Chapter 1:
"More tea, my lady?"
Ciella Phantomhive sat in front of the flickering hearth, pondering in deep thought. She glanced through mental lists of finances and contracts and such other troublesome business. And the butler gently repeated once more:
"Young master, please, would you like more tea?"
"No, Sebastian." Damn demon, she thought to herself.
The dying fire illuminated an orange light upon the apples of her cheek, caressing warmth upon her single, cold blue-eyed soul. And the strange butler was gathering the half-eaten slice of cake for it was the end of the mid-afternoon snack. The audible struggles of her servants working was heard throughout the entire manner, reminding little Ciella that it was simply another typical day for the countess. She sighed and closed her eyes. Her demon smiled.
"Exhausted already, my lady?"
"Perhaps I am slightly weary today. I will be ending work early, run a hot bath soon."
"Before you finish soon, her majesty's messenger has personally sent a letter not long ago. Would prefer if I read it to you?"
"How odd," the girl contemplated for a moment, "This must be a special case...Go ahead."
My Dearest Watchdog,
It has always given me great pleasure in writing to you. You must come and have tea with me soon. However, this must wait for there is far more important matters. Unfortunately, this is the final request, past the point of no return. There have been reports of a murderous ghost within the walls of my nephew's favorite opera house. I kindly beseech you to end these horrors and report to me as soon as possible. Until then, I will continue to enjoy watching you grow as a beautiful lady and hope you visit the palace. Forever grateful, from your highness.
"My, my, supper is almost ready, it seems," the butler says.
His crimson irises glimmered against the dying light of the fire and his sardonic grinned unlocked a sliver, a mere glance of his inner havoc.
"It seems so," little Phantomhive sighed.
The soft curves of her chin rested on the palm of her dainty hand as she appeared emotionless before her divine servant. Yet in the depths of her soul, the fortresses of her tranqulity were falling apart. She realized the meaning of the letter ever so quickly.
"Young master. May I ask you something personal?"
"What is it now?"
"Our contract is unfortunately coming to an end. Will you, perhaps, miss me?"
"Sebastian…"
"You shan't answer if it troubles you, my lady. My apologies."
"Sebastian," the girl searched for the right words to find, "I-If you're thinking about what happened from the Majesty's last request, you must discard it. I do not-"
"Yes, my lady, I understand. I will run a hot bath right away," the butler smiled, "Petit maître, we will leave early in the morrow for the opera patiently awaits for you."
When were you ever this kind? The little Phantomhive thought to herself.
"You are excused."
And the butler graciously bowed, exiting through the doors of Ciella's office.
An opera? The Paris opera house? I remember seeing Hannibal there as a little child. And there was this man, hiding in the shadows. I suppose it is time to return to him. Yet this memory feels faded, blurry as it was before my life became doomed.
Ciella continued to gaze upon her flickering light.
Forgive me, my Sebastian. Or damn demon. I could never distinguish your heart. And now it is,
"Too late. The phantom is waiting for me," the little Phantomhive whispered.
Only I can make his song take flight.