It was much easier said than done to get Eleanora to work for Phantomhive. The whole process took about a week and a month. During that first week, Eleanora was assisting the other servants clean up after the ball. She was looking forward to the week's end—after it was over, she would get to go back to Mrs. Standfield and the middle-class and her boring, wonderful life. But the butler wouldn't leave her alone, which was very odd and irritating.
He approached her one day, smiling his eerily perfect smile, which was when she realized that something was wrong.
"So, Miss Black," he said, leaning against the kitchen counter while she prepared lunch, "you'll be leaving in a week?"
"Yessir."
"Back to a middle-class life and a middle-class income?"
"Yessir," she said and sighed in anticipation.
"Wouldn't you like to stay here and live an upper-class life with an upper-class income?"
"No sir, I wouldn't like that at all."
He was back the next day with his promises of more money and more benefits. Eleanora was interested in the money aspect of working at Phantomhive, but working at Phantomhive meant working at Phantomhive, which meant that she would always have to help with balls and parties and assist little bratty stupid Earls zip up their pants and always put herself in danger getting involved in the criminal underworld so she stuck by her earlier principles and refused to work for Phantomhive.
Sebastian was getting desperate. The hand that held the contract started to hurt, the way it always did whenever he defied or put off an order. He had to get this girl working for Phantomhive as quickly as possible, before the real pain started.
It was Eleanora's last day at Phantomhive and she was preparing her last meal for the Earl. She was humming to herself, barely able to contain her excitement about leaving. Then the butler was there, standing directly behind her, and he leaned into her, pinning her to the counter, and he whispered seductively in her ear,
"You know, Miss Black, there are many other benefits for working here…"
She had screamed and instinctively slapped him and ran off to the Earl.
"What is it? What's going on?" Ciel had said sleepily. He was just about to go to bed and was starting to get tired.
"Your butler," Eleanora announced, "is a bloody freakin' prostitute."
"I am not!" Sebastian said, arriving behind her, rubbing his cheek. "I was just…"
"He said that he would have sex with me if I worked here," she said. "That's an exchange of something for sex, which promptly makes you a whore. The very idea!" she scoffed. "As if I would want to sleep with such an ugly, unpleasant bastard!"
"I'm sorry for his inappropriate conduct," Ciel said tiredly. "I assure you that it won't happen again."
Eleanora curtseyed and excused herself. Normally she would have put up more of a fight, but as she was leaving tomorrow, she thought that it wasn't worth it.
Ciel glared at Sebastian, who just looked at him.
"…Am I really ugly?" he said.
"What were you thinking?" Ciel exploded. "You should have known that she wouldn't have jumped for seduction. Plus she hates you. Were you even thinking?"
"I thought that it would work," he mumbled. "It usually does."
"Well, this time, it didn't," Ciel said and sighed. "Listen," he said coldly. "I don't care what you do, I don't care how you do it, I want her inextricably tied to Phantomhive, and I want it done as soon as possible. Do I make myself clear? That is an order."
Sebastian bowed and left the room, thinking of how he would accomplish such a thing. He rubbed the hand with the contract on it. It was starting to burn.
About three days had passed since Eleanora had left Phantomhive. Everyone—servants and bosses alike—had wanted to know everything about it. She had given them the bare minimum, didn't add details, and wisely cut all the parts out about the attempted murder and getting shot.
It was late; the sun was setting; she had been out in the market, buying some more ingredients for dinner. She looked around and smiled. The air in London was never particularly clean, but it seemed to smell a bit sweeter this evening. Probably because she was free. Free from Phantomhive forever! She would never have to go back. She smiled and sighed and passed a dark alleyway…
A hand shot out from the alley, grabbed her mouth, and pulled her into the darkness. She tried to scream and struggle but then another hand pressed a knife against her throat and a vaguely-familiar voice hissed in her ear,
"Don't struggle. Don't scream. Or else I'll kill you."
She relaxed and forced herself to stay calm. The person pressed her against the wall and quickly ran their hand around her, feeling into all of her pockets. She calmed down even more.
"Oh," she thought, unable to control her relief. "I'm just being robbed."
But she wasn't just being robbed. The mysterious unknown removed all of the weapons that she had on her: the switchblade knife in her pocket, the gun tucked into her garter, the other switchblade in her bosom…And once she was completely free of her weapons, the person grabbed her waist and forced her to keep walking, assuring her that if she screamed, he would slit her throat. She believed him; the knife was still pressed against her neck.
They walked for quite a long time; she wondered what he wanted to do to her and whether she would live or not. Then they suddenly stopped and the person blindfolded her. She shuddered and couldn't restrain a small whimper. She was probably being taken to some cult hideout where they would beat her, have their way with her, then do it all again before killing her.
The person forced her to walk again and after some time, she heard her steps echoing. The ground had changed; she was now walking on marble. She wished she knew where she was and what was going to happen to her.
And suddenly the person stopped her and let her go, standing next to her, but the knife tip was slightly jammed into her side, warning her not to run.
Then someone else standing in front of them started singing, singing in a strange language, a language that vaguely resembled Latin. They sang for a while and then they asked something in this language and then the person standing next to her sang something as well:
"Su facio."
Then the first person who sang posed another question and the person next to her jabbed her side with the knife and hissed into her ear,
"Repeat it: su facio."
She hesitantly repeated it, trying to sing it as well:
"S-Su facio."
The first person sang some more and then there was scribbling sounds and then a pen was shoved into Eleanora's hand.
"Sign," the knife person hissed again.
She was about to comply when she paused.
"Wait, but what am I signing?"
The knife was jammed in again.
"Sign!"
"But what am I signing?"
"Just sign!"
"I won't sign unless I know what I'm signing!"
Something heavy smacked her head and she was knocked unconscious. When she woke up, she was in some kind of stone prison. The bed was just a smooth slab of stone; there was a table and two chairs in the room; a piece of parchment and a quill and inkstand where on the table. There were about three or so women dressed like nuns in the room, watching her sullenly. There was a man in the darkness, playing with one of her switchblades, who stepped into the light upon realizing that she was awake. Eleanora's eyes narrowed.
"You."
"Me," Sebastian said simply. "Please understand that I take absolutely no pleasure from doing this. I am strictly following my young Master's orders. If you'd just sign the paper, we can all go home."
Eleanora hesitantly stood up, swaying a bit from the blow that she had received. One of the nuns stepped forward and assisted her to the table, where she sat down.
The paper was written in some strange language that she couldn't read. There were two lines at the bottom for signatures: one of the blanks had already been filled in, the other was waiting her name.
"I won't sign unless I know what this is," she said sulkily.
Sebastian frowned at her and rubbed his hand, as if it pained him.
"…I can't tell you," he said finally.
"Why not?"
"Because if I tell you, then you won't sign."
"Then tough luck, mister," Eleanora said, trying to stand up. But one of the nuns violently pushed her chair into the table while the other two chained her hands to the surface of the table.
"What's going on? Why are you doing this?" Eleanora asked, trying to free herself.
"I told you, I'm merely following my young Master's orders. He wants you inextricably tied to Phantomhive. If you sign this," he gestured to the paper, "then you will be, and we can all leave."
"I don't want to be bound to Phantomhive," she growled. "Tell your Earl to leave me alone."
"The Earl isn't one to accept 'no' for an answer. Neither am I. Just sign the paper and make this simple."
Eleanora told him in no uncertain terms where he could shove the paper and his young Master.
"So you won't make it easy?" he asked resignedly when she was done.
She shook her head and tried to scoot away from the paper.
"So be it," he said tiredly and gestured to one of the nuns.
And suddenly Eleanora was missing her right thumb.
The nun who had done the deed wiped the knife with a cloth while another one jammed a lit candle at the stub to cauterize the wound. Eleanora couldn't stop screaming.
Eventually she ran out of air and stared up at Sebastian with pained, fearful, rage-filled eyes.
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered, trying to control her hysteria. "Why are you doing this to me?"
"Just sign the paper and it'll all be done with."
"N-No."
And now she was missing the tip of her pointer finger.
Sebastian sighed and began to leave the room.
"Keep at it," he called over his shoulder, "until she agrees to sign the contract."
The nuns bowed and turned to Eleanora, who was screaming and shouting expletives at the receding butler.
He was gone and she was left alone with the hellish nuns.
"P-Please," she whispered as one of them approached with the knife, "p-please don't do this to me…"
"We have our orders," the nun said dully.
"It would all be over if you'd just sign the paper," another nun said sympathetically.
"That's right," the third said. "Just sign and you can leave."
"N-no."
By the time the sun rose, Eleanora no longer had a right hand.