I Must
Clear
The Spiderwebs
Moving on.
xxx
Frigid, blustery winds placated to sweet-tempered breezes. Thunder that has been reverberating the English skies relentlessly silenced. Grey clouds teasing sprinkles of rain gradually shaded to their original white, fluffy hue. The mild warmth of the setting sun permitted to bask to deprived ground in its magnificent glow. Yes. This is quite the turnabout. A predicted downpour evaporating to a simple bluster, calming as the golden afternoon shrouded the grey skies, trading it for the abysmal night. But that hardly means the storm has passed. No, no. The storm has not yet left England. If nothing else, the anxiously anticipated maelstrom has barely begin to peak. It is just waiting another day. Biding its time. Allowing particular measures to be taken, and requirements to be met. And guaranteed, by this time tomorrow, the storm will arrive, and it will tear all of England asunder.
xxx
The golden sunset at his back, Sebastian meandered through the woods surrounding the asylum. The madness of that defiled place wrapped to him in place of his disrobed tailcoat. On his exposed arms he could feel those disgusting spiderwebs clinging to him. Severed from the main web as a taunting reminder of his misstep. Over his head, there loomed a Reaper's Sickle. It dangled mockingly, swinging side to side on a pendulum, tearing to ribbons his slipping composure. A sense of isolation gripped him by the neck. Talons of his wounded honor and pride wrapping individually, choking him mercilessly as he tried to swallow the setback he suffered. A spoonful of salt, instead of sugar, rubbed into his deepening wounds. Another after another, scars were tearing his skin open. Each step he took weighed heavier and heavier, sinking him into the dirt he wanted to bury that revolting spider in. This brief lapse cannot be allowed to protract. No. He must rectify his mistake. Swiftly.
"I've delayed my duties." Sebastian dispassionately chastised him. This is quite the blemish on his rather immaculate record. "Dinner should have been prepared some time ago. And now look what's happened." Sebastian slowed to a halt. Though the sun was cast directly upon him, Sebastian's form was shrouded in a evil blackness. Sinister green and black mist seeped from his legs, arms, shoulders, and head. A malicious aura scaled his entire form. His very shadow, stretching as the sun descended, projected demonic essence pouring from the core of his swelling rage. "The dessert is starting to spoil. Sullied by the filthy hands that deign to knead her soft, delectable form." Those brazen, intrusive arms daring to wrap their slimy, disgust coils to what is rightfully his. Changing a recipe she herself set in stone, and the molding he helped produce, in order to satisfy his immature palate. This cannot be allowed to pass.
"Dinner must be prepared as soon as possible. Or else the dessert will waste away." His dinner cannot be wasted. His dessert left to spoil. There will...never be...another like them. Never...in thousands of years. Their tastes, their forms, their rare recipes can never be recreated. Never. "But there is one thing left to do first..." The devil glazed Sebastian's radiating eyes. Losing his dinner - for a third time - will be one thing. But Hell shall freeze thrice over if his dessert will be stolen as well. The demon who stands in the way of his preparations will be burned by the flames of his own creation. "I am a PHANTOMHIVE-BUTLER! I must clear the Spiderwebs!" His pupils narrowed to slits. An animal grin revealed elongated fangs, "And I will rip off each leg of the spider, one at a time, that has dared to desecrate my dessert!"
To be continued.
Short, sweet, and to the point.