Some ghosts are so quiet you would hardly know they were there.
Twilight crept over the woods, soft blades of grass caressing her feet. It was a different time then. Her hair flowed as freely as the dress she wore. It was the time where knights pursued fair ladies and one's understanding of love was as fickle as the wind. But the river does not know fickleness, so neither do they. Purple and orange hues gave this home a comforting hue. Soon, the soft dirt and grass blended into damp sand the river's cool water met her skin, soaking the hem of her dress. His head rose from the water, his white sleeves clinging to his arms as he smoothed his hair back away from his face. His hair was almost as pale as the moon and his skin made of alabaster. But she knew how it could look when flushed with love.
She called to him, though she could not hear her own words. His smile graced her and he swam to the banks, to her. She dared not step closer, wary of the sharp drop. She didn't want to soak her clothes. She moved to another spot where the grass and soil mimicked a cliff. There she knelt and stretched out her hand. There was laughter as he lingered there in the water, looking up at his sky while the sun continued to sink behind her. Tender lips pressed the back of her hand and sweet words were shared, but she could not hear them. They were happy together, he an undertaker and she a healer. He lived in the small town, oversaw by a knight. She lived in the woods, alone and content.
The sun sunk lower and lower. The breeze turned bitter and sharp, chilling them. Darkness began to stain the water, creeping closer and closer. The hand in hers turned as cold as stone as he began to sink below the surface. She was screaming now, crying. Lower and lower he sank and she held tight to his wrist. His lips were blue, eyes still open and looking at her. Shouts of rage roared behind her and hands grabbed at her, pulling her away from her love. They dragged her from the bank and she watched him slip into the dark depths of the water.
She wanted to join him but their deaths were different. While he drowned in his grief, she burned for her love. She struggled against the ropes that dug into her wrists. She screamed and sobbed at the burning pain as the fire ate her. She would never forget that pain, but grater still was the pain of her broken heart.
Cecilia woke in a cold sweat, tears streaming down her face. She clutched her chest and rolled onto her side, sobbing into the pillow in an attempt to muffle her cries. She hadn't dreamed of him in decades, almost a century.
And yet, it felt as though she could reach out and find his warmth next to her, like she had done a lifetime ago.
The manor was quiet as it was on occasion. Though they were nearing closer to the season of celebration, Ciel noticed the cold seemed to slow his staff. He found comfort in the silence, something akin to peace.
Ciel had been ordered bed rest, prescribed by the witch and enforced by his butler. Though he sat against his soft pillows with a warm blanket in his lap, he felt better, lighter. It seemed as though a weight was lifted from him.
Rest.
He leaned against the pillows, his head gently thumped against the head board. His eyes closed as her words moved through his ears.
"Rest now," she had said, "you're safe here."
He remembered the press of her lips against his forehead, her fingers deftly moving through his hair, relieving him of the patch. Despite his efforts, he couldn't help but be soothed by it. The memory alone had the tension in his shoulders easing. Despite everything, he could not help but to trust her. She had not lied. He had not drowned.
Ciel's eyes blinked open as he peered at the still steaming cup of tea on his nightstand. At the sight of the dark liquid, the warm memory was tainted by another. He could still see it, like a snake or eel thrashing about in the tub, the water stained inky black by its poison. It sloshed over the side, making a mess of the floors, its clicks and shrieks scratching at his bones.
"Had it been left inside of you, it would have festered and poisoned you."
Perhaps the dreaded fermented hawthorne would cure the taste.
The taste stung his tongue and he remembered the slimy feel of it wriggling up his throat. He wasn't sure what was more horrifying; the thing or the betrayal. Ciel remembered the fear, the panic, the betrayal in his heart as he felt his chest aching for air.
Her hand was a pressure on his chest, keeping him down, drowning him, killing him. Or so he had thought. Ciel's hand clutched his shirt over his heart and he had to swallow down a gasp. He remembered being pulled from that cold black water with a gasp to swallow as much air as he could.
With a shaky hand, he reached for the tea.
"Good afternoon, young master," Sebastian greeted softly as he entered the room. "Ah, I see you are not in need of more tea." Ciel eyed the silver cart, holding tea and what he hoped were sweets. "Pity," the demon said as he pushed the cart closer. "I have brought a tea that has the slightest bit of spice to it, with the hopes the ginger would help with the after taste." Ciel set his current cup down as Sebastian moved about the cart, lifting the serving lids to show him the options available. "Ms. Lachance had requested it and seems to be benefiting from it."
Cecilia.
"Is she recovered?" Ciel inquired. "I am growing tired of sitting in bed all day. I fear I may develop bed sores if I am to remain here much longer."
"Boredom can be a lethal thing on a small island," Sebastian said with his smile in place. Ciel eyed him with distaste. "Ms. Lachance is recovering, though I believe she is not quiet where she once was."
"Oh?"
London bridge is falling down, my fair lady.
The fire crackled at the hearth, and she lifted her head from her book. The sunlight bounced off the snow, blindingly bright. It had been almost painful for Cecilia, her eyes still sensitive. Sebastian was merciful enough to pull the heavy curtains partially closed. It allowed her natural light without overwhelming the room.
Cecilia returned her attention to her book. Her fingers traced the letters that had been etched into the pages for at least a century. A stain there from tea. Her fingers ran over bumps of old wax. If she lifted the book to her nose, she could tell you every scent attached to those pages and why they were there. The book itself was more than the spells, incantations, and potion recipes etched into the paper. It held her history.
The old paper rustled as she turned the page.
It was a simple spell, really. It was one of her first she had created herself, simple yet effective. But deeper into the book, there were things she had learned and created, things not to be done lightly. These pages weren't just stained with tea and wax. Blood, her blood, tainted the pages, binding the book to her. Burns darkened the edges of some pages. Secrets of hers written in dark ink detailed instructions.
Cecilia flinched at the loud noise of the door being opened. The echo rattled around her head. It had been two days and she almost felt worse. The taste still lingered, despite her best attempts to drown it.
"I took the liberty of preparing you a light lunch," Sebastian announced politely, carrying a tray. She sat up, wincing, and set her book down on the seat on the couch next to her. "I have prepared a small selection of varying tea sandwiches, accompanied by pair slices and brie."
"How considerate," Cecilia said flatly, though her eyes zeroed in on the food. She hadn't been able to stomach much, but it seemed Sebastian was slowly starting to piece together what she could handle. "Am I to be granted a sherry today?" A small smirk graced Sebatian's face as he set the tray on the coffee table.
"Not today, I am afraid," he said. "Perhaps, tomorrow if your appetite returns."
"This looks wonderful," she said, taking a small bite of one of the sandwiches. She let her eyes close as she chewed, trying to focus on the taste. Dill, cream cheese, crisp cucumbers, it was refreshing and she chewed slowly. She let herself think of the spring, the freshness, the flowers. She took another bite and leaned back. Her brows furrowed. This one was bitter, though it was the same sandwich. The bread turned to ash, the cheese and cucumbers spoiled. The memory of the black slime filled her nose and mouth and she struggled to swallow.
Cecilia sat, almost gasping as she reached for the teacup. She could hear Sebastian describing her drink, but she didn't listen. The warm liquid slipped past her lips and started to wash away the darkness. Despite the heat, she managed to get through half.
"I take it the tea helped," Sebastian said as she took in air. "I was quite intrigued by your concoction of tea. Perhaps it is something the young master could benefit from."
"Thank you," she said. "Is he still experiencing the taste as well, then?"
"Quite," Sebastian said before letting out a disappointed sigh. "He seems to respond to food similarly to you. I must say it is quite wasteful of you both." Cecilia rolled her eyes.
"Yes, this tea will help him as well," she said before she was irritated by the wound on her stomach. It was healing slower than she would have liked, however, even several weeks after her return, she was still recovering. That was par for the course for bringing yourself back from the dead. But she couldn't linger in this state. "May I ask a favor or two?"
His polite smile stretched ever so slightly, like there was a canary caught in his teeth. She returned a look of mild annoyance.
"That depends on the nature of the favor," he said smoothly. "Naturally."
"Naturally," she nodded. Sebastian was surprised when she stretched out her arms to him, as though reaching out. He could see the faintest flush starting to tint her pallid face at her embarrassment and humor flooded him.
The oh so powerful witch needed help.
"Can you assist me in standing?" she asked quietly. "I am afraid my stomach still isn't as healed as I'd like." The two sat in silence for a moment and her cheeks felt even redder. With a chuckle, his hands gently wrapped around her upper arms, easily lifting her from her seat without having her use her abdominal muscles. It wasn't quite what she expected, but she did not complain.
When she stood again, she was almost pressed to his chest and she felt warmth flushing to hear ears, cheeks, red undoubtedly running down her neck. She looked up into the red eyes that held centuries of knowledge. He was beautiful, that she knew.
She always had a fondness for crows.
His smile widened as he red her like a book. Cecilia stepped back, trying to push out the memories of the last time she dabbled with demons. It was definitely not an experience she regretted, but it wasn't one she would quickly pursue again. She wasn't sure her body could take it anymore. Not to mention the standard dangers that come with breathing the same air as a demon.
"Ah," he said with amusement as she cleared her throat. "You have some experience, I see."
"Thank you for your assistance," she said, still flushed despite the paleness of her face. "Ciel should be well enough to move about, and if I am right, he will be eager to be out and about." She quickly shifted the topic and Sebastian noticed. This was a conversation to revisit later.
"I am about to bring him some food along with the tea I just delivered to you," Sebastian said. "With your blessing, I will happily allow him to return to his normal duties." Cecilia chuckled.
"It almost sounds as though we've locked him away in a tower," she joked. "How fantastical."
"Ah, I believe the young master will most likely equate it with a prison cell," he said, allowing himself a moment of humor. She laughed a little louder before grimacing, a hand to her stomach. "I thought you had healed much better than this." He reached for her grimoire, mindful of the spell that protected it. Gingerly, he lifted it and handed it to her.
"Yes," she agreed. "However, even I have my limits. And the work I have done lately…" she trailed off and Sebastian watched her focus shift from their conversation to something else. His brows pinched in curiosity as she turned her head, eyes searching for something.
"Ms. Lachance?" he asked, pulling her attention back to the conversation.
"Hm?" she hummed, still very distracted.
"You had a second favor to ask," he reminded her, curious about what had distracted her so. But Sebastian knew better than to ask.
"Oh, yes," she said absentmindedly. "I was wondering if you would be so kind as to bring up my small chest from the cellar. I intend to make some more medicine. To aid the healing."
"I'd be delighted to assist," he said, giving a mocking bow. Her lips twitched into a sarcastic smile as she gave a stiff, almost awkward curtsey.
"You are a most gracious colleague," she teased, satisfied by his smirk. "I shall be down in a moment after I change into more appropriate attire."
"Very well," he said. He extended an arm, gesturing for her to take her leave. Cecilia moved, still stiff and sore, and she made her exit.
Cecilia and Sebastian parted ways and she made her way down the halls. She grimaced and tried to use a hand to shield her eyes from the harsh winter light. She could feel her head starting to throb and dreaded the oncoming migraine. Cecilia couldn't wait to have her medicine made.
Thought, there was another option.
Once much quicker, and more pleasurable.
She paused in her tracks and let her mind be flooded with memories of his touch, his pants and moans, the feeling of him slipping inside her. She let out a shiver with a smile.
No, her wounds would never heal with that kind of trouble.
Tainted.
"Hu?" she said aloud, turning around, having heard the voice in her ear. She was met with silence and scowled.
Oh, not again.
Cecilia held her head high and continued on to her room.
Unclean. Dirty. He's unclean.
"That's not very kind," she said firmly, mostly out of habit rather than expecting them to silence.
As she sat at the vanity, she was pleased to see she was the only reflection in the mirror. She began to braid her hair and loop it into a bun near the top of her head, letting small natural curls fall to frame her face. As she slid a pin into her hair, a white shadow passed behind her.
"Hello," she said, turning in her seat. No one was there. "A shy one, then."
She returned to her work, trying to make herself presentable. Perhaps she would go out walking in town. She could do with more candles. Perhaps she'll stop by a dear friend's shop for some other useful tools. Namely graveyard dirt.
Cecilia hummed to herself, but the whispering still lingered around her. She couldn't make out what they were saying and she was too tired to care. If they wanted her to know something, they would tell her.
She rose from her vanity and left the room, her book tucked under her arm. She was quite fond of the colors that had been selected for her. Sebastian had stuck to darker colors as is her preference. There were a few softer colors, but on this winter day, the dark green drew her in.
Cecilia's steps echoed around the halls as she walked. She was making her way to the kitchen, having already memorized the path. But as she took the needed turn, she found she had no memory of that hall. With furrowed brows, she carried on. Perhaps she had been too tired to really recognize it.
But then she took another turn into a hall she didn't know. And another, and another. Cecilia paused and winced as she peered out the window, trying to find something for her to orient herself with.
No luck.
"What in death's name?"
London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down.
Cecilia spun, eyes desperately searching for her. Out of the corner of her eye, a white parasol disappeared around a corner and she set off after them, wounds be damned. Cecilia ran and ran, following that voice.
"Little girl!" she called out, watching her disappear once more.
London bridge is falling down, my fair lady.
"Little girl!" she called, "Little girl, wait."
She turned the corner and almost stumbled back, trying to not run into the shorter figure. Before her stood the child dressed in white. Her lips were sewn shut, but her voice was clear as a chime. She continued to sing without her mouth as she faded away.
"Wait," Cecilia said, reaching out. Her hand reached through the freezing mist as the song echoed around her, voices joining the girl's in a round.
London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down.
She moved quickly. Cecilia needed to be away from them, from the voices. She wasn't strong enough to protect herself from the voices. The dead were draining, pulling life from those who don't know how to protect themselves. There was so much death here, so many voices.
Cecilia could go insane.
To her distress, the halls became less and less familiar and anxiety began to burn her veins as more voices joined in the song, though they didn't sing.
Unclean. Dirty, Sinner. Monster. He's unclean. Burn her. Help me. It hurts. Burning. Unclean.
"Stop it," she choked as she fled. "Keep your words to yourself!"
She ran and ran. Footsteps thumped behind her, rushing towards her faster than she could run. She couldn't remember the last time she was this scared of ghosts. But they were hot on her heals and she couldn't push herself further.
As the icy cold of their breaths rushed down her spine, she turned a corner.
Cecilia screamed.
Mey-rin screamed back. Cecilia dropped her book and covered her mouth, embarrassed at being startled.
"Mey-rin," she gasped, trying to catch hear breath. "I beg your pardon, I did not mean to-"
"You gave me quite a fright, yes you did," she said, starting to laugh it off. "You seem lost. I can help you get to where you need to be."
"Thank you," Cecilia said with a gentle smile, relieved to be among the living once more. She could hear the voices and footsteps slowly retreating. She began to stoop to pick up her grimoire and Mey-rin saw her grimace.
"I can get that for you, Miss," she said, stooping quickly. Cecilia, in a panic, snatched her book from the floor, though she did accept the woman's help to stand.
"Thank you," Cecilia said with a warm smile. "I was trying to find my way to the kitchen. Could you help me find it?" Mey-rin smiled brightly.
"It'd be my pleasure," she said. Cecilia walked with the woman, making sure to smile brighter than she felt. She let the main escort her away, but before disappearing around another corner, she glanced over her shoulder. The hall was silent, the eyes of the paintings following them, observing and watching.
The hall was empty save the small girl in white. Cecilia eyed her for a moment before turning away.
She couldn't shake off the eeriness of the sewn lips.