Summary: Priscilla reveals more than she would have ever wanted to Sebastian.

A/N: Girlies, I am stressed, that is all. I hope you enjoy this.

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.

Priscilla awoke sometime later to the sound of screaming. Typically, it would take a train wreck to wake Cassandra too, but her twin also jolted awake next to her in the large four-poster mahogany bed. Priscilla wondered if Cassandra felt her alarm through their connection as they detangled themselves from their shared blankets and leaped from the bed.

Cassandra's room at the manor had been recreated almost as if nothing had happened, down to the clothing in the armoires and dressers; this was a blessing since neither woman had packed nary an overnight bag in their haste to reach the manor, and Priscilla and her sister were roughly the same size.

Both women snatched up their walking sticks, unsheathing the blades hidden within them, and raced down the hall toward Vincent's old bedroom where their nephew now slept. Sebastian was already there when they burst in to find Ciel burrowed under the covers screaming, screaming, screaming.

"What is going on?" Cassandra demanded, striding into the room with the air of a battle-worn general.

"Go away!" screamed Ciel from his cocoon. "Go away, don't touch me!"

Oh. Oh, this poor boy.

He was trapped in the confines of his mind – of his memories.

"He's had a nightmare," Priscilla said, sheathing her blade.

"He will not listen to reason, he is safe," Sebastian said, exasperation evident in his tone.

He stood at the foot of her nephew's large, opulent bed fingertips to his chin as though this truly were confusing to him. Priscilla fixed the demon with a look, then flushed, realizing her state of dress. Her jeweled walking stick clattered to the floor as she brought her arms up to cover her chest.

"It does not matter if he is safe, he doesn't feel like it," Cassandra said, bending to pick up her sister's fallen blade.

She had not a care for who saw her in whatever state she was in. Cassie was as bold as a lioness.

"Especially with you here," Priscilla said accusatorially.

"Me?" Sebastian said, curious.

"I shan't speak the reason aloud, as it may upset him more. If you would, please wait outside the door and I will attend to him. I will explain later should you wish it."

"Lord, Prissy," Cassandra scoffed, her silken black hair tumbling about her shoulders as she shook her head. "You really are too formal sometimes. She's been handling his nightmares since he was a wee thing, she can handle this now. Besides, you're scary."

"Scary?" Sebastian repeated.

"Is there a parrot in here?" Cassandra made a show of looking about the room.

"Will the two of you hush ?" Priscilla snapped, then regretted it.

Ciel had flinched beneath his covers and began crying in earnest.

"Cassie, please go fetch me that novel from your room. Sebastian," she turned to the demon, arms still folded firmly across her chest. "If you would, please stand outside and I will explain later."

"As you wish, You Grace." He bowed at the waist and exited the room.

Priscilla felt his presence beyond the door as if he were still holding her close in the kitchen, but she brushed that memory aside and knelt by the bed. Thankfully, her gloves were firmly in place. She had taken to sleeping in them just in case she was to touch one of her children in the night and frighten them with her projected nightmares. Her bed was usually too empty – even if Cassandra did crawl into it most nights to curl up behind her and dry her tears – and she needed her children close most nights.

"Ciel," Priscilla whispered, placing her hands on the bed. "It's me, Prissy. Your aunt. You're safe now."

"Go away!" he cried once more.

"I cannot."

"I don't want you in here! Leave!"

Tears welled in Priscilla's eyes but she blinked them away. "I cannot do that, not until you are calm. You do not have to come out. You do not need to talk to me, but I am going to sit here and read aloud to you until you can either tell me you are alright – and mean it – or you fall back to sleep."

Just then, Cassandra returned with the requested book and placed it on the bed before bending to drop a kiss on her sister's head, then left without a word. Priscilla heard a hushed whisper on the outside of the door, but other than that, the manor was silent – save her nephew's chattering teeth and heaving sobs.

Pressing herself to her feet, Priscilla lighted a gas lamp just enough to see by, then crossed the room to grab one of the plush velvet armchairs and lifted it with ease, telling her nephew what she was doing every step of the way.

"And now," she said, placing the chair next to the bed. "I am going to read to you. You always did love a good mystery and I think you will like this author. His name is Arthur Conan Doyle."

Then Priscilla began to read.

Unbeknownst to her, which was perhaps for the best, Priscilla was being watched from a crack in the doorway. Her hair, which was as pale as cornsilk, was unbound from its braided crown and falling around her shoulders in shining waves. Her skin – the color of fresh cream – was illuminated beautifully in the lamplight, a single beauty spot decorating her décolletage. In the low light, her eyes were the darkest of sapphire blue and the longer she read, the more they began to shine in anticipation. Her voice was like a meadowlark. High, clear, and distinct. Her lips – the color of shell pink that put one in mind of the birth of Venus herself – moved gracefully, the shape of each word beautifully formed by flesh. Had the image not been the picture of innocence, of a Madonna even, it might have been considered indecent in its beauty.

Sebastian was not accustomed to desiring anything other than the souls he was bound to devour, but Priscilla was altogether a new kind of innocence to defile. An angel born of human flesh? It was as novel as it was intriguing. She was nosy, intelligent, defiant, and poised. So many human contradictions mixed with the holy rage and light he once possessed himself before his fall.

And her grief was so potent, so delicious. He had almost kicked himself when he realized he had chosen the wrong human's face in his master's memories, taking on the form of the uncle – the husband of the boy's aunt – rather than his dead father. But it provided an interesting, and dare he say decadent, interlude into the long dance he had taken on with his master's revenge.

What was odd though, was how accepting the woman was. She knew almost at once what he was – though he did himself no favors flashing his teeth at her the way he did – and her questions were those of genuine curiosity instead of the probing ones he expected. Niggling little hints at how to break the contract; that could not be done unless Sebastian himself wished it, and such a day would never come. No, she hadn't been asking as a ploy, he understood human nature enough to know that.

Priscilla did not like him, nor did she trust him, but she was not above using people to get what she wanted. She would use Sebastian to enact her revenge, therefore sacrificing her beloved nephew, which suited him just fine. The memory of her ichor on his lips after he had bitten her was nearly unbearable, he wondered how it would taste as he furthered her corruption.

Beyond that, the covenant she and her sister had made with God intrigued him. Just what was promised? Priscilla and Cassandra certainly still possessed their free will, the very thing that caused angels to fall in the first place, so it was not divine righteousness. And she was being allowed her revenge.

So, what was it?

At some point during his musings, the young master had emerged from his cocoon – face red and eyes puffy. However, Priscilla continued to read instead of acknowledging her nephew's reemergence. Lady Cassandra had stated that Priscilla had coaxed him from these types of fits before when he was younger, though the frights he had experienced then were likely of a lower caliber than those he knew now.

But the boy seemed to respond to her voice in a way that seemed almost instinctual, and though he was exhausted in appearance, he demanded at least one more paragraph before she slid the ribbon bookmark between the pages and bid him goodnight.

"Will you be able to stay awake for one more paragraph?" Priscilla asked good-naturedly. "You look as though you will pass out in mere seconds."

"One more," the boy demanded with the petulance only a ten-year-old could muster. "Please…" he added when he saw his aunt's stern expression.

"Fine, one more."

The boy was asleep before she was even halfway through the first sentence. With a smile that could only be described as motherly, Priscilla closed the book and set it on her nephew's bedside table before snuffing the gas lamp. When she turned, Sebastian stood before her utterly preening at the way she jumped and flushed, silencing the tiny gasp she made with her gloved hand.

A carnal sort of hunger flared through him as he watched her other arm snake around her unbound breasts to hide their shape beneath her white nightgown. In her haste to check on his master, she had forgone a dressing gown. How very unladylike.

"I asked that you wait outside the door," she whispered.

"My aim was to be helpful, not disagreeable, Your Grace," Sebastian whispered back, picking up the chair with the same ease as she had and depositing it back in its regular habitat.

After that, they exited the room together, Sebastian closing the door silently behind him. Priscilla halted. She could not speak to him in her bedroom. Not only would it be inappropriate, but Cassandra would be in there and would not take kindly to Sebastian disrupting her sleep – if she were to wake at all. They could not talk in the young master's room either. That left one of the many empty rooms in the manor where they would still be completely and utterly alone with Priscilla in a decidedly improper state of undress. While Sebastian was a demon and not a man, Priscilla had been raised with some sense of propriety. But the situation called for her to turn a blind eye to decorum.

"The parlor," Priscilla said at last and headed that way without waiting for confirmation from her companion.

The floor was cold against her bare feet, and the air was frigid against her skin. She felt her breasts tighten against the cold and prayed that Sebastian would not notice, though she felt the prayer was futile. For her to be reborn with such strangeness inside her, Priscilla felt particularly human – fragile.

Once they were inside the parlor, with its comfortable couches and large hearth, Priscilla realized they had walked the whole way in the dark without need of a light source. The realization shocked and unsettled her. She had not realized that particular ability before, and once again she felt incredibly out of place in her body.

It was not dark for long, however, as Sebastian conjured a roaring fire in the hearth, heating and brightening the room at the same time. Priscilla still kept her arms firmly around herself while she sank onto one of the plush blue velvet couches.

"I believe, even though you are sworn to protect him until the end," Priscilla began, staring into the conjured flame with a tremor of fear. "That my nephew fears your appearance."

"Is it not a comforting one?" Sebastian asked with a smirk.

"You chose it to be cruel, and we both know it," she snapped.

"Perhaps. But the person I resemble never raised a hand to him."

Priscilla sighed and weariness and hatred vied for her attention. Sebastian was as exhausting as he was vexing, which was likely on purpose. He knew "the person" whose face he stole, and he knew just how much it pained her to be in his presence. He was a demon; he liked that sort of thing.

"It was mostly powerful men who perpetrated the indignities he endured, surely you realize the effect that would have on his psyche?" she implored, though she would have much rather slapped him.

Sebastian shrugged, that infuriatingly placid smile still in place. "It hadn't crossed my mind. He wanted a butler, so I became such."

"How very generous."

"I have been more than generous with him."

"You could release him, you know."

"And lose out on a meal?"

The scoff in his voice was the most indignant she had heard from him, and it infuriated her. So, he did not care of the pain he inflicted on his master so long as he got his meal? Despicable.

Priscilla's rage swept her up and she stood and crossed the room to his place by the hearth, placing her hands on her hips and glaring up at him. His eyes were once again red but they shone hungrily in the firelight, and Priscilla was altogether unsure what kind of hunger it was. She really needed to work on ruling her emotions and not the other way around.

A chill ran up her spine and she felt far too exposed, but she was not about to show more weakness in front of this infernal creature.

"You should be careful, Your Grace, on how you dress henceforth," he said lowly.

"And why is that?" she asked.

"Because, most men cannot restrain themselves in the presence of a woman such as you."

He said it as though it were not something that crossed her mind already. She was a Phantomhive, she knew exactly how men though of, and treated, women. Had it not been the four of them in the manor all alone, Priscilla would not have dreamed of traipsing around in her nightgown. Surely though, this demon was not tempted by the sight?

Suddenly, his hand darted forward, capturing her jaw in a viselike grip and pulling her forward.

"It would be a shame," he continued, lifting her face to his. "If someone were to take advantage of such perfection."

"You mean like you did in the kitchen only this evening?" she inquired haughtily.

"I was merely collecting the payment owed."

"And I would pay it again if only to bring about the suffering of my enemies."

Sebastian laughed at that, his breath fanning out over her face. Cherries, honey, blood. Priscilla's mouth began to water and she felt sick.

"I do believe you enjoyed it, Your Grace," he teased.

The demon actually teased her. The gall!

"I acknowledge no such thing!" she retorted, pulling against him.

"Acknowledge it or not, I smelled it on you."

Priscilla stilled, dread pooling in her gut. How awful. How humiliating.

But that was what demons wanted, to defile and humiliate the righteous. Priscilla wasn't all that righteous, she was much too self-absorbed to be called such, but she was kind. She was compassionate. And God himself had found her worthy.

Was that why Sebastian was warning her?

"Fuck you," she spat, wrenching against his hand.

"Oh my, what language for a lady such as yourself to possess."

The mocking tone was not lost on her and when she finally ripped herself free, her skin burned where he had gripped her along with the flame of embarrassment. She made to flee the room, but Sebastian was quicker, his demonic strength throwing her into the built-in bookshelf next to the fireplace.

Books came clattering down around her, but Priscilla felt no pain, only fear and anger as she glared up into Sebastian's face – Edward's face – once again. He had caged her in once more, like he had in the kitchen, but Priscilla had no favors to ask him this time; he had no reasons to take from her again.

Her chest heaved against his and her gloved hands clawed at his arms as she pushed at him. She had angelic power, so why could she not call upon it and smite him? And though the heat thrummed beneath her skin, she could not bring it forth.

A frustrated cry slid past her lips and she pushed out against him futilely. His expression was dark, almost bored and it sent nausea spreading through her. She was nothing more than a mouse beneath a lion's paw to him at the moment, and they both knew it.

Then a curious light crossed his countenance. "Just what were the terms of your contract with your God?"

Priscilla did not deign to point out that her God had once been his too.

"I do not wish to speak of it," she hissed.

"Oh, come now, I told you of mine, it is only fair."

"Do not think to lecture me of what is fair, demon ."

He grinned, and it was terrible. All sharp teeth and a touch too wide and when he leaned down toward her, his wicked fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips she heard herself gasp.

"I should think you should wish to be agreeable, considering the position you are in," he murmured, eyes lowering to her décolletage and the hardened points of her breasts.

"You cannot seriously be threatening me with rape?" Priscilla scoffed. "I should think you would resort to trickery first."

"Oh, no, not that," he tutted, grinning his wild grin at her. "I mean to threaten you with seduction."

"You? Seduce me?" Priscilla blinked, flushing.

"I told you; I could smell you," he pressed himself closer. "I think it would be quite easy as this form looks so much like your departed love, and at the very least, entertaining."

Here was another instance Priscilla wished she had more control of herself. Rage boiled within her, that new power slithering wrongly beneath her skin, unable to escape. So embroiled in her fury, in her weakness, that her tongue loosened and loosened dangerously.

"You're welcome to try, but any plans of seduction you may have will be unsuccessful."

"Truly? I think I am already halfway there."

What had she done in life to deserve this?

She did not think blaming Cassandra for breaking their mother's favorite vase would result in this sort of punishment.

Gently, almost tenderly, Sebastian tugged a glove from Priscilla's branded hand and dropped it to the floor, then, without releasing her, he slowly pulled off one of his gloves with his teeth. The contract brand shone ominously from his pale skin and Priscilla felt her flesh grow taut and clammy.

It was not fair that he wore Edward's face. It was not fair.

And when Sebastian took her hand in his, she saw nothing. Not even a flicker of a memory in the dark expanses of his mind. That terrified her almost as much as the carnage she thought she would witness when he touched her palm. Why could she not see? How was that possible?

"You really are a little fledgling," Sebastian murmured, lifting her hand to his mouth. "I can hear and see everything with just the lightest touch..."

"Stop it," she begged.

It was futile. Sebastian's lips pressed gently against each one of her fingertips, his eyes never leaving hers. And an unbidden memory flashed to the forefront of her mind. An intimate memory. One that shattered her heart in her chest because she knew the man before her was not her husband, but he looked so like him that she couldn't help but feel the flare of desire that came along with the memory.

Nor could she help the shame, because he could feel and hear every touch, every sigh of pleasure, every secret in just one touch of her palm. It was almost as bad as if he had seduced her, because he now knew just how much pleasure her short marriage had brought her. And exactly how her husband had brought that pleasure about.

When she felt Sebastian's body move against hers, it was almost as natural as breathing, just as it had been with Edward. His mouth found hers as though he had known their shape and taste forever, and unlike the rough treatment he had doled out in the kitchen, he was soft and yielding against her.

So, she bit him, her teeth coming down hard and fast upon his lip enough to draw blood yet again. It was hot and sweet in her mouth and she waited for him to retaliate, for him to destroy her as she knew he could. But he did not.

He responded by sinking his fingers into her lush thigh and hiking her leg around his hip, pressing her harshly into the bookshelf while his mouth and tongue forced hers open to him. The taste of him sent her head spinning and she fisted her gloved hand in the back of his coat. His red eyes burned into her beneath his lashes and when his hand ghosted over her throat, then gently over her collarbone and lightly over the shape of her breast.

A shudder wracked through her and she jerked against him, a jolt of burning pleasure searing through her core. His mouth left hers, trailing up her jaw and latching onto the sensitive flesh of her neck where his teeth finally replicated what she had done to his mouth.

Were she still human, his bite might have killed her. Instead, it merely sent a shock of delirium and pain to her already addled mind before fading into a sort of pleasure that was brought about by gentle lavishing from his tongue. His body was hot, burning as though he contained the very flames of Hell itself inside him. She could feel it through his glove and her nightgown while he cupped her breast in his palm, squeezing the supple flesh with equal parts tenderness and force eliciting a sharp cry from her lips.

The whole while, he held their ungloved hands together, allowing him to feel her shame – to see the memory he was recreating in such a twisted fashion. The feeling washed over her as headily as the pleasure building inside her; guilt wracking through her body, slithering through her ribcage and up her throat.

"Enough," Priscilla gasped out, attempting to detangle herself from him. "You have proven your point. I am weak and grief-stricken."

But when she wrenched her hand from his, Sebastian grabbed her again, slamming her hand back against the bookshelf. A dull sensation of pain blossomed through muscle and fascia, but more than that, a stark wash of fear. In her mind's eye, red eyes flashed the vivid green of Greek fire, and jet-black hair morphed into gray. A normally mirthful grin turned down at the corners, unrecognizable shouting filled her ears.

Why was he so angry with her?

Why was he shouting at her?

She was still Priscilla!

She wasn't leaving him, or Vince, or Cassie, or Frannie!

But he wasn't listening.

Then pain blossomed across her cheek as she was thrown backward into her vanity table from the force of the slap. His black clothing loomed over her like death's shadow and his long nails sank into her hair, yanking her head back to face him, his other hand gripping her wrist so tightly she feared the bones would shatter.

Then he was gone and Vince was lifting her from the floor, her body screaming in pain. Edward was there, shouting. She could hear him, and then him. His laughter. As though this were some big joke—

"Enough," she pleaded once more, unsure if it was in her memory or aloud.

And like that, she was released.

"What was—" Sebastian started, amusement curling his lips.

The thrumming beneath her skin finally responded, and Priscilla planted her palms against Sebastain's chest and shoved. Heat burned in her hands, and the smell of burning wool and linen assailed her nose. Then they were on the ground, Priscilla rolling off him and scrambling a few feet away.

Her chest heaved, breath coming in horridly shallow gasps. Placing her hands on the back of her head, the duchess pulled her head between her knees and forced herself to breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe!

Firm hands gripped her shoulders giving her a strong shake and she looked up into Sebastian's red eyes once more.

"Now, Your Grace, I am afraid you've made quite a mess with your measly attempt at smiting me," he said smoothly, as though nothing had transpired between them, as though he had not just tried to have his way with her. "Shall I escort you to bed and tuck you in?"

A screech of rage slithered past Priscilla's clenched teeth and her hand cracked across Sebastian's face, leaving a quickly reddening mark on his porcelain skin.

"You need not remind me that I am weak, demon," she hissed, shoving herself to her feet. "I have always been powerless when it mattered most. I will never need a reminder of that."

He stood with her, tilting her chin up to inspect her, then licked his thumb and wiped the corner of her mouth. His own was completely healed already from the bite she doled out to him. Then, as though he were her butler, he began brushing her off and straightening her nightgown, keeping a hand on her hip to prevent her from wriggling away.

"You had blood on the corner of your mouth, and ash on your gown, Your Grace," he explained, then pulled the ruined glove from her palm and held it up for her to inspect.

"I-I… I did that?" she whispered, then noticed the scorched fabric of Sebastian's vest and shirt.

"I am afraid so, Your Grace." He smirked, then snapped his fingers.

A new pair of black gloves appeared out of thin air and he grabbed her wrists, pulling the gloves gently over her hands without touching them. "As I said, you are but a fledgling. I am not stupid enough to think that your contract has nothing to do with my own, but your abilities left to fester without proper instruction will cause harm to the master. I cannot allow this."

"Do you mean to kill me then?" Priscilla asked, clutching her hands to her chest.

She felt no fear, not at the prospect of her death, but at the manner in which this demon may choose to dole it out.

"Do you value your life so little?" Sebastian's head cocked to the side, as he tended to do when truly curious.

Priscilla hated that she had noticed such a thing in a short amount of time. "I do not. It was a question. Besides, it is not like there is a surplus of angels roaming around England. I have no instructor."

"I will instruct you the best I can, if the master will allow it." Sebastian bowed mockingly.

The scoff escaped her lips before she could stop it. "And if I refuse?"

"Then I shall force the matter."

She had no other choice though. Her abilities, were strange and if she could not call them forth when needed, how could she protect her nephew?

"I will not thank you," she said.

"I do not expect thanks," he retorted.

"Nor will I pay you."

At that he grinned and pulled his glove back on his hand with his teeth, covering the disgusting mark on the back. Then he leaned down to her height and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Your Grace, I do not expect payment from you for acting in my master's best interests."

He watched with amusement as that sank in, as her perfect cream skin flushed a vivid scarlet.

"You did not need to kiss me in the kitchen."

"I did not."

"You are a leach."

"I am a demon."

Priscilla's shoulders sagged in defeat. Sebastian had bested her again. She had been so confident that she could protect her nephew from him, but she couldn't even protect herself, and she was now an angel!

"Your shame tastes divine , by the way," Sebastian crooned, holding out his arm for her to take.

Priscilla gave an indignant huff, staring at the appendage as though it offended her personally, then turned on her heel. Sebastian chuckled, pressing a hand to his face as he watched her stomp away. Her mood swings were truly amusing. He made to follow after her, only to ensure she went back to her room, before pausing and with a snap of his finger the parlor was righted once again. Oh, yes. This new contract was shaping up to be the most interesting yet.

Precisely two days later, Nina Hopkins showed up to the manor in a carriage filled with trunks full of fabric and notions to begin her work immediately. She greeted Priscilla and Cassandra warmly with a kiss to both of their cheeks and allowed Sebastian to show them into the parlor where she quickly set about setting up her workstation.

Nina normally did all her tailoring in her shop, but as this was a rush job, she was amenable to work in the manor. For a price. And that price was fitting Priscilla for some new mourning fashions she had designed specifically for the widow.

"Even in mourning, we should still be fashionable!" Nina insisted popping open the trunk to show a crepe mourning gown that was so pretty, it might have caused a scandal on a woman of lower rank than Priscilla.

So, she acquiesced and allowed the tailor her fun.

"Nina," Priscilla said as the tailor was setting up her figures and fabrics.

"Yes, Your Grace?"

Priscilla looked around, but seeing as they were alone felt emboldened to speak freely. "My nephew has been through an ordeal… One which I do not feel comfortable discussing the particulars, but there may be marks on his body he might not want anyone to see. Nor will he be comfortable with a strange woman fawning over him and touching him."

Nina blinked. Then blinked again. All at once she looked very sad.

"Is that going to be a problem?" Priscilla asked tetchily.

"No, not at all, Your Grace," Nina said, waving her hands. "I will even keep my skirts on this time around, so we don't shock the young Earl. I was just thinking…" The tailor tapped her chin with a long finger. "I can set up a short screen for your modesty, but perhaps have the Earl sit in on your fitting? It will show him that there is nothing to be uncomfortable with."

Priscilla could have kissed her, but she feared Nina would enjoy that, so she refrained. "That will do perfectly, Nina."

Moments later, Priscilla was standing atop a stool in the parlor with only her head and shoulders visible to Ciel and Cassandra from behind the screen. Nina knelt before her, double checking the Duchess' measurements before the fitting began. Sebastian stood next to the tailor, assisting in taking down the numbers the tailor barked out.

The two had not gotten along the moment Nina stepped in the door. But that was of no consequence to Priscilla at the moment. What was, however, was that she was standing in her unmentionables in front of that infernal butler. Just her chemise and stockings, no bloomers, no corset. Nina had said it would get in the way of her measurements.

"Explain to me again why Cassandra cannot assist you?" Priscilla ground out through her teeth as Nina called out her hip and waist measurement to Sebastian.

He did not so much as raise an eyebrow at the number and Priscilla flushed bright pink.

"Her handwriting is atrocious , Your Grace!" Nina exclaimed, a sentiment echoed by Cassandra from across the room where she played Old Maid with their nephew.

"I do not know if it has escaped your notice, Nina, but Sebastian is a man! " Priscilla hissed

Nina made a face before calling out the bust measurement. "It has not, I am afraid. Would that the world only be populated with women and sweet young boys."

"Nina," Priscilla warned.

"Sorry, sorry! Let me measure your bust again…"

"Nina!"

The tailor laughed, pulling the measuring tape from around Priscilla's bust.

"Let me see that number again, Mr. Sebastian," Nina said, pushing her glasses back up her nose. "As I thought… You will not be needing the extra padding I brought to fill your new corset, Your Grace."

Humiliation flamed through Priscilla, but she tamped down on it. Her emotions were not going to get the better of her today. Not in front of her nephew, and certainly not in front of Sebastian.

"And why is that?" she asked stiffly.

"Your breast size hasn't shrunk nearly as much as I predicted since your milk dried up, and your hip measurement is wider as well," Nina explained, pulling the new corset from the trunk of Priscilla's new clothes. "This should fit perfectly with little to no padding at all. And," the tailor continued, snapping the busk firmly around the front of Priscilla's torso. "It's bulletproof, as requested."

"Truly?" Cassandra called, attempting to peer around the screen from her place at the table.

"I tested it myself, Lady Phantomhive," Nina replied proudly, attempting to tighten the garment at Priscilla's natural waistline. "And I am an excellent shot."

"Arching your back may help a bit, Your Grace," Sebastian remarked.

That earned him a glare, at which he merely tilted his head with a smile. But Priscilla obeyed his instruction, and Nina was able to fit the corset perfectly to the duchess' body.

After that came softened crepe and wool skirts with new petticoats – sans the fashionable bustle that Priscilla disdained – black cotton blouses with hand crochet black lace at the neck and cuffs, black evening gowns in crepe – though Priscilla did not think she would be attending any parties any time soon – that were simple in decoration but daring in cut and style. Nina had even provided lovely black lace shawls, black silk and wool stockings to be held up with garters, a new – more fashionable - mourning bonnet, several styles of gloves, along with three stylishly simple pairs of boots – two heeled, and one flat-footed for more dangerous endeavors.

"I almost don't mind that you are in mourning," sighed Nina as she pressed a hand to her cheek appreciatively. "You do look so fetching in black."

"I'm glad that the loss of my husband doesn't put you out too much, Nina," Priscilla snapped.

Nina laughed, continuing to fit the clothes and mark where they needed letting out or taking in. Then redressed Priscilla in her older dress, but insisted she wear a pair of the new boots she had brought with her.

"I don't know how you completed all this, Nina," Priscilla enthused as the tailor hooked each delicate button into place on the more fashionable style of boot.

"I am certainly a miracle worker," Nina said proudly, earning a scoff from Sebastian that she pretended not to hear. "Though I will need to let out a few garments to get them just so. Not too much, though. I'm glad you've retained such a healthy figure, Your Grace."

He had been watching silently, but intently for most of the fitting, making Priscilla's skin prickle when she caught him. Nothing had transpired between them since that night in the parlor, but she constantly felt his eyes on her whenever they were in the same room. It was unnerving, especially when she was teaching him about the tastes of human food and he would wipe frosting or melted chocolate off her face, then taste it.

Him knowing her form beneath her clothes was just as unnerving.

"May I just say, Your Grace, that you have the most sinful ankles?" Nina said, her eyes shining with undisguised admiration, holding up Priscilla's foot to appreciate and breaking the Duchess from her thoughts.

"You may not," Priscilla sniffed, face hot.

She now regretted inviting her nephew to stay in the room with her. It had been an attempt to help him feel comfortable with the process, but now…

Sebastian stood before her, still assisting Nina by holding her materials, though his eyes too were trained on the duchess' ankles. A smirk played on his lips, one that only she could see.

"Aren't they the most shapely ankles you've ever seen," Nina breathed, practically salivating.

"I do believe that Her Grace may be more comfortable with a different topic of conversation then her, ahem," Sebastian paused, looking up at Priscilla with a roguish wink that sent a hot wave of anger through her. "Ankles. Or her breasts for that matter."

"I should have you caned," Priscilla breathed.

"Only if you are the one holding the switch, Your Grace," he retorted smoothly.

"Oh, my goodness," Nina gasped, clapping her hands to her face. "I never would have though a such a stiff butler capable of such a statement! I think I misjudged you, sir."

"What statement?" Cassandra called, wandering over. "Oh, Prissy, I love those boots!"

Nothing was said about Sebastian's remark after that, and Cassandra put in an order for a few new boots as well, plus several more bulletproof corsets and some trousers she could easily disguise as skirts – which Nina was all too happy to design.

Ciel's measurements and design interview came next, and, as Nina promised, she was on her best behavior. She told the young Earl where she would be touching and why, what the measurements were for, and asked permission to fit him with a more comfortable leather eyepatch. It all went smoother than Priscilla expected and she sent the tailor off to work in the makeshift parlor workshop with a cheque that was far more than she had requested for such short notice.

Everything was going quite well. The three maids Priscilla had promised Ciel had shown up in her carriage, along with her trunks. She was just going over the household duties with the maids – one for laundry, one for the kitchen, and one for the household, plus the added duties of guarding – when a sharp cry rent the air and Priscilla felt as though her heart had stopped. In the doorway of Phantomhive manor stood the wetnurse and the nanny, Edward and Astrid in their arms. Priscilla's gaze cut across the room from her children to Sebastian who stood next to her, listening to her instructions to the maids. His eyes flashed red when he took in the sight of her children and a wicked grin spread across his heartrending face. And like that, all at once, Priscilla's heart sank and she knew her life as she once knew it was over.

A/N:

I am having fun with this istg

https/open./playlist/3byc3x0vMKdLbrXIL1ZUrT?si=74c234590d4d4412

Here's the playlist guys lol

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