She was beautiful once. She was young, free - a being that reveled in letting the air catch at her face as she rushed through the forest at the break of dawn. She was shy sometimes. Loud noises frightened her. Rushing water calmed her. The smell of warm musk made her think of her mother…
Sebastian lets the doe's carcass flop to the ground, irritated and disgusted. The beast had died for nearly nothing; it didn't even take the edge off his lusty ache.
The contract mark throbs brightly on the hand still holding William's scythe, leading him away from the Phantomhive Manor.
The rain takes care of the blood, both the doe's and his own. It had been a long while since he last felt the slowness of time, pain that lingers…
"You caved," whispers the Contract in his ear. "What were you even trying to accomplish there? Trying to take the edge off like some god damn junkie? Why bother, what with you refusing to let yourself heal?"
Sebastian snarls at her.
"Sweetie, come on. It's all in your head. Really, I want what's best for us."
She shakes her head in disappointment, making her dark curls bounce slightly. "I'm sorry for you. No really, I am," she says solemnly. "You used to be so great, and now…"
"It was-" he starts, the words staying lodged in his throat.
She kneels and reaches to cup his face in a slender, fishnet covered hand, patting him gently on the cheek.
"That's your real curse, Sebastian. The only one you can lie to is ... well, yourself."
"I need t— … I ca— … I am not yet satiated."
"Come on now. We've got a party to crash."
"You're late," William says with all the malice he can muster when the door to the locked bedroom swings open.
"It was five minutes, piss off," comes the muttered reply as the burly reaper enters, scythe slung over one shoulder and flipping a ring of keys around the finger of his free hand.
"What was that, Mr. Slingby?"
"Nothing." The keys are silenced in the palm of Eric's hand. "…boss."
William stands. "I suggest in the future you better mind yourself."
"As if you of all people get to tell me that." He looks up at the bloodstained walls, then to the dying blood on the carpet and bed sheets. "Is it policy to put resources into building a reaper-proof room, or have you just got shit taste when it comes to interior decorating?"
"Perhaps you do not understand the full scope of our current circumstances. I am prepared to put an end to this investigation and tomorrow's hearing by any means necessary."
"Whatever plan you and the others got cooked up, just to let you know, me and Al, we want no part of."
"Mr. Slingby, you're aware that it won't be long before even you are suspected of the discrepancy."
"Impossible! I was on a solo assignment the night the ship sunk. That's in the books and accounted for!"
"And yet, the books alone are not indisputable with the possibility of personnel error, or…" William held the other reaper under his gaze, "…tampering."
"Damn Spears, you got me confused with a demon? I haven't got a reason to be colleting souls, you know."
William doesn't respond.
Eric swallows. "Geez, you're so paranoid. Can't you just trust me?"
A pause.
"Hand over your death scythe."
"What?!"
"You wish not to be involved and I am in need of a weapon."
Eric scoffs. William doesn't give an inch.
"Your scythe, Slingby."
"This is ridiculous," Eric says finally, shrugging the scythe off his shoulder.
William takes it the moment it's surrendered, the large saw shape feeling awkward in his hands. He tries to adjust to it as he strides out.
"You even got a plan?" Eric's asks, catching William as he's halfway out the bedroom door.
William huffs under his breath. "It's never changed."
That a reaper is at his arm and another is at his back does little to put the Earl Phantomhive's mind at ease in what he perceived as a hostile environment.
He shivers as he hears doorman on the other side of the ballroom's entryway announce his presence.
"Look alive," Ronald mutters behind him.
Grell gives Ciel a savage grin as the double doors swing open to reveal the Viscount Druitt.