A/N: I've been reading Kuroshitsuji since I was in high school and Priscilla and Cassandra have been with me just as long. They have changed a lot over the years, but I am finally happy with how they have evolved. I hope you enjoy!
DISCLAIMER: Any mental illness depicted may or may not be accurate. I try my best to research symptoms, but I am not an expert and often base things on my own experiences. This is a dark story and as the author I do not agree with all the things the characters do, say, or believe. It will also be very gross - lots of violence, blood, and gore. Mentions of s/assuault will be brought up throughout the story. Trigger warnings are in the tags. You have been warned, read at your own risk.
The Duchess, a Vow
Acrid smoke billowed toward the ornately carved ceiling as flames climbed higher and higher, engulfing the blue velvet curtains, scorching the rosewood walls, and shattering the glass with their heat. Pop, pop, pop came the sound of the glass baubles on the Christmas tree as they burst with heat. Surely the tree would be reduced to ashes soon. The black and white marble floor was slick with blood, stained with it. If those inside survived this night, could they scrub the tiles free?
And yet, Her Grace Priscilla Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire attempted to crawl toward the front door, blood from the stab wound in her gut trailing behind her like a gruesome recreation of a snail's shining track. She knew not where her husband Edward, or sister Cassandra was, as she passed the bodies of her brother Vincent and his wife Rachel, but she knew that they were likely dead or dying as she was. Her arms strained, her abdomen burning with each drag. Her nails cracked and broke as she pulled herself across the floor. She had to get to the children; God only knew what those people intended for them. She had to protect them.
She had to save them.
The cries they uttered, though they were ten years of age, and not fresh babes like her own, caused her breasts to release milk through her once beautiful scarlet gown as she crawled across the floor. She would destroy these vermin, these vile excuses for humans, for harming her family – for destroying her family's estate just to kidnap her nephews.
Surely that had to be the intent, as they had massacred all the adults present – not even a single servant had been left unharmed. Had Priscilla not been recovering from birth only a few weeks prior, she would have been able to defend her family. There was only God to thank for her own babies being safe at home with their wet nurse. She hoped they wouldn't hate her for dying before they knew her and their father.
She prayed they would grow strong and well.
A wretched sob escaped her and her arms finally gave out before she reached the ornate front door. The sound of the fire roared in her ears, the creaking of the manor house's timbers, great shudderings as windows busted and gas lamps exploded. By then, she knew she was too late.
"God!" Priscilla screamed, inhaling a lungful of smoke. "I vow on the souls of my children, that I would save my nephews if you only help me!"
Suddenly, as if it were an answer to prayer, her strength found her and with a great heave, she pushed herself to her feet, screaming against the pain. Her hands shook violently as she reached for the door, ignoring the searing pain the metal burned into her palms. She opened the door, a rush of cool air blowing past her and into the manor. Then a great crack shuddered behind her and the world went black.
A/N:
I normally have a playlist but honestly, I've just been listening to a bunch of Nightwish and Breaking Benjamin with this one folks.
Thank you in advance for any comments, encouragement, kudos, subs, and bookmarks. They mean the world to me. Please don't forget to comment your thoughts!