Long delay? Long delay. I apologize. I got swept away in birthday wishes (I share the same birthday as Ciel coincidentally enough), Christmas rush at work (hate retail sometimes), Sherlock and new video games. But never you mind, lovelies. Have a chapter. I PROMISE, this is the last introductory chapter. Plot begins in the next one. So please leave a review on the way out.

Oh. And to satisfy Niki's paranoia: I still have no ownership over Black Butler or the 1930s. It would be interesting for a person to claim a time period though, huh?

It was a business as old as civilization itself. And she was the queen of it. She walked as if she owned the streets, sat in even the dingiest chair as if it was a throne, and spoke to friend and foe alike with a voice that was halfway between endearing and condescending. She was smart, crafty, beautiful and merciless when it came to her prey. And all that had accumulated into a successful run in her line of work. She was favored, sought after and paid well; gifts, free meals and all of it because she maintained an illusion for her clients. She gave them an escape from the normal hustle and bustle of life. And what an escape she was.

There was no doubt that she was beautiful. Her short red hair was like a plume of feathers from the stunning cardinal. Her lips were always painted bright crimson and her nails always matched. Like a bright red beak and talons, she was as frightening in all red as she was beautiful and rare. Her wardrobe consisted of many fine gowns, given by old patrons as parting gifts when they went off to get married. She wore them with pride, happy that they had escaped the clutches of a life of prostitution. Her favorite was a long ballroom-type gown that hugged her frame tightly but ruffled around the leg slit like a Spanish dress. It was bright scarlet, with accents of white and dark blue and white rhinestones lining the chest line. With it she wore a large sun hat covered in bright red silk flowers: roses, lilies, and smaller blossoms. One large peacock feather offset the red and made for a stunning get up. It was her dress to meet clients in and she had a very important one today.

He was an old client, from before she even worked at Black Lace. She had watched him go from middle class apprentice to a local business owner to the owner of a five store franchise across France. He was not the wealthiest, but he was a personal friend and so she granted him audience, despite the cold of the season.

"Evening, Madam Red." The voice of her client came to the woman's ear as she entered the restaurant they agreed to meet in. The warmth was most welcome as the woman closed her red parasol and hooked it on her deep blue gloves. She smiled at the waitress and glided over to the table her client sat at. Her eyes were dramatically cast against thick smoky lines as she passed her gaze over the older man and younger boy.

"Good evening, Mr. Edwards." The woman responded with a curt smile. The man across from her chuckled and removed his hat.

"Alright, Angelina, I'll drop the formal if you do." He responded and the woman nodded.

"Agreed, dear Marcus." She responded, voice light and airy. She left her hat on, but removed her gloves as the waiter approached, ready to take their orders for the food that evening. Her auburn eyes passed over the younger of the two and when he made eye contact with her, she sent him an easy-going smile over the rim of her interlocked fingers. "So, Marcus, what am I here for?" She asked before she sent her order for a drink to the young waiter.

Marcus Edwards ordered his own drink and one for the younger boy before watching the waiter leave. Once he was out of sight, he turned back to the prostitute across the table. He motioned to the younger boy again and once again Angelina's eyes passed over the boy. He was skinny, but healthy enough from his appearance. The resemblance was clear, marking the boy as Marcus's son, though the gentle features of his mother were clear. Angelina had never personally met the woman, but she knew the woman to be smart and beautiful, from all the raving Marcus had done about her in the last days of their relationship. Angelina smiled fondly, wanted to touch the boy's gentle looking face. While his father was angular, the boy was more rounded and gentle, cheeks reddened from the situation and the cold outside. She chuckled fondly.

"Let me guess, it's the boy's first time?" She said gently and laughed openly when his face darkened considerably to nearly a shade that matched her hair.

"He is getting married in three months," Marcus began, "but I just recently found out he has no experience!" The man raved as the boy attempted to shrink further and further into the seat. "Never once went to a woman of your employment for pleasure or experience, never even asked me. The boy is too shy about sex it seems-he gets that from his mother you know-so I decided to fix the problem. After all, the time I spent with you did nothing but good to prepare me for my time with Michelle." He said and Angelina laughed again.

"Well, I wouldn't say I am an excellent wedding advisor, Marcus, but sexual experience is something I can teach." She said with a sultry smile, making the boy's face turn even redder. "Oh, Marcus, sweetie, he is too cute. When?" She asked.

"When is your next opening for a three day...rental?" He asked.

"Hmmm." Angelina hummed to herself as she thought, taking a drink from the cup that had appeared before her thanks to the waiter. "I believe I have three days free two weeks from now, but I will have to check with the Madam. How about I send a messenger to your home in a few days to let you know?" She offered and the man nodded.

"Excellent. I will secure the payment then." He said and she nodded.

Once again the waiter appeared again to take food orders.

~O~

That evening had been the most eventful Angelina remembered since the war ended. Meyrin had brought home a little stray who was on the doorstep of death, and Angelina felt the instinct to protect and heal again rise within her. It felt good, to be working at the medical trade again after so long. It brought her back to a time when she had been working as a nurse aid on the front lines; she had been so young then. A young girl of only fourteen, running aid to each and every one of the nurses working at the bedsides of sick and dying soldiers. It had been busy and taxing work, the stress levels of the nurses causing her own stress to fly through the roof. Seeing so many die, so many men spend countless days suffering only in order to finally give their last breaths far away from home; she found the life of a prostitute far more kind in comparison. The illusion of love and happiness she kept up with the help of the other workers was like a drug, a blessed change of pace from the true horror of the real world. Perhaps that is why so many had flocked to the brothels in hope of this hallucination.

But this tiny form; this tiny boy had brought back all the memories of those nights spent ducking from the weapons and search lights of the planes. The days spent holding a soldier's hand as he told her the stories of the family he'd never see again. The tragedy of those days resurfaced and she found herself once again in the numbness of saving a life. She hated Meyrin for bringing such a memory back in the form of a boy, but as she watched the color return to his skin and the breath in his lungs become stronger, she found that she once again felt a joy she had not felt in years. All the time spent in a lie, the lie of being nothing more than a common street worker was blown away by the joy of saving a life. And she missed it. She longed for it.

She was the one who decided they had to keep the boy. What good was her saving his life only to send him back in the cold and exposure? But it was dangerous to keep a child at the brothel, since young children often ruined the image of perfection and escape the brothel stood to achieve. They would have to keep him hidden, and for a long time, until he was old enough to either join the work or find an apprenticeship somewhere else. But that idea brought a new problem Angelina was not fully prepared to deal with: the boy needed an education. He was only four years old, and clearly a war orphan. But he was British, from his accent, and one of the "lost nobles" who had been wiped out in the war. Angelina had heard the boy's last name before, but as far as she knew, the last of the boy's line had gone off to war and died. Without any lineage to protect him, he was the same as any of the other nameless orphans on the street. But Angelina would change that. She had been educated as a child as a member of British nobility herself, so she could teach the boy to read, write and basic arithmetic. Most of her education had been in dancing, painting, singing and medical work, useless things for a boy.

But English was one of her strong suites, and she knew French as well, which would give the boy an edge if he could make it outside France. And basic medical training did no one any harm, and someday he might get caught alone with a large gnash and no doctor nearby; it was decided, she would teach him what she knew.

It took them a while for the boy to actually trust them and talk to them. He was terrified that they would send him back, and it took many nights of Meyrin coaxing him out of his shell for the boy to finally open up, and instantly Angelina fell in love. He had a beautifully curious mind, eager to learn and perfect, a mind beyond anything Angelina had ever encountered. What books she managed to get her patrons to part with were devoured in a matter of days when the boy learned to read, and he seemed to be ravenous for more. He was always asking questions: how did that work; what was that; who wrote that; why is it that way; can that be changed? He was brimming with questions that could not always be answered, but his intelligence was easily sated by watching people.

It was a dangerous habit Ciel had acquired upon turning nine. He would climb up in to the rafters above the lobby and watch the people below talk and interact. Angelina was furious at him for doing it, but there was nothing the busy woman could do to stop him. None of his "mothers"-as he called the three of them-were around for the majority of the day. Sometimes they had days off where they were not needed up in the lobby or in front on the streets (though never at the same time), but those days were few and far between. The boy was alone during the day, and that made Angelina worry profusely for a while until she decided that Ciel was incredibly good at hiding himself from the guards on duty.

Another problem that plagued Angelina's mind was how beautiful her "son" was growing. He had been adorable when he was small, and as he grew the adorable turned to cute, turned to beautiful. He was still very feminine at age eleven, with short black-grey hair that seemed to shine no matter how dirty it got or how few and far between his baths were. And his eyes, wide and full of curiosity and mischief, were blue as the Egyptian Lapis stones rich women wore as trophies around their necks. They might as well have been, for Angelina was sure Ciel's eyes had been stolen from some lost Egyptian tomb somewhere and placed in the possession of her beloved little boy. His skin was fair and next to flawless, a few small scars from misplaced feet during climbs or missteps that led him into doors or tables. He was pale, no doubt, and looked sometimes like a doll. It would not be long until someone caught sight of the beautiful boy she and her co-parents raised in secret. She dreaded that day when her precious little one would be spotted and taken away or worse, forced into using his beauty for the brothel. He would attract many customers; however, that was not the life she wanted for her boy.

She would keep him safe, like the treasure he was, and would find some way to get him out of the brothel before it was too late. She owed him that much, since she was probably the strictest of his mothers, and often yelled at him when he did not take his studies serious. She sometimes worried that he hated her, but that was a small price to pay for getting him out of this gilded cage. No, she would take his anger and backlash hatred, as long as her precious little bird got to fly away from this hell house.

I am refusing the instinct to write Sherlock fanfiction and instead bringing you this.

Be grateful.

Graaaatefuuuuul.

LOVE YOU,

Petra Jade.