It has been several weeks since we set sail towards America. Sebastian very quickly took care off all of the arrangements for us; I didn't have to lift a finger not that I had to or wouldn't have wanted to help out. Not that it matters now, I'm sat on the bed attempting to read a book in my cabin and I am alone. I feel cramped, confined, and caged, even though it is the largest cabin on this ship, but I haven't left the room and the walls are starting to cave in on me.

It was my choice to lock myself up – I haven't fed since we left Liverpool and I'm starving. When I'm like this, I don't trust myself around others, especially as if I were to feed, the ship would be a passenger down and that would raise suspicions. I don't have the patient resolve that Sebastian has to wait. Hmm, Sebastian…

I haven't spoken to Sebastian since we set sail from Liverpool, the train ride up was silent and the current journey is mute. Getting our own separate cabins was a stroke of genius on his part because if I had to lay eyes on him I would just as soon rip his head off – and I'm very sure the sentiment is mutual. It has become abundantly clear that he still blames me for not being able to release him from our current contract – despite the fact that since then, I have declared his freedom – both aloud and silently to myself, however, with each attempt, the results are the same.

Perhaps I should try again.

Putting the book down, I slide off of the bed and walk over to the dressing table. I place my palms flat down amongst the accoutrements that I brought along, causing some to fall over. I stare at myself hard in the mirror; my eyes have changed over to the glistening demonic version that I have become so accustomed to. I blink and change them back to blue – with my contract seal still blazed onto my right eye. I try to concentrate; I focus on breaking this seal and the contract that binds us.

'Ciel, Ciel, Ciel…'

Damn it, not now Alice – let me focus, I need to focus. She still invades my thoughts, holding my mind prisoner.

'Ciel, Ciel, Ciel…'

I hear her loudly and I claw at the wood beneath my fingers in frustration.

'Ciel, Ciel, Ciel…'

Alice – go away!

'No.'

What?

She laughs, her mocking trill a melody that I enjoyed when I first met her but currently it feels like a curse, something I am forced to endure whenever she takes over. I'm angry now, I want her to leave me be – I need to focus; I need, I need… what do I need?

I grab one of the crystal objects from off of the dressing table and with a frustrated guttural shout; I throw it at the mirror. The shards fall like glittering raindrops over the tabletop and onto the floor. I clutch some of the remnants in my hand, squeezing them tightly. I feel each blade of glass pierce my flesh and I can smell the rich fragrance of iron and my blood starts to pour out. Give me my mind back. My body involuntarily shakes and quivers as though I'm going to cry – but of course, I can't.

'Call him.' She instructs as though she knows that he is exactly what I need in this moment in time.

"Sebastian…" I whisper, my knees go weak from the pain in my hands and I slump over, crashing down to the ground amongst the broken glass.

"What on Earth have you done to yourself my lord?" He purrs, although his voice is devoid of any emotion or concern. He tries to help me up but I swat him away, this much, I can do myself.

"What are you doing here?" I hiss as I struggle to my feet amongst the broken glass. Sebastian sits down on the chair next to the bed; he crosses his legs and folds his arms as he watches me struggle.

"You called me young master – and with that, I came." He speaks smoothly, and I glance over at him to catch his raised eyebrow. I must look pathetic to him as I finally get up to my feet and stumble over to the bed. I sit down with my back to him and I look down at my hands – not a scratch, I heal so quickly now.

Moments go by and we don't say anything to each other at all. I did in fact call him but I don't know what to say, he came to me but he can't say anything either. The uncomfortable silence envelopes the room like a snug blanket on a cold winter's day.

"After the funeral, I could smell him on you." Sebastian began. I smile to myself as I know exactly who he's speaking about.

"Who?" I reply innocently.

"You know exactly who. Do not play games with me; I'm not in the mood." He says firmly, when has he ever been in the mood lately?

"What does it matter? He sat next to me, kept me company, said I was like you even before I had died." I ramble as I examine my hands again. Even when I was alive, Sebastian loathed Undertaker – all of the reapers to be precise. He found them to be cumbersome, nosy and obnoxious. However, when it came down to Undertaker, he disliked him the most – he knew of Undertakers warning to me about my soul, Sebastian was stood right there. "Why would you care anyway?"

"Do not mistake my question as concern – I don't care, not in the slightest but you should be weary of him. That man lives in the underworld and he does not do anything without motive."

Motive? What would his motive be, I wonder.

"He didn't appear to have any motive, as you put it, he just seemed sad for me." That was the truth. All Undertaker did was sit next to me, he patted my knee, he sighed and he said that he knew. At first I thought he was comforting me but I think he was really just sad that this was how I ended up, he must have seen this with my predecessor and all the Phantomhives before that as death lurked behind each of our corners – waiting to snatch us into the night.

"He seemed sad for you?" Sebastian snorts, which causes the fine hairs on my neck to stand on end – as if someone pitying me was such a bad thing.

"Truth be told, I think he did you know. I feel bad for me too."

"Oh?"

"I told him that I would have preferred to have been buried in one of his coffins and not to be like this." I sigh, leaning back onto my elbows on the bed. It's strange, this is the first time we'd spoken to each other in the last month and this is what we decide to talk about. Motive? What is he trying to get out of me anyway – my conversation with Undertaker was perfectly innocent and if he didn't care then what was this all about?

"Would you rather be dead?" He asks coldly. What? Does he now think that I've been done some sort of favor? I can hear him shift in the chair, each ruffle of fabric echoes clearly in my ears.

"You know I would." I spit, "I hate being a demon, I hate having to have left my home, my family and my life. I'm locked up in this room because I can't control myself and I hate the voices that constantly haunt me – what kind of eternity is this for me?" I bark, sitting upright again and folding my arms tightly against my chest. In truth, I don't really care either way – to be dead or to be a demon, I'm not bothered, although, I feel like I should be. However, what bothers me the most is the fact that I had to leave everything behind. If I were dead, actually dead, this wouldn't have been a problem – I wouldn't have had to watch my life go on without me.

Sebastian is stood in front of me in an instant; placing his hands on the tops of my knees, he kneels down in between my legs and stares at me. Is he trying to comfort me? For someone who couldn't care less about my existence, he is being quite abhorrent with the amount of feigned pity he doles out when he feels like it. I still realize that I am upset at the notion of still being alive; I thought this feeling would have gone, wasted away just like my humanity but no such luck. Every time I look at him, the hatred resurfaces, like right now.

"Why…?" The word comes out in shaky tones.

"My lord?"

"Why didn't you take my soul when you had the chance?" I ask. I know we have been through this time and time again but I needed to hear it once more, I felt like there was something missing.

"I've told you before."

"Well tell me again. Tell me until I tire of hearing it." I demand. Sebastian rolls his eyes and sighs as though the weight of the world was pressing on his chest.

"You knew that I couldn't – because the arm that had our contract seal was temporarily missing."

"You told me that demons don't need a contract to take a soul – just as I took Alices' and everyone else's." This still doesn't seem right to me somehow – seal or no seal, he could have taken my soul.

"Well, before I had the chance, Claude had used the opportunity of my missing arm to take your soul from me."

"What happened to my soul?" He could have taken my soul at any time after that.

"Claude took it and hid it from me. Everything I've done from then on was to get it back."

"But once you did."

"Once I did, I gave it back to you but it seemed that you had lost your memories, especially the one where you had in fact achieved your revenge."

"Again, why didn't you take my soul when you had the chance? You knew that I had realized my revenge, you knew what had happened to me – if you took my soul – you could have prevented this, all of this from happening and you could have been free."

There it was – glaring at me in the face – so clear it was transparent, I figured it out, I didn't notice it until now but…

"You… lied to me." I spit, leaping to my feet, knocking him over. I stand above him with my fists balled tightly. It seems my knight has played me as a pawn all along. "I asked only three things of you: that you protect me and never betray me, that you obey my orders unconditionally and that you never lie – you've broken each of those orders. I ordered you to take my soul - you didn't, you were to protect me - you didn't and you were never to lie to me – you did!"

"And how did I lie to you?" He seems amused by this.

"Alois!" I hiss. "You lied about my revenge! You made me believe that the Earl Trancy killed my parents – you knew the truth all along – you manipulated me and you betrayed me!" I am hysterical at this point, fuming at being treated like a fool this whole time. I grab the closest thing to me; the book that I was reading which still lay on the bed. I hurl the book at him in anger, he just swats it away and looks at me with a distant, stony look on his face – it was almost as though he couldn't care less, in fact, I know he couldn't care less. What more could I have expected from a demon?

'I tried to tell you… all along… remember?'

Those words, I hear them – the words… the voice… it's different from Alice, it's strange and yet very familiar. I grip my head, pressing my palms to my temples and squeezing it tightly as I try to remember, my mind searches but it cannot find that thought.

"I wanted you to realize your revenge." Sebastian starts to stand up and he moves towards me.

"I already had." I pause, "So this is what you meant about cultivating my soul – if I hadn't remembered that I got my revenge, then what good was my soul it to you? I thought that I hadn't and you made me re-exact my revenge – well, I wonder what that would have tasted like? You're no better than Claude - you both were like vultures. You disgust me!" I am spitting venom now.

Within a second, he is on me, pinning me down to the ground. I can feel my shoulders starting to dislocate under the weight of his pressure. Wrapping my small hands around his wrists I burrow my blackened nails into them, clawing and digging until his blood drips out and runs down onto my shoulders. Focusing my strength, I manage to pull his hands off of me and I throw him back against the dresser, causing him to land on the broken shards of mirror. Before he can move, I'm on him like a shot, using my forearm to hold him down by his throat. There is a full bottle of Claret that has fallen on its side during the tussle, I take it by the neck and smash the body against corner of the dresser, the wine spilled over the floor like a blood bath – there soon will be.

Gripping it tightly, I hold the neck and angle the jagged edges towards his chest underneath me. Can I kill him? Is it possible to kill him? He senses my hesitation and launches me back. I fly up and over the bed, hitting the wall and sliding down it, off of the bed and onto the floor. I struggle to open my eyes, when I do; I see his shoes – freshly polished - black and shiny. Perhaps he's going to kill me now? Fine – do it and make it quick.

I don't even struggle to get up and I don't bother to move. He pulls at my shirt, hauling me to my feet with one hand and heaving me back onto the bed. My body flops over like a rag doll, as I feel dazed from the excursion.

"You're weak." He says bluntly as he crawls onto the bed and hovers on top of me, his left hand pressing against my bruised clavicle, causing me to wince in pain and his right hand in on my chest, holding me down. "I could kill you right now." He growls, staring at me straight in the eyes – unflinching.

"Then do it." I snidely retort, "You want to don't you?" I take his hands from the top of my chest and clavicle; I place them on my throat, "Erase my wretched existence." I press my fingers into his, pushing into my thorax, "It's what I deserve, isn't it?" I lay still as his hands tighten their grip onto my throat, his thumbs massage my Adams apple – finally – he's going to end things.

Instead, he backs off of me, dismounting and standing by the bed. He straightens down his waistcoat; smoothing the wrinkles of his coat and running his hands through his inky black hair. I roll my head over towards him as I silently curse him for letting me live. His eyes narrow as they fixate on mine and weary smile crawls over his lips, "Killing you now would be a wasted effort." He snorts.

I roll my head back up to look at the ceiling as he turns and walks towards the door.

"Sebastian." I call out, still looking up; I hear his footsteps as they stop. "I will try and find a way to break this contract once we get to New Orleans. I promise – and I don't lie."

He chuckles a little under his breath.

"Since I met you my lord, all you've ever done is lie." His voice is cloying and sweet as he walks out of the door, gently closing it behind him

Undertaker was right; I am no better than him.

We finally arrive in New Orleans – this place is, well, crowded. Seemingly much more crowded than London to say the least. There is a whole mixture of different people; languages and cultures all huddled together in one port. I can hear the rich sounds of brass instruments being played along the dockside and smell something that is almost akin to curry being cooked in nearby restaurants. The French influence is heavy and can be seen throughout, as there is a light Provençal touch to everything. Even the clothing is different. Not the somber dark tones of England but light and airy lavenders and yellows – Lizzie would love a dress from here.

Stepping down the jetty to the dock I can see that Sebastian has already beaten me to it, my luggage has already found its way off of the ship on onto a carriage and I make my way over.

"Prendete noi lì per favore?" He asks the driver in what I think is Italian – never my strong suit but his accent is impeccable, he sounds native. The man looks at the map Sebastian is holding, nods and mutters 'Si, si.' as I approach. Sebastian opens the door to the carriage and helps me in; he then comes in and sits opposite me.

We haven't actually spoken since the other week when I thought he would kill me. I have been racking my brain to think of ways we can get out of our contract as, I think now, our grudge towards one another will come to one of our ends and I get the sinking suspicion that it could be mine. Still, we can't go on like this any further; he is, until I can sort this out, my companion for the time being. Even though I no longer trust him. Sebastian is someone I entrust my life to and unbeknown to me, he was the one thing that I should have never trusted at all. However, I need to make the best of this situation.

"Where are we going?" I sigh, I may as well be the first to break the silence but I'll be even more damned if I look at him whilst I do it so I keep my head looking out of the window.

"I found a rather nice hotel to stay at until I can find someplace for us to live. Which would you prefer a town house or a plantation?"

"Plantation?" I have never heard of that word before. "If it's as big as the manor in England then I would really rather stay in a townhouse." I don't think I wish to repeat the same lifestyle I had back in England – in fact, I know I don't – that me has died along with the image.

"Townhouse it is then." Sebastians' voice was different now, it seemed cheery – why the sudden change from wanting my death to now?

"Why are you so happy?"

"Oh, it's nothing really – I think it's this place." I assume he's smiling as I still refuse to look at him.

"What is it about this place that makes you happy?"

"Well, they say in New Orleans, sin is in."

I huff aloud. What a crude and vulgar thought but still – a happy Sebastian is a less menacing Sebastian and I may be able to live another day.

Looking out of the window, I think I am suitably impressed with New Orleans, it is much different than London but not something I couldn't get used to and if I'm going to spend my time, however long that may be, here then I want to explore. Everything looks so rich and vibrant; there are side streets and cafes, women with large hats and bustles and men with tight fitting waistcoats and top hats. I stare at them as though I have never seen humans before but they are a sight to see - like brightly colored marionettes.

We pull up outside a massive two storey Antebellum home. It is very reminiscent of Victorian architecture and for only a moment, I miss London. Sebastian helps me out of the carriage and we both walk into the magnificent hotel. Beautiful white columns are decorated throughout, ornate chandeliers hang above and a floor of perfectly shined black marble. I can see why Sebastian chose this place; it is ostentatious yet impressively elegant.

I wait aside one of the columns as Sebastian gets the keys to our rooms and a porter brings in our luggage. Keys in hand, we are escorted to our rooms. I can't help but be thoroughly anxious and excited about our stay here, I've only ever been to Paris – this, this was thrilling, I couldn't wait to go out and explore, to search and to uncover all of what this town has to offer.

Sebastian opens the door to my room and I walk in.

The room is discerningly decorated, almost like it was done to suit my tastes. Dark wooden walls and furniture throughout, a large mahogany desk to the right, a large bed with navy blue and white sheets and duvet – even the drapes seem vaguely familiar, they are similar to the brocade midnight blue drapes that I had back at the manor. To top it all off, to the right of the bed, there is a large vase full of white roses. Walking over to it, I realize that Sebastian has recreated the best aspects of my old home.

I touch the soft petals of the roses and try to stifle the charmed smile that was aching to be drawn on my lips.

"Why?" That was the only thing I could think to say.

"I thought that you would take your new life better if you felt at home." He shrugged.

I hum at his reply.

"How?"

"I have connections."

"Thank you." I didn't know what else to say.

"Also, you had a birthday my lord, before we left, you turned fourteen. Many happy returns." He smiles; I suppose I'm not the only one with lingering sentimentality. With my actual death and fictitious funeral I just forgot – these things mean nothing to me now and they will continue to mean nothing in the future. He takes my luggage from the middle of the room and starts to move them to the side. "You must be tired, you should get some rest." He suggests as he opens one of my luggage trunks and starts to unpack.

I turn to him, plucking a petal from one of the rose heads and rubbing it firmly between my thumb and index finger to release the oils and revealing its scent.

"I'm not tired." I state plainly, he doesn't pay any attention as he just sets about unpacking my things.

"What are you then?"

"I'm hungry." My voice is firm as I lean against the table, smelling the crushed petal.

"Are you now?" I can see him smile broadly.

"Well, you said that in New Orleans sin is in – let's see how messy we can get."

Well, I am a demon after all.