Bring in the Night

Ciel was stood at the window in his study, his boot tapping against the carpet in a steady staccato. His solemn gaze followed the silhouette of the manor's gardens in the growing darkness The soft creak of the opening door made his posture rigid, his hands instinctively clasping behind his back.

"Today has certainly left an impression," Sebastian's voice resonated through the room, accompanying the polished trolley he guided with him.

"Quite."

"In more ways than one," the butler added, coming to a halt by Ciel's desk.

"Hm..." Ciel shifted, seating himself, his gaze lifting to meet the demon's. He feigned a sudden realisation. "Aren't you chatty. …By the way, did you ever dispose of that lunatic?" While he attempted to appear nonchalant, the elusive woman - dressed in what must have been her undergarments - had been on his mind all day.

"I have ensured that she is now in the care of Bethlem, my Lord.

"Quite the peculiar individual, indeed," he mused, his gaze trailing off, lost in the enigma of the day's bizarre encounter.

"She seemed to have foreknowledge of the thieves' presence," Sebastian mused, gaze fixed intently on his master.

Ciel responded dismissively, "That's hardly surprising. Given her squalid attire, she was likely one of them," he added, rolling his eyes in disdain.

"While that might be the initial assumption, her denial seemed quite sincere to me. Additionally, she appeared to be aware of my... true essence." His words were picked meticulously, each syllable laden with calculated nuances.

Unsurprisingly, this revelation had piqued the young lord's interest. He turned his full attention to Sebastian, eyes wide and vocal cords atwitter. "Oh? And how is that?" Ciel's eyebrow arched in question. The flickering oil lamp on the desk cast a shadow on Sebastian's face, making him appear uncanny.

"I'm unclear. With your permission my lord, I'd like to find out."

Ciel contemplated his choices. Sebastian was resourceful and would likely unearth the necessary information swiftly. If others discovered his demonic butler, his social standing could crumble irrevocably. The church, the state, even the monarchy could become a problem. The woman's knowledge had to be silenced.

"...Very well," he finally conceded to Sebastian, then added, "and determine how she knew about the thieves. If she's an informant..." He let the insinuation hang in the air. "You know what to do."

"Yes, my Lord." The demon placed a hand over his heart as he gave a swift bow. His grin, illuminated by the warm glow of the oil lamp, was both genuine and unnerving, casting a menacing shadow on his devilish countenance.

Blaire woke with the sensation of ice creeping through her veins, a phantom chill that made her limbs stiff and awkward. Each breath she took seemed to crystallize in her lungs. As she moved, a sharp pain radiated from her neck, down her spine, and into her extremities. Her cheek pressed against the concrete floor, its gritty texture biting into her skin. Bits of rubble were scattered around her like breadcrumbs, a trail leading back to the damp and peeling walls. The walls, stripped bare at the top, were padded towards the bottom. The room was a cube of monotony, the only punctuation being the heavy steel door smeared with layers of grime like abstract art. A faint hint of daylight seemed to be trickling in from somewhere behind her. It filtered through an opaque layer of filth covering a window, casting the cell in a sickly green hue and looked more like a layer of pond scum than a window.

She struggled to sit upright from where she was haphazardly thrown onto the ground. Only to panic when she found that she was unable to move her she looked down, she gasped, her panic escalating as she strained against the plain linen material restricting her arms.

"A fucking straight jacket! What the fuck is going on?!" Her clothes had been replaced with an off-white skirt and white stockings, both already smeared with the room's dust and grime. The realization that someone had changed her clothes made her skin crawl. Her shorts were gone, her bag was missing.

Her breathing came out as pained wheezing, the restrictive jacket and the confining cell seemed to constrict around her, creating a feeling of suffocation. Her heart frantically hammered against her ribcage. "Alright, I've got the joke! Someone let me out!" she yelled, her words absorbed by the padded walls, leaving an eerie silence in their wake.

Her mind raced to find an explanation, to make sense of her situation. She clung to the idea of a hangover, of hallucinations, of a lapse in memory. Maybe she had been hit on the head, maybe this was all just a bad dream. But with every passing minute, the reality of her situation seemed to dig its claws deeper. She stopped struggling against her restraints, a wave of fatigue washing over her. She felt a throbbing pain at the back of her head, her frustration mounting as she couldn't reach up to soothe it.

"Hello! Let me out of here, bitch!" She screeched, surely ripping her vocal cords. "If you don't let me out of here right now, you're in so much trouble! I will do jail time for you! Katie is this you?!" The silence that followed was oppressive, the absence of response was louder than her pleas. She looked up at the dirt-covered ceiling, her eyes stinging, her heart sinking into a sea of despair.

The cold, unyielding concrete beneath her seeped its icy touch into her aching joints, each one protesting against the hardened surface. A longing welled within her for the comforting embrace of her warm hotel bed. Her mind began to drift, pulling her back to the dream she once had - a dream of being thrust into the Victorian Era, into the lives of Ciel Phantomhive and Sebastian Michaelis. An escapade that now seemed far more appealing compared to the grim reality she found herself in. Memories swirled within her mind, painting a vivid picture of the events that had unfolded. The disdainful sneer on Ciel's face as he addressed her, the disconcerting calm of Sebastian as he informed the officer that she had escaped from...

Bethlem.

Her eyes snapped open, the name echoing ominously in her mind. Bethlem?

She peered around at the padded cell, the harsh reality of her surroundings slowly sinking in. Was this an actual turn of events?

The details were hazy, like viewing a scene through fogged-up glass. She could vaguely recall a struggle with a policeman, the words she had yelled dissolving into incoherent mumbles. And then there was that Sebastian look-alike, smirking as if he held all the answers. A sense of incredulity washed over her. She scanned the cell, her eyes darting around in search of any out-of-place detail, any hidden camera that could indicate this was an elaborate prank. Then she could laugh it off and spend the rest of the day in a bar.

People didn't fall into the world of their favourite TV shows. That sort of thing belonged to the realm of fanfiction, not reality.

With a defeated slump, her back met the padded wall. The cell was bare, devoid of anything remotely interesting. In the stifling silence, she allowed her gaze to glaze over the room, resigned to the stark emptiness in front of her.

Night had descended, cloaking the squalid cell in an inky blackness. The sense of time seemed suspended in this place, making her feel as if she had been confined for an age. She yearned for the freedom of movement, the intoxicating taste of fresh air. The air in the cell was stagnant and silence dominated, broken only by the rhythm of her own breaths. Hunger gnawed at her, forming a hollow sensation in her stomach and her parched mouth thirsted for even a sip of water. She exhaled a sigh of resignation

Boredom had stolen over her. She resorted to pacing the limited space, a futile endeavour given the confined quarters. Her thin stockings provided scant protection against the biting chill of the floor and her arms, useless appendages, they lay trapped, folded against her chest in a cocoon of coarse, off-white linen

The unexpected sound of keys jingling outside the door jolted her from her misery. The creaking door heralded a surge of anticipation, mixed with a tinge of anxiety. She quickly banished those thoughts, steeling herself to confront whoever was responsible for her predicament.

"Were you planning on leaving me to rot here, then?" She snapped as she heard footsteps enter the room.

Lifting her gaze, she took in the sight of a stern-faced woman illuminating the gloomy cell with an oil lamp. Blaire squinted at the woman's attire: a plain black dress that reached her ankles, a white apron that ended just above the hem of the unattractive gown, and a white bonnet framing her dark hair. However, the dim lamplight prevented Blaire from discerning any distinctive facial features.

"You've to come with me," the woman stated in a curt London accent – East End, Blaire noted. Her frown deepened.

She moved to stand with great difficulty, as she was unable to use her arms. Ignoring the prickling sensation in her legs, she stumbled forward, grateful for the small reprieve of movement.

"Actually, I just want to go home so if you could show me the way out, I'd appreciate it." She grumbled, struggling to maintain balance with both of her arms pinned against her.

Unmoved, the nurse repeated "Come with me," and turned to leave.

Hoping she was being led to the exit, Blaire followed in silence. As the woman secured the door behind them, Blaire surveyed the shadowy corridors around her.

She strained to see the high ceilings and towering pillars in the darkness. Gas laps punctuated the corridor which seemed to stretch endlessly into a deep, sombre abyss. The walls and floor were as dilapidated as her previous accommodations, and small windows offered her a peek at the twinkling night sky for the first time. If she listened closely, she could hear vague mutterings coming from the other cells.

"How long was I in there?" She demanded.

The nurse turned to bypass Blaire, expecting her to follow. "Not sure, sorry."

"Can you at least take off this thing?" Blaire tried as she followed. Her feet padded nimbly along the concrete floor, occasionally stepping on something sharp and causing her to wince.

"When we get there, it'll be taken off."

Blaire scowled at the back of her head as they strolled through the dimly lit hallways." Why can't you take it off now?"

"The Doctor will take it off for you."

Blaire rolled her eyes. "I thought you were showing me the door?"

A sudden, piercing scream shattered the oppressive silence, reverberating off the cold stone walls of the hallway. The sound sent a jolt through her, causing goosebumps to prickle over her skin like a wave crashing onto a shore. "What the fuck was that?" She whispered to herself, her voice trembling as it wrapped around the magnitude of the harrowing cry. It was a scream imbued with raw, undiluted agony - a drawn-out wail that scraped against her senses, leaving an uncomfortable resonance in its wake. "Are you listening to me woman!" She screeched. "I just want to know what the fuck is going on! Tell-"

Her words were abruptly cut off as the nurse spun around, delivering a stinging slap across Blaire's cheek with startling speed. The sudden impact left her stunned; eyes wide with shock as the older woman leaned into her personal space. The nurse's breath, warm and slightly stale, ghosted across her face as she issued a hushed warning. "Enough of your noise. You'll unsettle the other patients. And the Doctor... he won't take kindly to your disturbances," she hissed, her voice a venomous whisper.

She sneered at the woman when she turned away to continue walking in silence, Her apprehension swelled with each echoing footfall until, after navigating a labyrinth of gloomy corridors and two shadow-drenched flights of stairs, they were ushered into a different room.

The space was expansive, retaining the imposing high ceilings and stately pillars that characterized the hallways. Warm, golden light bathed the room, yet it offered no comfort or solace. It was cold and sterile, devoid of any trace of hospitality.

Her gaze was drawn magnetically towards a table littered with an eclectic array of instruments, and a perplexing assembly of contraptions that bore a distinctly steampunk aesthetic. They formed an intimidating perimeter around the ominous chamber.

"Here is the patient," the nurse announced, stepping aside.

A man stood with his back towards them, meticulously cleaning an instrument which caught and refracted the dim, orange light. Bolstering her courage, Blaire took several defiant strides forward, demanding with as much authority as she could muster, "Where are my clothes? And my bag?" Her voice rose, churning with fury, "You better let me out of this straight jacket!"

"Mind your manners, girl!" The nurse retorted, raising her hand.

"Peace, Matron." A new voice interjected, halting the nurse's action. Blaire's heart skipped a beat as the man turned, revealing his face. "If you would, I'd like a moment alone with the patient. I'll summon you if necessary." His voice was disarmingly pleasant, his smile beguiling. The nurse conceded with a brisk nod, the heavy door groaning on its hinges as she exited, leaving Blaire alone with the supposed doctor.

"Monster," Blaire whispered, her voice hoarse. Her eyes roved over the man, noting his deathly pallor, the unruly black hair that tumbled onto his forehead, and the clinical white lab coat draped over his lean frame. A smirk played on his lips as he regarded her through his spectacles, his crimson eyes alight with an unspoken jest.

"Do sit, my dear," he encouraged, circling towards her like a predator stalking its prey. His hands reached out for the visibly shaken woman as he added, "After all, we have quite some time to get acquainted."

I saw you took away my days

I saw you brought in the night