body freeze. After betraying her husband, how could she sleep in the same bed as he? She sat lightly on the bench at the foot of the bed. Leaving the bedroom for another one would only worry Abigail further. She ran her fingers over the soft fabric of the blanket. She was ready to allow herself to be consumed by sin. Why was this simple action so difficult for her? After a great length of time had passed, Rachel was able to force herself onto the bed. She gingerly crawled onto the mattress, as if too harsh a movement would awaken someone who was already asleep in it. She laid on top of the sheets, allowing herself only the quilt that rested at the end of the bed for warmth.

It was a fretful night, wanting in adequate rest. When Abigail came to wake her for breakfast, Rachel felt weak. She gave a small smile that she knew Abigail didn't trust. The young girl looked at the bed that was still made. She bit her lip, as if forcing herself to keep quiet.

"Abigail dear, what is the matter?"

"It's… It's nothing, Lady Phantomhive… Lady Maude will be here this afternoon. It seems she did not want to wait for a personal invitation from you. Such a boorish woman…" Abigail murmured the last sentence under her breath, but let out a gasp and covered her mouth when she realized what she had said. Rachel continued to smile.

"It's quite all right, Abigail. You're only speaking the truth, good girl." Abigail's face grew red and Rachel couldn't help but to chuckle as she rose from the bed.

Despite the weight on her shoulders, Rachel breezed through the day. The air seemed clear and her lungs did not struggle as they normally did. Her energy gradually returned to her as the day went on. It wasn't until the announcement that Maude had arrived that breathing suddenly started to feel difficult. Such a casual visit always seemed like a remarkable event as the servants hurried to open the windows in anticipation of Maude's heavy perfume. Rachel fidgeted anxiously in her seat, focusing on her breath and the details of the cakes that rested on the table. Maude sauntered in, waving a dismissive hand at the servants who lingered in the room. Rachel looked up at her. As always, her face was painted. Her dark brown hair was tied up in an extravagant style, and her bosom seemed ready to fall out of her dress. Her large hips swayed with each step. Was she here for afternoon tea, or for a ball?

Rachel opened her mouth to say hello, but was abruptly cut off. "My book, dear." All color drained from her face and a chill ran over her body. Maude didn't sit down, but looked at her blankly. Rachel reached behind her and pulled out the book she had kept hidden. She handed it to the woman without speaking a word. Maude's thin red lips curved into a smile and finally she sat. After a moment of silence Rachel regained enough of her composure to speak.

"I-I'm sorry… I didn't—I mean, I meant… I meant to have the book… Sent back to you… I just—"

"Did you enjoy it?" All breath had left Rachel. Her face shown as bright as Maude's lipstick. "Don't try to lie to me, silly girl. Of course a prim and proper lady like yourself couldn't come right out and say it. But I could tell. I see tell you were curious, of what was really in the book." Rachel didn't reply. "I merely did my dear friend a favour, 'forgetting' the novel so you'd have a chance to peruse it in your leisure without the fear of judgment. That Taylor was quite the young buck, wasn't he?" Rachel didn't speak. "Don't play chaste now. You had quite a bit of time to return it if it wasn't in your taste. Ah, you old world women are all the same. One day you'll realize that you're only humans. You mustn't take yourselves so seriously—"

"Please leave."

"What?"

"I-I'm sorry. Please forgive my discourtesy. But for future reference please do give adequate notice before you visit."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm… I'm very busy today." Rachel quickly sat up. Her feet seemed to glide over the floor as she hurried out of the room. She had hoped that she could hold back her tears until she was out of sight. But as she neared the door a sob escaped her.

"Rachel!" She could hear Maude yell behind her, but she fought her instinct to respond and disappeared into the hallway. She ran blindly down the hall and picked a room to hide in at random. Closing the door behind her, she crumpled to the ground. The tears flowed uncontrollably, staining her cheeks, her dress, her hands. Sobs forced their way out of her mouth. Their hideous, croaking sound filled the room. She was surrounded by demons, bent on dragging her down to hell with them. She knew that the mortician was not human. She could see it in his eyes and in his inhuman movements that deceitfully looked ethereal. And Maude, her dear friend had long since been replaced by a despicable succubus. She had fallen into their trap and had played their game. How could she escape from them, now? When just the night before she so willingly let herself fall into their hands?

Between her sobs Rachel desperately gasped her breath. She hoped her affliction would take her now. If she were destined for hell, let there be no delay. But she then felt cold fingers against her hot cheek, and her gasps stopped. She looked up from under her tear-soaked lashes. The figure that smiled back at her stopped all her tears from falling.

"Crying isn't a very pretty look for you, hehehe…"