The opportunist, many months prior to Arthur's visit to the Phantomhive manor, waited at his desk. He bent over his work, his translucent eyelashes batting away tears from his drowsy eyes. "Zadig," he whispered, looking up towards the butler that waited on him.
Standing like a grandfather clock, the man turned towards his master. "Yes, my lord?"
"See if my father's awake, please…" the young man said. He hardly looked older than sixteen, his body frail and weak. Heavy circles lined his dark eyes and his straw-like hair fell into them often, hiding them from sight even more. His name was Ven. His last name meant little to him.
Zadig, the plain-faced butler, nodded and left to fulfill his orders. The house they lived in was less of a house and more of a room cut into four pieces. The floor boards groaned with age and wariness. Stains dirtied the carpets and walls. A clock ticked away in the corner.
His gloved hand pushed open the door and caught sight of the man Ven called his father. The smudged, greasy man lay on his desk, snoring loudly over a bundle of papers, his pencil in hand. Zadig carefully shut the door and soundlessly reappeared to Ven.
"Do you care to go out, young master?" Zadig offered, his green eyes on Ven.
Ven stood and peered through the yellowed windows. Snow fluttered down like ashes, stained black by the pavement.
"Do you think he'll wake up in the meanwhile…? Of course, I can go around that, can't I?" He mumbled nervously, turning back towards Zadig's unmoving figure. Ven looked at his bare feet, and the star was on his ankle, small and nearly unnoticeable. "I order you to make it so. I can't be late for his check-ups."
Zadig nodded and picked up Ven's fur coat, dressing him in it comfortably. The two left the dark home and entered a world of pearly white purity. Children raced through the snow, creating foot prints behind them and hollering at each other to hurry up, lest they forget the focus of the game.
The two trekked through the networks of London, enjoying the various people and the air that seemed crisp and fresh in comparison to the dingy atmosphere of his home.
"Isn't that the Phantomhive child?" Ven said suddenly, eyeing the younger boy across the street, accompanied by his own butler.
Sebastian stayed behind Ciel, watching the transaction take place. They were conversing with a jolly sort of fellow, with a red nose and pockets lined with precious gold. Ciel neared a smile, but everyone knew he could not do it.
The man must have been offering an unreasonably excellent deal, concerning some sort of transaction between the two of goods for good money.
"He reminds me of Saint Nicolas." Ven said.
"He's one of the richest men alive. He's good with where he puts his money and has never lost a bet once. It's no wonder he would be so jolly." Zadig explained. "He lives in his own sort of world, where food is plentiful and torture does not exist. Those poorer than him are but bugs to be squished and eaten."
"Now, hold on… I do believe I've seen him before, or at least heard his voice." The two edged nearer, hearing the crackling, mismatched voice of the tradesman.
"That's right, young master. He's a patient of your father's. You always seem to be asleep when he comes around." Zadig allowed himself a small smirk. "I have listened in, in case any information that would be useful to us would be said."
"It's not right to pry…" Ven looked at his feet sadly, his sorrowful eyes occasionally flicking over to the man.
They continued to walk for another minute or so before deciding it was high time to turn back. Ven felt anxious about leaving so close to his appointment but told himself to trust his butler. Sure enough, Zadig stayed true to his word and led him back on the dot. Ven brushed the snow out of his hair and hung up his coat, becoming quite warmed up by the time his father called him into his small office.
"Sit down," he said.
So Ven did, on the covered bed. He placed his hands on his knees and bowed his head. His father did not know of Zadig's existence.
"How have you been lately, Venice?" His father addressed him by his full name.
"I've been quite content, father."
"What have I told you about addressing me like that?"
"I apologize, Doctor Lock." Ven looked up, trying to look at the spectacled, aged face.
Lock nodded and wrote a note on his clipboard.
"How have your dreams been?" He asked, pinching at the ends of his mustache.
"They've been simple for the past few days," Ven answered truthfully. Lying with his father never went well. He may never have gone to a proper school, but he could learn.
"What have you been seeing?"
"The same thing, usually," Ven searched his memory for any acute details, and found only one. "I don't remember much, but I do recall seeing a rat. A black one with bright red eyes, to be exact."
Lock's expression hardened, becoming concerned. The silence was filled with the clock's incessant ticking and the scratching of his pen on parchment. Ven took his time to examine the contents of the room. He already knew it so well: the dent below the desk, the stain in the corner, the clean desk with only an unnoticeable mess in its corners, and especially the faded wardrobe in the corner. Sitting atop it was a picture of a beautiful woman. Her head was in the shape of an oval, featuring soft lips and softer eyes. Ven admired the beauty of his mother.
"Before you fall asleep," Doctor Lock called Ven's attention back, "do you experience any sudden bouts of grief or fear?"
"Sometimes, but less frequently than before, Doctor."
"And tell me, boy, do you ever wish for bloodshed?"
Ven felt his heart climb to his throat. His father had never asked that question before and it disturbed him for reasons yet unknown. From the locked parts of his psyche, he dug up a very timid, shy answer; "Why would I? Bloodshed only begets more and only leaves a dreadful stain."
Doctor Lock rose to his feet and set the paper away. He moved over besides Ven and pulled him into a side embrace. "My son," their appointment was over, "You must know how very proud of you I am. Now, you go along, but remember your condition and remain wary of all. I could not let my little fawn run into trouble. Your mother would not have liked that." He let go of Ven, who stood up and smiled.
"I will, Father." He inclined his head and left without rush, no need to arouse further suspicions.
Once back in the comfort of his room, Ven climbed atop his raggedy bed and curled up in the coarse covers, allowing his bare and cold feet warmth.
Zadig stood by him, watching him for any order.
"Zadig?"
The butler asked what the matter was.
"Sometimes I fear that I will never leave these walls. And, the part that truly frightens me, is that I don't want to. I'm quite at home with father and my books. He was a good teacher and he's a doctor to. I need never leave the ends of these streets…"
"What are your reasons for confessing this, my young master?"
"I just have a feeling that things will change very soon." He lowered his head onto the pillow, and though it was still not evening, he felt sleepy. He felt as though he was on a steep cliff, ready to fall over into sleep and never wake up and climb out. He hadn't told his father this because he knew the man had already noticed.