He rested his forehead against the glass window in his dimly lit room. Because he could not see past the fog of his breath or the constantly falling droplets on his window from the ever constant London weather—his pale hand, now ungloved, resting near his head on the icy window—he simply peered at his own reflection. Grell could also make out the reflection of a flickering candle that rested on a stand besides the bed behind him.

Sometimes, he liked to imagine himself as the small, tiny flame on a candle wick. Despite its petite size and harmless façade, it could easily be the most dangerous thing in the world. If let to run wild, destruction and ashes it would leave in its wake—everything it touched set ablaze. However, it was contained—hanging on by a wick and slowly suffocating. The flame was slowly dying, trying to reach out for anyone—ANYONE—that would give it something to cling to. Something to live for. It was trapped in a world that was slowly closing in around it, choking and restraining it to the point of oblivion. This dull world of black and white Grell lived in was his candle wick—his prison. It was a world where they told him to live his life coldly…emotionlessly. But it wasn't who he was. They were closing in around him; his restraints were getting too tight. If he didn't find release soon, he would either die out like that hopeless candle flame, or combust in a fiery explosion.

Two lime-green pools looked up past the veil of unkempt crimson hair slightly hanging in his face, a drop of rain falling down the window to mirror the single, salty tear sliding down Grell's pale cheek. His hand left its cold perch, reaching behind him as he removed his head from the window, and he pulled out a ruby-handled knife he always carried. Holding it firmly, he used the top to slowly push up the white sleeve of his right arm. Like a curtain, it revealed the ivory skin scarred over time by numerous nights such as this one. His eyes were dulled, as if in a trance as he ran the flat edge of the blade against his wrist before pulling the knife away. Then, slowly, he gently placed his pale, plush lips over one of his many scars, leaving a faint kiss upon his wrist. Grell closed his eyes for but a moment, letting out a heavy sigh before finding the pleasure he found in pain. How he reveled in that beautiful red liquid, falling onto the scarlet floor like delicate rose petals, watching as his milky white skin was stained with blood—shivering with delight. On how he loved the nights like these, how it always ended the same way. Beautiful. Perhaps it was his mark of insanity, but he did not care. It kept him from the beds of the dirty whores and resorting to his previous routine of taking life in place of the one he could not have. Alcohol left too much of a hangover in the mornings, or made him lose his cherry-scented breath. No, there was nothing quite like this. It was…intoxicating. He loved the way the knife carved into his silken flesh, staining it with the complexion he looked so beautiful in. He loved the way the knife danced its way into his skin and made him crawl and gasp with delicious pain. It was so perfect to him. When he finally finished, he raised his mutilated wrist up, inspecting it like his captors studied paperwork, and then bathed his tongue to taste his sweet, sweet release. Like ecstasy in his mouth.

And then he stopped. A maddened grin split his bloodied lips stained red with his own essence, and a low sound emitted from his throat before a laugh escaped him and tumbled from his lips. The madman loved remembering just how sick he really was. "My darling Angelina, just how far have we fallen?"

Walking across the crimson carpet in his bare feet, and passing the chair that held his ribbon, vest, and coat, he took the small stashed cup and bottle of liquor from the drawer of his dresser and set it atop the oaken surface. Then, using his teeth, he uncorked the bottle and poured the golden substance until it was filled halfway. It was then he came up with a grand idea.

He picked up the knife he had set down while getting his drink and sliced into his wrist one more time before holding his wrist over the glass; Grell watched as the carmine blood fell into his drink, dispersing as it hit the surface. Flexing his hand, he watched as more drops fell, dying the gold with a vermilion hue.

Perfection.

Licking his wrist clean, Grell smirked and then lowered his arm, picking up his drink with that insane glitter in his eyes. The redhead turned, walking towards the tall, standing mirror with a golden frame, and looked at his lithe form holding a glass in his left hand. Grell held the glass up with a small smile before devouring it greedily as he savored the burn and sweet taste on his tongue, melting with the metallic taste of blood. But it didn't last long; he craved more, yet he thought better of it as he set the glass aside and focused on his reflection.

Green eyes skimmed a thin body, watching as his chest moved with every breath, looking at the elegant curves of his body that made him seem oh so feminine. For a moment, he wondered how anyone could possibly revile it, constantly…deny it with the attention it craved—the attention it needed. Quickly throwing it out of his mind, he shook his head. No, they all secretly wanted it, he knew they did. But he wouldn't let them because…it was his. They couldn't touch it, they couldn't possess it. It was all his and no one else's. This was his darkest secret: the romance with himself. Deft fingers slowly slid buttons between cloths, his eyes watching as pale, porcelain skin revealed itself with every button undone. His marvelous effeminacy showed with his lithe, small body. Stomach flat yet firm and arms slight muscular (though not to the point of masculinity) he could have passed as a woman; he was just so beautiful, and he knew it with an overwhelming confidence.

The woman, trapped in a man's body, held her head high, white shirt slipping from her broad shoulders onto the floor. Then she continued the meticulous undressing of herself until she stood there, nude, looking at herself with her dual colored eyes.

"How beautiful we are, Angelina…" he whispered, closing his eyes and letting his hands glide across his pale skin shamelessly. He turned his head away, a single digit tracing a thin vein down his neck, slowly getting rougher and digging deeper into his skin with a recently manicured nail the farther his hand went. Allowing his hands to wander where they pleased, his mind a clean slate, he tried to block out the mental images attempting to resurface. Even now, he could still feel their greedy hands and touches, caresses etched into his soul. He could hear their voices in his head. Ghosts of wet lips brushed his flesh and those hands fluttering over his skin, brushing over his body as if it were the wing of a butterfly; but, he was missing his perfect other half, and now he was trying to fill the void with himself. Nevertheless, the morning after always reminded him how pointless this was. He was a one-winged butterfly burning away its time and stranded on a candle wick.

However, this truth wasn't enough to stop him. These nights were his getaways, he could never get enough—they were his escape from reality. Grell needed his release, regardless of how he got it or how it came. Whether or not it came as blood or something much more lewd, it did not matter to him. The results were the same.

Collapsing backwards onto his bed, he looked towards the window, eyes half-lidded and lips slightly parted to reveal a glimpse of shark-like teeth. As he blinked slowly, breath hitching in his throat, he remembered the events of today.

"If you really wish to get rid of such an obscene title then stop your revolting behavior and cease living on such a low level. It's disgusting."

Well, it hadn't been the worst William had ever said, but it was the only thing that stuck in his mind at the moment, tormenting him endlessly as he found himself on the edge. Words like those haunted his dreams, commanded his fears, and ruled his existence. Deep down, he felt in some mad way that this was the only way he controlled himself anymore. Though in the end, it proved nothing—absolutely nothing.

Only his fall from sanity.

But what was sanity anymore?

Occasionally he resulted in biting his hands and tearing his veins open with his fingernails. In protest, his body would shrivel up like knotted strings and his consciousness would fade to sweet nothingness. Then, he would wake up the next day with only a few scars.

Immortality was a curse.

Their bodies may have been created to last an eternity, but their minds weren't.

Naturally, there were ways even Death could die, yet…he was too afraid to face the unknown. He had felt death before. Grell could still hear his own muffled screams, his lungs feeling as if they were about to burst, barely clinging to a thread until…

The redhead relaxed, filthy hand now resting besides his head as he panted, trying to find his breath again. Green eyes watering, he felt pitiful. No, he wouldn't cry, he wouldn't lower himself any further. In the morning, perhaps he would try to rationalize what he had done, and that could be a time for great sorrow.

Shakily, he sat up, crawling to his pillows and blowing out the flame with ease. Grell then lay down, curling up beneath a red comforter; finally, he closed his eyes for the last time that night and whispered into the darkness.

"Good night, Angelina…"

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

HEY! I figured out how to put a horizontal line thingy in my story ^^ See it? Bask in its gloriousness mwahahahahahahahhahahahahahaha!

Um...yep. There's my randomness again, just...ignore it...

Anyways, WOOT! Two chapters in two days, this way I can start working on my chapter 7 début so I can publish that sucker by Halloween woo-woo! :)

This chapter is probably the darkest, most insane, and messed up I think I have EVER done in my like my ENTIRE LIFE *echo, echo*. My goal was to make Grell as emotionally unstable and crazy as possible, but not so far gone to the point of no return (Phantom of the Opera reference...I feel like a nerd. Yes, I love opera, don't judge me. I'm sorry that you're just not a cool as me...Okay, I think I'm just making myself look even stupider (is that even a word?) Back to the note). I'm sorry all you little Grelly fans out there if you hate me for what I'm doing to Grell, but I just thought that this was probably the most accurate I could get to his character actually. From my perspective, he's just how I imagined his character to be. I mean, look at the way he looks at his own blood. He's self-centered, insane, blood-crazy, and pretty dang sexy at the same time.

Also, I got a question the other day about why I use things like the f bomb in some of my stories, but in my notes and in real life I have never cursed like ever. I can't even say the h, e, double hockey sticks. Well, I really don't believe in cussing, even though I am atheist. It's just the way I was raised and I believe the closest I have ever gotten to a cuss word was: shut up and stupid. I began writing my stories with things that were censored like: h*ll. But then people got mad at me, so I just decided to put the whole word in there for the sake of the story. I always put my character before myself, it's my author motto really. In retrospect, I don't think I've ever put my own feelings before what I think Yana Toboso and FUNimation would portray Grell as. Before I write a chapter, I always try to get the characters as accurate to their original selves, as we all know that I do not own Grell, William, Ronald, Undertaker, or any other character of Kuroshitsuji.

Awww, this is supposed to be a note, not an autobiography of myself. This chapter was 1,740 words before I wrote this note ROFL. Anyways, my theme song for this was:

Je T'aime by Lara Fabian. Yes, this song is french, but songs and music, I think, are one of the few things in the world that don't need language to make them portray a feeling. I have almost NO IDEA what this song is saying, and I only know what I know because I GOOGLED IT, yet I STILL cry over it. I can't tell you how many tear drops are on my paper that I have this chapter written out on. Like...so many I had to rewrite it to read it (not really, but it was a lot). It's really such a beautiful song, and if you haven't heard it yet, FRICKING YOUTUBE IT!

Thank you :)

Have a wonderful day.