Music I listened to while writing :Kagayaku Sorano Shijimaniwa - Kalafina (Kuroshitsuji II OST)
Chapter 13 : Checkmate
Author's Note : for this chapter, I'm not writing from an omniscient perspective but directly from Ciel's point of view in the first person. It was easier for me this way because Ciel and Sebastian reveal so little about themselves. Writing from inside one of their minds felt more manageable. I chose Ciel because, let's be honest... I have no idea what goes on in a demon's brain!
Ciel POV
I almost felt sorry for him, kneeling before me. The poison that had run through his veins prevented him from standing properly. His scaly skin and still-swollen face made him look nearly hideous. I had once found him rather handsome despite his unsightly reptilian features. When he spoke my "name," a thin line of drool trickled down his chin. Saying "Smile" with such hatred from that numbed mouth must have been difficult for him.
I remembered being afraid of his snakes, hiding behind a wooden crate at his approach, scared he would catch me lurking near the forbidden tents. And now, here he was, miserably lying at my feet, unable to stand.
In the dead of night, my butler had entered Newgate Prison to slip the poison into our "assassin's" veins, sending him into a sleep that resembled death.
By morning, a doctor had confirmed his death, and the two puncture marks on his arm were too snake-like to raise questions about the cause. Rumors had spread through the prison, telling the tale of the serpent who killed its master to save him from the Queen's sentence. The body was taken to Undertaker's funeral parlor, where it was kept until Sebastian's arrival.
Undertaker had just left. It seemed he had insisted on helping Sebastian transport the coffin in which Snake lay asleep to the manor. This didn't appear to please my servant, who seemed almost irritated by the mortician's presence.
"See you soon, Young Earl," he whispered in my ear, sliding his hand around my shoulders.
I hated that. His face was far too close to mine, and that gesture always left a chilling sensation down my spine, which spread unpleasantly into my stomach. What surprised me, however, was the look Sebastian gave him—an unusual mix of anger and disgust.
After his departure, it didn't take long for Snake to regain consciousness, though moving his body took more time. The poison, an unknown concoction brewed by Sebastian, included a mix of digoxin and other more dangerous substances, making his heartbeat so weak it became inaudible, just strong enough to send oxygen to his brain.
At first, he wriggled his thin body, glancing frantically from side to side. When he was finally able to move, he struggled out of the coffin. I watched him clumsily maneuver over the wooden panels, placing his hands on the floor and sliding out his still-paralyzed legs. He applied all his strength to it, and his determination impressed me. But after all, he had spent his life trying to survive. He had probably been through far worse.
I had met many poor souls from the East End. I knew most children from those neighborhoods didn't make it past the age of five, and that parents—if they had any—often preferred to drink away their meager wages rather than feed their offspring.
With his deformities, he had probably ended up in one of those circuses where monsters were displayed in villages, subjected to the sneers and malicious laughter of onlookers. He had escaped that life, and I had plunged this boy back into a despair he had tried so hard to flee.
When Snake's eyes could finally focus on my face, recognizing me and Sebastian, he fell backward, pressing his back against the coffin panel, terrified. Hissing sounds filled the air. From where I stood, I could see the snakes, whose bodies Sebastian had tied, still writhing in the coffin.
"Calm down. We mean you no harm."
The softness of my own voice surprised me, so I added a touch of authority to it.
"We've helped you escape prison, and if you cooperate, nothing will happen to you."
"Why did you spare me?" he hissed, glaring at me with eyes burning with hatred.
"You trespassed on my property. You committed murder in my manor, and you attempted to assassinate me. Why?"
"You dare ask me why?"
He shouted, and his voice echoed off the walls, clear and strong, too loud for his weakened state. I hid my surprise and listened.
"I don't have enough words to tell you what you've destroyed. You came to our circus, you invaded our territory. When you intruded into the main tent, my friends disappeared! I knew they were hiding something from me... But they were my family! You had no right to take them from me, you shouldn't have come between us."
"I followed orders from the Queen, who is also your sovereign," I replied firmly. "Do you think I could disobey Her Majesty? I came on her command to investigate the abduction of children, abductions carried out by your friends! We infiltrated your circus to expose them."
"Child abductors?... No, I don't believe you... that's impossible..."
"Believe it or not, it's the truth."
"What do you know? And even if it's true, why did you kill them, you? Without a trial, without giving them a chance to defend themselves, without letting me say goodbye..."
His voice choked up, and tears streamed down his cheeks.
"You took my friends, you took my family! Now, I have nothing left, and it's your fault! I will never forgive you!"
Your 'family' didn't just kidnap children. They handed them over to one of the most despicable men this world has ever produced. A monster who toyed with them like they were disjointed puppets, fit to illustrate his most abominable fantasies until he plunged knives into their fragile chests and turned their polished bones into flexible surgical limbs so that his band of child thieves could parade in their wretched circus! And you think I'm the monster? You, who traveled from town to town with the Carnival of Death!
But I held back the flood of words threatening to spill from my mouth. His sadness stirred a wound within me that I had never been able to heal. His face, showing that unbearable mix of anger and crushing sorrow—I had seen it before. I had worn it myself, that face of despair and hatred. I had screamed my desire for revenge, just like Snake, and Doll before him. And like me, he wouldn't be able to let go of his hatred, and it would consume him.
"Kill?" I asked, feigning surprise. "Has someone told you they're dead?"
He looked at me, startled, and despite his reluctance to interpret my words, I could see deep in his eyes a desire to believe me, to hope that his friends hadn't vanished.
"What do you mean?"
"We couldn't apprehend them. They disappeared when my identity was revealed. So, I couldn't conclude our business. They shouldn't have fled like that, without us determining their guilt or innocence. Their escape is seen as an admission by Her Majesty."
"No... I... I'm convinced they're innocent."
Ah! A crack in this hazardous conversation, my ruse was taking shape.
"That's what I think too. And we'll have to prove it when we find them."
"But that guy... the one with the red hair, he said you killed them... He said Black was a demon..."
"How can you trust someone like him? Don't you have eyes to see what kind of person he is? You've been deceived—the demon was him! You sure know how to pick your friends."
I weighed each word, eager to exploit his confusion.
"The first time I met him was at 13 Miller's Court in Whitechapel, while I was investigating the Jack the Ripper case at the Queen's request. When we entered Mary Jane Kelly's room, he had just finished carving up the young woman, scattering her organs around the room. I doubt a man who loves the sight of blood that much is trustworthy."
"How can I believe you?"
Clearly, persuasion wasn't working. My frustration grew, but my outward calm surprised even me. In a steady, clear voice, I resumed my speech.
"I could have left you in your cell. I could have abandoned you to your fate. Do you know that at Newgate Prison, John Berry works wonders as an executioner? He miscalculates the weight of the condemned and the length of the rope so poorly that sometimes the fall decapitates the prisoner. If you want to find yourself in his drunken hands and only pray that he doesn't mess up his numbers before slipping the noose around your neck, I can always have you sent back to prison."
My words hit their mark—he looked terrified.
"Don't make me regret the compassion I've shown you," I said in a soft voice that sounded strange even to my own ears. "Use it to move on."
"I have nowhere to go..."
He no longer looked at me. His head hung low, his hair covering his sad eyes.
"There's no one waiting for me at the circus anymore."
"You can stay here."
I meant it, though I wasn't sure where the idea had come from. I felt Sebastian's disapproving gaze on my back, but I pressed on.
"As I said, we haven't resolved the matter with your friends, but we're still pursuing them. Staying with us will allow you to see them sooner. And if I succeed in proving their innocence, you can leave with them. In the meantime, I'll pay you, and you'll have a respectable job as a servant to one of England's most illustrious families."
I approached him, and to my surprise, the snakes that slithered on him did not hiss at me, a sign that their master felt no aversion toward my approach. I heard Sebastian call my name, urging caution. But I didn't listen.
"Do you accept my offer, Snake?"
I extended my hand, bowing slightly. After a brief hesitation, during which he searched my gaze for the lie I concealed so well, he offered his own hand, placing his still-cold fingers into mine.
"Good," I concluded, stepping back. "I need to speak with Sebastian. Afterward, he will take you to your new room and introduce you to the other servants. Welcome to the Phantomhive Manor."
I exited through the door Sebastian held open for me.
Once it closed, he spoke,
"You know I cannot lie, Young Master."
It was probably his way of expressing his disagreement with my deception, he who so rarely could show disrespect or contradict my decisions. It was what his butler aesthetics demanded, wasn't it?
"If you hold onto a lie long enough, it eventually becomes truth," I said without looking at him. "Of course, for you, that's a very human concept. So I'll simply ask you to remain silent about what happened. Take care of him now. You have much to do."
"As you wish, Young Master."
The gramophone screeched painfully in the parlor. Lizzie had brought it to me from London last Christmas. No one had thought to use it until it caught the attention of my servants, who, for some reason, were curious today and wanted to hear music from this new invention. Unfortunately, Finni, not understanding how the gramophone worked, tried to spin it as fast as possible, crushing the notes etched into the phonographic disc.
After a while of this unbearable sound, as an excruciating migraine threatened to overwhelm me, Sebastian replaced the boy and restored the music's rhythm—a nocturne. It was Chopin; I finally recognized the soft, melancholic strains.
Calm now, I gently massaged my temples to ease the headache and then laid my eyes on the crimson folder before me.
Earlier that morning, I had taken the pages Arthur had left me from my bedside table and placed them in this red folder to prevent any curious eyes from seeing their contents before I had the chance to read them. Before leaving, I made sure the scissors were still under my pillow, where they now belonged, close to my revolver. I was learning caution—against both the real world and the supernatural.
Seated in a velvet armchair, now that the parlor's music no longer tortured my ears, I opened the crimson folder resting on the chessboard without pieces and began reading the pages.
From the very start, a revelation struck me: I hated these pages. I despised every word scrawled across the cold paper. I had started reading this "drama"—as its author had so arbitrarily named it—merely to uncover secrets that had escaped me. Some details I had missed while unconscious, or perhaps some words that hadn't caught my attention. That's all I sought in those pages.
Oh, there were secrets, certainly. And now I knew the danger a death scythe could pose, even a small one, in the wrong hands... and I should have stopped there. But to my shame, I couldn't tear myself away from the dark narrative, and every word echoed within me like confused cries. He had talent, that much was evident.
In the way he described those dark days, it was clear he had the pen of a genius, and what was pitiful was that he had no idea of his extraordinary potential.
But I loathed what I read, for he had omitted nothing, silenced nothing, as decency surely would have demanded. I felt the heat rising to my cheeks and a more shameful warmth burning much lower as he laid bare on cold paper a passion that should never have been revealed by an immodest pen.
I shouldn't be reading this. I didn't want to know what was felt at the touch of my skin or the softness of my hair, nor to have my sensuality described or my caresses praised. I wished the humiliation would kill me, but it did not, and my eyes continued to devour the indecent phrases. He wrote as he spoke—without decorum, artifice, or etiquette, with disarming honesty.
But what troubled me more was the description of the empty shell I became the day I believed I had lost Sebastian.
The heavy words resonated in my chest. Despair? Sadness? Madness? How dare he?
My fingers clenched around the paper, and I ended up tearing entire pages in fury. This drew worried glances from my servants and suspicion from Sebastian, who watched me intently without missing a beat of the gramophone's rhythm.
I didn't care. I still gripped the torn pages in my hands, which had gone white.
Those words… those words that mirrored my despair when I thought him dead were unbearable, degrading me to the point of disgust. And I felt tears of rage welling in my eyes.
I craved vengeance, and for that, I needed Sebastian. My desire was to have him, to keep him by my side. I was neither ungrateful nor presumptuous. I knew that without Sebastian, my existence would be as meaningless as the poor devils locked in cages that we had mercilessly burned because I knew they were lost.
I knew all this, and my own fragility repulsed me, justifying all the efforts I made to conceal it.
But discovering it described under another's gaze and words was an insult more degrading than waking up with my body covered in a demon's blood.
Am I nothing without Sebastian?
I had enough. Abruptly, I left the parlor, the crimson folder under my arm, ignoring the eyes that followed me. I crossed the hall where I proudly displayed my paintings and other works of art I had acquired. I opened the door to the small drawing room, walked across it, and approached the fireplace to toss the pages into the burning embers.
No sooner had the paper begun to burn than a sob escaped my lips, and I pressed my hand over my mouth to stifle any more. There were no tears on my cheeks, but my heart was gripped by a fiery vice. My hands clung to the edge of the fireplace, afraid I might collapse to my knees. The crackling of the pages as they were consumed echoed in my ears. The anger vanished suddenly, replaced by a sadness that had become all too familiar yet remained unbearable.
What was I trying to make disappear in the fire? I never thought myself so cowardly, yet the flames that blackened the pages, erasing each word, darkened my soul. As the sheets turned to ash, I allowed myself for a moment to think about what I had forbidden myself these past few days.
Had I loved Arthur's words, trembled at the touch of his lips and his hands on me? Yes, I had loved that burning, wet passion, unfamiliar to my skin, so new and all-consuming. Those words he whispered so perfectly in my ear, the caresses that held more innocence than I had ever known. I had loved it all so much that I had come to understand it was no longer meant for me. I had a gift for refusing the happiness offered to me.
Arthur's pleas to take me far from everything had made me smile. His declarations, his touches, his passion for me had stirred a romantic tenderness within me that I had never known, yet I found it all so futile.
Oh yes, I wanted him to live, the one who loved me so much, but the truth was, his love had wounded me with a cruelty he could never imagine.
Even more cruel had been Sebastian's words, words I wouldn't have understood had Arthur not spoken them first. From the demon's lips, they took on an entirely different meaning. They lost all lightness and hope, becoming tinged with death.
All of this only revealed what I had always known. If I had not lived through that fateful month, if everything hadn't been ripped from me so violently at such a young age, I might have known the carefree life of Soma… I might have loved Arthur.
But suffering had stained my soul so deeply that love, no matter how beautiful, was out of my reach.
You can't do that to a child. He wouldn't understand. He could never understand again. Murder his family, lock him up like an animal, starve and humiliate him, then prepare him to be sacrificed on an altar before a masked audience with cruel smiles and sinister laughter. Even if saved, this person will never comprehend when someone speaks to him of love. He will not appreciate the softness of lips against his own.
Could I have explained to Arthur that part of me remained in that foul cage, reliving moments of horror, even on the sunniest and most peaceful days? That a stench of filth clung to my skin, and despite my noble stature, I carried the scars of inhumane tortures in my heart?
Could I have explained to him that only the voice of the one who would be my executioner reminded me, again and again, that he had torn away those rusted bars? That emerging from the dark mist, he appeared before me, cruelly scarring one of my eyes, only to become my black knight?
And today, the demon's words, bitter as they were, held more value than the sweetness of Arthur's.
I straightened, brushing off my jacket and stepping away from the fireplace. My place had been in the shadows for a long time. And I never had much taste for regrets. Those pages belonged to the flames. And that was for the best.
I left the small drawing room, ensuring my appearance was in order before crossing the corridor lined with my paintings. One of them caught my eye, and I paused in front of the famous and haunting painting depicting a young woman about to drown. Millais'Ophelia, the work that Abberline had recognized so well when he came to offer me the bribe for the Jack the Ripper case. It seemed like an eternity ago…
The artist had perfectly captured Shakespeare's tragic heroine fromHamlet. Driven mad with grief when she learned her great love had only pretended to love her and had killed her own father, she drowned in the river. A magnificent painting, equal to the play I appreciated so much. I lovedHamlet. I likely enjoyed thinking that I resembled him, the one whose entire life was consumed by vengeance.
But then why did the centerpiece adorning my walls depict the beautiful Ophelia?
"Ophelia lost among the waves, what a magnificent work!"
I jumped, turning to the man who had interrupted my thoughts. To my great surprise, Lau stood beside me, admiring the painting before which I had stopped.
"You haven't left?"
"Oh no, I feel quite at ease here. This gathering was truly a success."
Despite myself, I raised an eyebrow, astonished that the dark hours spent in this manor could have so greatly enchanted my business partner.
"It's over. You can go home."
He grimaced.
"The problem when I leave you, dear Earl, is that I always fear missing something most interesting."
I clicked my tongue sharply, signaling to him that my patience was short today, hoping that it might encourage him to leave me alone. But, ignoring the cue, he continued:
"Hamlet knew he would make his sweet Ophelia suffer," he said, his dark eyes tracing the lines of the painting. "But he chose vengeance over his happiness. I can't imagine his pain when he found out they were burying his love, who had taken her own life out of grief—grief that he had caused. You English truly have a taste for drama."
"It was madness that led to Ophelia's death, not Hamlet's thirst for vengeance," I replied, more harshly than I intended. "If she had been stronger or simply understood that he was fighting for a cause greater than themselves, she wouldn't have succumbed to insanity."
"Do you think so? Maybe. But that's not what Hamlet thought as he stood by the grave of his love. After all, he knew full well that he would bring down everyone he cared about in his quest."
"Should he have hesitated?" I murmured sadly. But it felt like I was no longer speaking of Hamlet.
"Oh no! That would have robbed us of a magnificent tragedy. But so many lives destroyed for revenge... His final breath must have tasted of regret."
"Or the taste of victory. His body was laid out before the people like a triumphant commander."
"Indeed, we glorify Hamlet. But more than that, we all mourn the beautiful Ophelia. Look, you can see that she's still singing, clutching the flowers she picked to make herself a crown. The poor girl doesn't realize her waterlogged clothes are dragging her down. Look, she doesn't even know she's drowning."
"Enough."
I turned my gaze away from the painting, and from Lau. A wave of sadness swept over me. I knew his words were meant only to test me, that his sorrowful observations were spoken merely to decipher the emotions hidden in my eyes and on my face. It was always like this with him. But I didn't have the strength to feign indifference today. Without fleeing, I preferred to distance myself.
I headed back to the sitting room, and the sound of his footsteps echoed behind me, following me. I sighed but resigned myself to tolerate his presence.
The gramophone still played. For a moment, I watched Sebastian turn the crank, keeping a steady rhythm with each note from the record as if he were playing it himself. Our eyes met briefly, but I quickly looked away.
In our society, servants are silent beings, only deserving and receiving their master's gaze when we wish to give them an order or request. Staring at Sebastian would be seen as improper. The polite distance that had always existed between us over the past three years had returned, once again placing itself between us. All the words exchanged, all the events lived, none had scratched the surface of our relationship. Things remained as they should be, and yet there was a lingering sense of waste on my lips—lips that had, not so long ago, brushed against his.
Deep down, I hated him for having said too much. I wished my heart had hardened further, losing the taste for everything, becoming as numb as his. But the rhythm of my heartbeat had changed, growing more urgent, more painful.
I felt Lau pass by me, whispering almost into my ear,"Blessed be the darkness, it has fallen upon us once more."
I shuddered. I knew those verses, and despite myself, I loved them.
As I stood still, Lau opened the sideboard and took out a bottle filled with a pale amber liquid, along with two glasses. How did this troublesome Chinese man know where to find liquor and crystal in my own manor?
I asked him. He didn't respond, only offering the most insufferable of smiles before handing me a glass.
Giving up on getting an answer, I took the glass, sniffed it, and grimaced.
"It's just a glass of brandy, Earl," he said with a light laugh. "I doubt it will go to your head too quickly. And judging by the new sensuality in your steps, I'd say you're no longer quite so innocent."
For a moment, I was stunned, but I quickly regained my composure. I watched Lau, who didn't return my gaze, trying to decipher what he implied by his words. But I saw nothing.
He raised his glass in front of me, prompting me to toast, which I did, and brought the brandy to my lips. The liquid filled my mouth, and I struggled not to spit it out, knowing Lau was watching.
With dignity, I let the alcohol slide down my throat without showing any sign of disgust.
Lau sat down in front of the chessboard, motioning for Sebastian to bring the pieces. My butler waited for my approval, which I lazily gave with a wave of my hand before settling into the chair opposite Lau. A game was perhaps what I needed anyway.
Sebastian brought the box containing the polished wooden pieces. We set up the pawns, and, of course, I chose black.
As tradition dictated, I let my opponent with the white pieces make the first move. He chose a simple pawn, revealing nothing of his strategy for the rest of the game, though I knew he was a worthy adversary. I followed with a similar move and waited for his next.
He placed his fingers on the white knight and, as he moved it over the pawns, said:
"That man, the writer, he was truly interesting. A good person… You must have noticed?"
If I had any doubts, now I had certainties. Lau knew, but I didn't feel any shame, nor did I care to dwell on what he had seen or thought he had guessed. His opinion mattered little to me. It was distracting me from the game.
"Talking to me about him… Is this your new tactic to throw me off?" I asked as I made my move.
"Come now, Earl, I'm merely thinking aloud," he replied with a falsely apologetic smile. "But I don't need to tell you that it wouldn't be wise to keep a man like him in our circles. His conscience and moral compass might rub off on us, and then we'd be lost."
I ignored him, taking another sip of the alcohol that burned as it slid down my throat. I coughed. Lau was about to laugh, but my look quickly silenced him.
"By the way, I believe I noticed a new servant in your ranks?" He wasn't looking at me, focused on the game, and moved his pawn. "Someone I know quite well, since I recently poisoned him myself."
It was my turn to move, but I ignored it, and he continued:
"He was also involved in a dark affair that almost cost you your life and mortally wounded your butler. I didn't think you'd be so quick to forgive someone who endangered someone so close to you… unless that boy wasn't the main culprit in that case…"
"Are you trying to loosen my tongue?" I asked, finally annoyed, trying to decide where to move my bishop.
"Oh no, I prefer that you tell me just enough so I don't risk your butler coming to silence me. I simply thought Sebastian held a place that no one could take from him… But maybe no one is irreplaceable for you? After all, you let your guard down around a young writer who is a stranger to us… I must admit, Earl. I'm a little jealous… In any case, I hope you'll invite me to more receptions as interesting as this one."
A chill ran through me. His words unsettled me, as did his gaze. But I couldn't tell if it was real or just my alcohol-clouded mind playing tricks on me. I felt the warmth of the drink spreading across my face, dulling my senses.
"Why are you so attached to me, Lau?" I asked him sincerely. "You're not the only man from the underworld I pay to control the territory. Yet you're the only one who lingers by my side."
"I like things that are fleeting. And you are more fleeting than anything else. I feel like if I don't keep my eyes on you, you might disappear and slip away from me. That's the effect you have, young Earl. One wants to protect you and hurt you at the same time."
"Charming... So for now, you protect me, but when I have to deal with your opium establishments, you'll hurt me?"
"That's nothing new," he said as he moved another piece, threatening my bishop. "I reign over the underworld thanks to your bribes and the power you've given me to regulate the foreign population in the East End. It would be a shame if such a beautiful collaboration were to end."
"I won't be sentimental, Lau," I said as I captured one of his pawns with my rook. "I've given you enough warnings for you to be ready to face the Queen's wrath. When the order comes, I won't hesitate..."
"What a bore. I should've known you were a melancholic drunk. But aren't you tired of all this, young Earl?" he suddenly sighed, his voice softening.
He gestured carelessly toward the board and continued:
"The number of your friends is dwindling, you've surely noticed. You risk finding yourself alone, facing all of us, the rats of the underworld, and we'll show you no more mercy than you show us." The sweetness of his voice contrasted with the harshness of his words, and his gaze remained tender. "Believe it or not, that... makes me sad."
He leaned over the board and reached out his hand to my face, just as he had done months earlier, a gesture I didn't reject.
"I will never be alone, Lau," I told him. "Sebastian will always be by my side."
"Oh yes, I do love hearing you say that," he replied, withdrawing his fingers from my face. "I thought the same once, but back then, I believed he was invincible. Recent events have proven otherwise."
He picked up his queen and twirled it slowly in the air above the board, saying, "You were so adorable that day. So fragile. I would've liked to hold you in my arms myself, but I thought it would be improper. Others didn't share my scruples..."
I narrowed my eyes and clenched my fists in fury, but he continued:
"I suggest you stay close to your butler, Earl Phantomhive. There are nasty wolves prowling in the woods, and they love nothing more than devouring little, overly bold children."
With his queen, he took my rook, and, looking me directly in the eyes, he murmured:
"Check."
Surprised, I swallowed my anger, directing my gaze back to the game. How had I missed that move? This match had been slipping out of my control for several minutes already. The game was devilishly complex, but I couldn't quite grasp why my strategies were failing.
Bitterly, I declared, "I will not hesitate, Lau, and I will stop at nothing to achieve my goals."
I moved my pawn, protecting my king with my queen, forcing my opponent to retreat, though not entirely safe from an impending attack. "Take that as a warning and don't forget who I am."
"And like the beautiful Ophelia, you'll forget to stop singing before you drown," he smiled, mischief gleaming in his eyes. "But tell me, young Earl, have you noticed that since the beginning of the game,you haven't used one of your knights? Could it be that you're afraid something might happen to it if you send it after my king?"
I froze at his words and looked at the chessboard. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sebastian also take interest, inching closer to the board, likely intrigued by the remark.
The realization was staggering: one of my black knights remained beside my king. I hadn't touched it…
My key piece, the one that could leap over others, that could weave elaborate strategies, the piece that could win me the game… I hadn't used it!
I opened my mouth, but finding nothing to say, I stayed motionless. Sebastian's presence beside me added to my confusion, and I didn't dare look at him.
I raised my eyes to Lau. He was watching me, his expression now dark and serious.
"You should pull yourself together, Earl," he said slowly, and I understood what he was trying to convey.
I wasn't myself, that was what Lau had been trying to tell me all along. And it was dangerous, for both him and me. He had come to warn me.
I brought my fingers to my eyes and found them cold. I covered my eyelids, trying to clear my thoughts. The absurdity of the situation weighed heavily on me, but I didn't know what to do with that weight. My mind fogged over, and I ended up laughing at my own weakness.
I leaned back, pressing my spine against the velvet chair, haughty, and cast an amused glance at Lau.
"Forgive me," I finally said. "I'm exhausted, and I admit I haven't been at my best for this first round. But let's continue!"
I leaned forward over the chessboard, still staring at my opponent, and moved the black knight.
The moon peeked through dark clouds, casting a faint light into my room, which until then had been lit only by the fire in the hearth. I stood near the flames, dressed in my nightshirt, savoring the warmth that heated my bare legs.
Admiring the flames, I clenched the black knight in my hand, squeezing it between my fingers, though I was unable to break it with the force of my grip. Yet, I had already broken this chess piece. In my anger, I had shattered it, smashing it against the wall, reducing it to fragments. But here it was, pristine, in my hand.
I had checkmated Lau. Could it have ended any other way? Once victory became my sole obsession during the game, it was mine before his king even fell. But the glory of a battle so poorly begun was bitter.
Thinking back on the match, I'd had numerous opportunities to use that knight, but I hadn't. Despite my attempts to understand this "oversight," I couldn't grasp its full complexity. A few inklings came to mind, but I didn't like their taste.
I heard a knock at the door, but I didn't grant permission to enter, knowing Sebastian always took the initiative, even without my order. And so, he did. I heard his soft footsteps on the carpet, the unpleasant sound of the wheeled cart, and the clinking of dishes likely placed on it.
"Young master?"
I didn't respond. So, he continued:
"You didn't wish to dine, but I took the liberty of bringing you something to sustain you."
I glanced at the cart and couldn't help but smile sadly.
"Warm milk? Is that your solution to all my troubles? Like the night we first met, like the night Madame Red died… You make me warm milk like I'm a child, hoping I'll have sweet dreams and wake the next day healed, rid of all the scars from the day before."
"I don't claim to heal your scars, no. I simply try to make them bearable. That is my duty as a butler."
I turned away.
"It's not so simple today. We are fallible. You and I. And I don't like that. This whole ordeal has exposed our weaknesses. I used to believe we were invincible… but you could lose," I murmured.
"If you ask me to win, I will win."
"Those are just words! William Spears is right. The words of a demon are—"
"They became true the day you gave me my name. And for three years, I have done everything in my power to uphold our contract. With all due respect, young master, if you are looking for the weaknesses that plague us, you should examine your behavior these past few days."
"You dare—"
"Why did you risk your life? Why did you come to my rescue?"
Because Grell was winning… because he could have destroyed you… I thought.
"Simply because I still needed you."
"Lying comes so easily to you. It's truly a gift," he said, his voice sharp. "I wish that were true, and if it helps you, I'll pretend to believe it. But in the future, know this: you should reserve your compassion for someone who can appreciate it or at least understand it."
"Compassion?"
I spat the word as if it were poison. I faced him, bitterness in my gaze.
"It's you! Do you know that?" I said with a sad smile, showing him the wooden piece, the black knight.
But he didn't respond.
"Yes, you know it's you."
My voice was soft, pained.
"Lau is right. Despite myself, during this chess game, I held back. I spared you. Afraid one of his white pawns would tear open your chest. And it was foolish because without you, I cannot win! I should be able to use you at my will. I should be able to watch you suffer without remorse. I should be able to throw you into the fire, right now, if I so wish. I shouldn't regret watching your body be consumed by the flames. Because to me, you're nothing but a pawn!"
I had shouted. And I felt myself trembling, but it didn't matter. I had to speak—the silence was only poisoning me.
"But it's not that simple. It's not anymore. And it's your fault! If I doubt now, it's because of you."
"So it's I who caused the crack? You're projecting your own weaknesses onto me?" he replied, sounding angry now, which filled me with satisfaction. At last, an emotion on his face. I couldn't stand his composed, "professional" demeanor while my nerves were raw, and I no longer wore any mask.
"Did you think I was made of stone? Did you believe your words would find no echo in my chest? That I would come out of this unscathed, as immaculate as you, who bears no scars after everything? But I am human, Sebastian! I feel, I live. No matter how hard I try to be as cold as you, I am human! Your words numb me, I can't stand the pounding in my chest anymore, and I still have your taste on my lips! Everything is so confusing. I'm so disoriented it makes me sick. And I don't know how things have gotten so twisted, but I want it to stop, Sebastian!"
"Then throw that pawn into the fire."
"What?"
"You want it to stop, don't you? Then throw the pawn into the fire. Now!"
He moved closer to me, and soon he was towering over me completely. I felt the heat radiating from his body, more intense than that of a human, intoxicating. Yet, there was no scent, his skin had no fragrance, as if he were a shadow without substance. Yes, a shadow, whose aura enveloped me, drawing me in.
Despite the passion in his eyes, his voice was low and clear:
"Don't hesitate," he whispered. "Because I won't. Rest assured, when the time comes, I will be the one to pull you from this world. I will have no pity."
I held his gaze, absorbing the cruel words, but his eyes seemed to contradict them. I thought I saw a sadness in their gleam. Placing his hands on my shoulders, he turned me, maneuvering me to face the flames. I felt his gloved fingers glide down my arm, covering my hand that held the black knight. With a swift movement, he forced me to drop the knight into the fire. I sighed as I watched the flames lick the edges of the black piece before consuming it, a diffuse anxiety spreading through my body that only Sebastian's true presence at my side could ease.
Sebastian's hand tightened around my wrist, and I felt his other arm slide around my body, wrapping around my chest, gently pulling me against him. I didn't resist the closeness, my eyes still fixed on my black knight as it perished in the flames.
Sebastian's voice sounded almost unreal when I heard it:
"I've never devoured someone that I… I'm sure you'll be delicious."
Suddenly, I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, and the hearth wasn't the cause. Perhaps Lau was right—my desires were no longer innocent. I'd known it for some days now. The way my eyes roamed over his face, lingering on his lips, betrayed this longing, this craving that surged in waves within me, coursing through my body and settling shamefully low.
In that moment, it was I who wanted to"devour" him.
"Do you know what I want from you?"
He didn't answer, but I felt his breath quicken against my back. He knew what I desired, and I no longer felt ashamed. I didn't even care how vile and despicable this act might be. This was what I wanted.
"I want to close the loop. Do what I ask, just this once. Just this once, so I no longer have to imagine… I don't have a taste for regrets. And tomorrow, I want everything to return to how it was before. But tonight…"
My voice faded. There were words I couldn't say, that would ruin me.
I turned and looked at him, daring to meet his eyes, whose light seemed uncertain, hesitant. I trembled at the sight of his flawless face, as if seeing him for the first time.
I reached out and touched his shirt, pressing where the wound no longer existed, or so I hoped. My fingers trailed up, barely grazing his skin, until they touched his lips, tracing their contours with trembling fingers.
He leaned toward me, slowly, but so suddenly that I was momentarily frightened, and I pulled back, trying to escape. But his hands gripped my hips in a powerful hold, and I couldn't stop him from claiming my mouth. My heart clenched so tightly it hurt, and fearing this moment would end too soon, I cupped his face and stood on tiptoe, responding to his kiss. His grip on my sides loosened, and I felt his hands slide along my back, encircling me, pulling me closer to him.
My feet barely touched the floor now, and I shivered when he brushed my lower lip with his tongue. I parted my lips, and he deepened the kiss, invading my mouth, forcing me to tilt my head to take him in. Under the fever of his passion, I began to think that he had wanted this embrace as much as I did. But despite my desire and the delight of his caresses, I was running out of air, and I pushed him away, breaking the kiss.
I didn't have time to catch my breath. With his startling strength, he pulled me toward the bed so quickly that I was left disoriented, surprised to feel the softness of the sheets beneath my skin and his body pressing down on mine.
The curtains of the canopy bed closed around us without our touching them, and I heard the click of the door locking. Fear gripped me suddenly at this supernatural display of Sebastian's power, reminding me that the one who now numbed me with his caresses was a demon, whom I had asked to be my lover for one night. And just as he desired to become that, I was losing all my courage.
He didn't notice my distress, and when he pressed his lips against my skin again, I recoiled, pulling myself up against the pillows, nearly pushing him away.
Surprised at first, he caught my ankle, preventing me from fleeing further. I grabbed his hand, trying to make him let go, when I felt his fingers brush my cheek, gently urging me to meet his gaze.
His eyes were tender and reassuring. I wondered if his appearance could deceive me now that I had stripped him of the right to lie. Yet, I longed to be fooled by that gentleness, even if it was only a facade.
"Young master," he whispered in my ear, with a softness I had never heard in his polished tone.
Ensuring my defeat in his arms, he tugged at my ankles, pulling me lower on the bed, covering my body with his, settling between my thighs.
I wrapped my legs around him, caressing his hips with my knees, letting my feet slide over the silk sheets. He was burning hot, and I could barely breathe.
His lips traveled from my temple to my jaw, lingering on my cheeks and avoiding my mouth. I wanted him to kiss me, but I didn't ask.
My fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, undoing them clumsily. When the fabric finally parted, I pushed it off his arms, letting it slide down to the crook of his elbows, and brought my hands back to his now bare shoulders, savoring their softness.
His chest heaved, pressing against mine. He held me so tightly that I feared he might break me. His mouth moved down to my throat, and I stifled a gasp of pleasure as I felt him both kiss and gently bite my skin. His fingers trailed down my legs, caressing and gently squeezing my thighs as he pushed my bothersome shirt higher.
I could feel myself hardening against him, but my skin still brushed against the roughness of his trousers. I sighed, sliding my hand between us, searching for his belt buckle. But Sebastian pushed my fingers away, abandoning my throat as he sat up, his feverish gaze fixed on me. My intoxication deepened at the sight of his disheveled appearance—his messy hair and bare chest—so much that, entranced, I reached out to pull him back to me.
But once again, he pushed me away, placing his hands beneath my knees and lifting my legs, tipping me backward onto the bed. Instinctively, I closed my eyes and let him guide me as he spread my thighs. I knew this intimate act from reading the shameful poems of Verlaine and the prose of Oscar Wilde.
Shyness made me keep my eyes closed. Yet, through his tenderness, the experience was not unpleasant. My heart raced as I felt his fingers inside me. I breathed deeply, allowing each new sensation to seep into my senses : the pain, the tingling, and the other hand still gripping the bend of my half-bent knee; his murmurs in my ear that I no longer listened to, the movement of his fingers. I clenched my teeth so tightly it hurt my jaw, refusing to let moans escape my lips.
When he withdrew, I kept my eyes shut, feeling him shift on the bed, rummaging through my dresser before returning to me. I heard the sound of his belt buckle and the rustling of clothes being undone. Moments later, his hands caressed my legs again, lifting and spreading them. He leaned down, and I sighed as I felt him press against me, hard and slick between my thighs.
At the first thrust, I felt pierced, and an excruciating pain seized my entire body as my cry was muffled by the lips he pressed forcefully against mine. I pushed at him, writhing to free myself from an embrace that had turned into torment. And though my whimpers were stifled by his mouth, and my eyes clenched shut, tears escaped, streaming into my ears.
His lips left mine, leaving me gasping for air, my hands still pushing against his shoulders. Yet, despite everything, I couldn't bring myself to ask him to stop. That would've been a defeat. In that moment, though, I wished he would. I heard him whispering in my ear, trying to reassure me, telling me to breathe, that the pain was normal and would soon fade, but I could only respond with half-choked sobs. I was a prisoner to this white-hot pain that paralyzed me. His fingers brushed the hair from my forehead before he pressed a kiss there. I didn't think that such tenderness could offer me any comfort, yet somehow, I found myself breathing more easily. The pain seemed to dilute, and I slowly adjusted to his presence inside me.
I realized it then—he was inside me, deeply intertwined with me.
He was making love to me...
He must have sensed the loosening of my grip as I stopped pushing him away because he moved, withdrawing gently before thrusting back into me between my thighs.
The pain again, sharp and cutting! I bit down on my lip, my fingers digging into his shoulders, nails pressing into his skin. But I didn't push him away anymore. He kissed my forehead again, planting soft kisses there. Another thrust, and then another. Yet, amidst the pain, the sensations slowly gave way to a quiet, uncertain pleasure, but one that was still sweet.
When the moans escaping my tightly closed lips turned from pain to pleasure, I finally opened my eyes and looked at him. He was watching me, too, and I held his gaze, foggy and fevered.
I admired his beauty as he entered me gently, savoring the virile sensuality I might never possess. His strong arms held me tightly. His lips, still red from our kiss. The faint lines of concentration on his forehead as he focused on the pleasure he wanted to give me.
He drew his face closer, his hair and breath brushing my cheeks. I let my hands slide over his skin, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, tangling my fingers in his hair. I spread my legs wider to receive him. His thrusts became more intense, and without shame, I clung to him as waves of pleasure spread through my entire body, growing stronger, engulfing me.
I heard a low moan and felt Sebastian's warm breath against my face. The pleasure surged even higher, and I could no longer contain the moans slipping from my lips. I lifted myself slightly, wanting to catch his lips again. But he pulled back, keeping me pinned to the bed, a playful smile on the mouth I so longed to kiss. Half-vexed, I tried again, tugging at his neck, but he dodged my kiss once more, delivering a harder thrust that stole all my willpower. I cried out in ecstasy as a wave of rapture coursed through my body, blinding me. I heard his soft laugh, and finally, he kissed me.
As he teased my tongue with his, the thrusts grew more intense, deeper, paralyzing my body with pleasure. I moaned my delight against his lips, my fingers running through his hair, pulling him closer, wanting him to sink deeper inside me.
Nothing else existed except the place where our two bodies met, joined in searing, intoxicating pleasure.
My legs wrapped around him, damp with sweat, sliding against his skin. I spread them even wider, trying to push my heels against his thighs, urging him closer. He was still inside me when he took hold of my member, and I cried out, arching my back, intensifying the contact, overwhelmed by the pressure of his hand gripping my sex. As he stroked me gently, I tried to keep up with the relentless pace of our movements, but I couldn't. Each movement of my hips to meet his was outmatched by his thrusts. An inhuman rhythm for someone who felt no fatigue while I panted to stay conscious, disjointed and trembling in ecstasy.
Suddenly, he rose, nearly kneeling, abandoning me as his hands slid under my hips, lifting me so that only my feet and shoulders remained on the mattress. He took me in this indecent position, and the unique angle wrenched a litany of cries from my lips. I clawed at the sheets, my hands searching desperately for something to grip, something to hold or pull. I twisted the fabric, thrashing my head as he tore away all my clarity with each unbearable thrust inside my body. Beads of sweat trickled down my aching, burning skin. My hair clung to my face, and from my throat came indecent moans, a constant plea for him to take me harder, faster. I couldn't get enough of his caresses that set my skin on fire, possessed me, blinded me.
But then, through my haze, my eyes landed on his face. He was looking at me with a passion entirely different from mine—calculated, possessive… cold!
Despite his own sighs of pleasure, I realized that the ecstasy he felt was nothing compared to mine, or rather, that he couldn't appreciate it to the same extent. Our kinds didn't share the same appetites.
Anger mixed with my passion. How could I burn so fiercely while he remained nearly icy? He loved what he was doing to me because he relished my moans, my lack of control, my complete surrender. He loved hearing me cry out for him. But I wanted to see him burn, to feel the same ecstasy he was giving me at that moment. I didn't want to be the puppet, the only one experiencing all the passion and agony!
An idea came to me. A wild, sacrilegious idea. But I gave in to it.
He saw the change in my eyes, sensing my thoughts, and seemed curious, almost wary, yet he didn't stop.
A mischievous smile appeared on my lips. I slipped my fingers under the pillow, gauging him with a haughty look, regaining control over my body, trying to suppress the pleasure that clouded my mind.
Finally, I found what I was searching for, and when I spoke, I didn't recognize the voice that came from my throat, so deep, raspy.
"It's my soul you desire, isn't it?"
My voice was clear and disdainful, even though he was still thrusting into me with force.
I savored the confusion on his face for a moment, and then, as quickly as I could, I pulled the scissors from beneath the pillow and pressed them against my skin.
"Ciel!"
I pricked just below my ear—a minor sting—but I could already feel a line of blood trickling down my neck. Dropping the scissors somewhere I didn't care to notice, I reached a hand toward him, inviting him closer. He stared at me, his eyes dark, kneeling on the bed, still deeply inside me, his hands gripping my hips so tightly it hurt. He had stopped moving, but I could feel his swollen length and the pulse of his heart reverberating through the part of him buried within me. His chest heaved, and I saw a mixture of anger and desire darken his features.
"Come," I whispered, pulling him toward me."Taste me."
But he resisted, and I thought I saw fury flash in his eyes.
"I told you to come closer, Sebastian!"
Knowing he had no choice, he leaned forward, and I sighed as I felt him push deeper into me, his weight pressing against my body.
I ran my fingers over the wound on my neck and, feeling the wetness of my own blood, I smeared it on his lips. He licked it. His eyes turned copper, then red, the irises and pupils narrowing, becoming feline and threatening. His nails elongated, digging into my flesh, his fingers crushing my bones as a low, almost animalistic groan escaped his lips, and I found myself suddenly afraid.
Before I could push him away, he lunged at me, burying his face against my neck, kissing and licking the blood.
He was thrusting into me with even more force than before, and I cried out in both terror and ecstasy as he ravaged my body, twisting me without care for whether my cries were of pleasure or pain. I thought I might lose consciousness under his almost savage onslaught.
I felt defiled, violated, but free, overwhelmed by my most repressed and perverse sensations as I clung to him. My glazed eyes could no longer make him out in the dim light, but what little I could perceive terrified me, without diminishing the pleasure that grew with each thrust of his hips. For a moment, I thought I was embracing him in his true form—black and horrifying—and the next moment, he was himself again, shifting between the two as he continued to hold me tight, never stopping his forceful rhythm.
I wouldn't last much longer, I knew that, as he crushed me, igniting every inch of my skin. My vision blurred once more, my body suddenly tensed, and I clung to him fiercely, my nails tearing into his skin as waves of burning pleasure and pain paralyzed me in a white-hot ecstasy. I screamed his name in a litany until his mouth covered mine while I spilled between us, against both his body and mine.
Through the haze that clouded my vision, I saw Sebastian reach for the candelabrum, grabbing hold of the flame from one of the candles, just like the night I had asked him to burn the manor.
But when the flame grew bright and intense, I thought I saw him swallow it, engulf it down his throat. After this strange ritual, he bent down toward me again. His tongue became a burning brand, which he pressed against my bloody neck, sending an excruciating pain through me—intense and cruel—and my own scream pierced my ears as my nails scratched deep into Sebastian's back.
The pain vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving me trembling and gasping, and I loosened my hold on my demon.
Half-asleep, my eyelids grew heavy, and I felt myself drifting. For a moment, I sensed him brush the hair from my forehead and plant a kiss with still-burning lips. That's how I fell asleep.
I woke in the middle of the night, an odd sense of comfort washing over me as my eyelids opened to reveal the stars, my first sight upon awakening in the black hour. A taste surprised me—the taste of my own blood on my lips.
I saw Sebastian sitting on the edge of my bed. He had put his shirt back on, though it remained unbuttoned. His gaze was distant, lost in thought, as he twirled the Shinigami scissors between his fingers.
"It's a gift," I said, my voice hoarse as I cleared my sore throat. He turned to look at me, his expression both curious and cold at once. "Arthur," I explained. "In exchange for Snake's life."
He nodded but quickly looked away again. His face seemed troubled, tense. I had a good idea what was behind his anger.
"If you have something to say, then say it."
"This will never happen again. It was foolish and dangerous. No one knows how those things react or what their true powers are. Humans are really…"
"I was never at risk. You just needed to burn the wound, and that's what you did," I snapped, not wanting to be scolded upon waking or listen to his critiques of humanity. "I knew what I was doing. When the scythe cuts, the blood contains the fluid surrounding the soul, which is why…"
"I don't care!" he cut me off sharply. "This isn't a game this time! I know why you did it. But unlike you, I don't need to nibble while waiting for dinner!"
I almost laughed at the poorly timed remark, but the furious glare he shot my way froze the humor in my throat. He was angry, not because he hadn't enjoyed the experience—I knew he had savored the taste of that tainted blood—but because of my reckless audacity in putting myself in danger for him. I noticed the basin of water on my bedside table, a bloodstained cloth resting on its edge.
I reached up to touch my neck, wincing softly at the coldness of my fingers on the burn. Sebastian leaned over, brushing my hand aside to inspect the wound.
"It shouldn't get infected. I doubt you'll have a visible scar."
"But it hurts."
"Let it be a lesson."
Annoyed, I pushed his hand away, which made him smile briefly, though his face darkened again quickly.
"It's your soul that I want. More than anything. That will never change."
"I already know that. Why are you trying to convince me?"
He didn't answer, turning away from me once more, his gaze fixed on some distant thought.
"I'm hungry," I finally said.
"So am I."
I chuckled softly. That twisted bond between us, binding us so tightly together, was delicious in its own way.
He rose, and I followed him with my eyes as he walked toward the trolley by the door. He placed his hand on the teapot full of milk, and a second later, steam began to rise from the porcelain spout. He poured a cup of warm milk, added some honey, and brought it to me. I accepted it. He stood there, watching me as I drank, as though trying to solve some inner puzzle I knew nothing about.
"Sleep," he said, taking the empty cup from me and tucking the covers under my chin. "Otherwise, you'll be unbearable all day."
I still desired him—I could feel it. But this was enough. By morning, everything would return to the way it had been. That's what I truly wanted. This night was the conclusion of this twisted adventure, and as I recalled the memories, I let each shard of pain pierce my skin, reforming a dark, yet comforting puzzle inside my chest. It hurt less now.
He left, leaving me alone.
Through the window, dawn was slowly breaking, and it seemed as if the sadness of the past days was already easing with the first rays of the sun I had longed for.
_
At 9:00 a.m., as usual, Sebastian came to wake me, dress me, and bring me breakfast.
As he entered, I searched his posture for any sign of unease or regret from the previous night. But I saw none, which reassured me about my own state.
Upon waking, a strange sensation of relief had washed over me, as if I had found myself again. I felt no remorse, and my eyes turned once more toward the future, toward my goal. It was as if I had emerged from a long illness and had been living in fever-induced illusions. My cynicism had settled back into my chest, dictating the rhythm of my heart—calm, cold, and indifferent.
Sebastian likely sensed this, as he seemed particularly pleased with my demeanor, which annoyed me slightly, though I did not show it.
After my lessons, which I had neglected for a few days—French, piano, and economics—Sebastian informed me that lunch would soon be served.
As I made my way to the dining room, I passed through the large sitting room and paused in front of the chessboard. To my surprise, the four ranks of black and white pieces appeared complete. I approached, frowning, and confirmed that no piece was missing: the black knight I had thrown into the flames sat proudly beside the king.
"Monsieur, lunch is served," Sebastian said, snapping me out of my trance.
I turned to him and gave him my sly, knowing smile—the one I had forgotten. He bowed before opening the door to the dining room. I didn't ask him how he had done it. I probably wouldn't understand anyway.
I was surprised to see two place settings at my table and even more so to find Lau already seated, ready to devour the lunch Sebastian had prepared.
"For heaven's sake, haven't you gone home yet?"
"But of course! I returned this morning!"
"I've told you not to invite yourself into my home like this!"
"But you invited me!"
"No, I didn't!"
"Yes, you did! By letter! A few days ago!"
"…For one evening! The one I was hosting for the Queen's guest!"
"Which stretched over several days due to circumstances we both know, and I wasn't informed of the end of your hospitality!"
"I give up…!"
Resigned, I sat down at the table, placed my napkin on my lap, and stabbed furiously at the gizzard salad with warm goat cheese, imagining it was the cheeks of the infuriating Chinese man.
"Rest assured, Earl, I didn't come for nothing."
"Really…"
"I want to discuss something interesting with you. Have you read today's newspaper?"
"No."
"Well, you should while we eat, and afterward, I'll tell you something that might pique your interest... Are you familiar with the secret society Aurora?"
April 16th, the day of departure...
My bags were packed. Sebastian had placed two large trunks beside my bed, ridiculously full. But knowing Elizabeth, Sebastian had undoubtedly ensured that I had an outfit in every color for each day of the trip, so I could match her wardrobe as my future fiancée.
Three weeks of travel by ship to New York... and I had so much work. This new case shouldn't take too long...
But the journey would be long, so I decided to take a book, and it didn't take long to choose. Before placing it in my suitcase, I opened it and skimmed through the familiar pages. I read the title, running my finger over the printed letters, and smiled sadly before tucking it under my shirts—my copy of theBeeton Christmas Annual 1889, in which I would endlessly reread"A Study in Scarlet" by Arthur Conan Doyle.
End of Chapter 13
For more chapters quickly (free!): 🔗 My P.a.t.r.e.o.n: TiffanyBrd
Author's Notes : You know the rest...
So… I admit, I feel a little sad, but I still have the epilogue... Hooray! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
The real thanks will come with the epilogue, but I sincerely want to thank you for following this story to its final chapter...
Thank you, thank you, thank you!
A few explanations, perhaps?
Ciel and Sebastian:Very difficult to write, simply because every sensual act I wrote felt like I was betraying their relationship. Yet I don't regret it. At one point, I considered omitting a sexual relationship between them—partly out of cowardice because writing that passage seemed particularly difficult—but I had teased the readers (and myself, honestly!) too much to deny them this moment.
Regarding Ciel's blood and the scissors :We've discussed it. Sebastian does not desire lovemaking. He experiences the same sensations during the act as humans, but that's not what makes him "throb" or surrender.
The idea of the scissors cutting the flesh and soul opens up a new possibility because, as William said, the dark blood also contains a fluid surrounding the soul.
I don't know if everyone has seen season 2, but in one of the episodes, Claude tastes Ciel's blood, and it's at that moment that he desires the boy's soul. So, a bit of the soul's flavor is present in the blood.
However, I didn't want it to be that simple. Sebastian is a demon, not a vampire (I love vampire legends, especially Anne Rice's, but lately we've heard too much nonsense). I didn't want Sebastian to crave Ciel's blood every week or for Ciel to offer it constantly. I wanted it to be more difficult. First, because they need a special weapon—a Shinigami scythe that tears both body and soul—and second, because the wound is difficult to heal and extremely painful, making it a gift for one night only. Ciel won't just cut himself every night, knowing he'll need to be seared with red-hot iron to heal (that's a deterrent!). In such cases, he would think twice... and that's what I wanted. I don't imagine the two characters being in love and making love whenever they please. So, this is their only time.
Ciel and Arthur: I like to think Arthur will always hold a special place in Ciel's heart, even if he never admits it.
Lau:He played an important role in this story because he reminds Ciel of his position, his duties, and the fact that he could be in danger at any moment and mustn't show weakness to anyone. I'm not sure what Lau thinks, but he's a dark character with a very particular relationship with Ciel. In the Jack the Ripper case, he touches Ciel's face (I admit, I can't remember if it's in the manga or the anime), and Ciel allows it without showing any emotion, but I've always found that gesture very intimate and unusual... I would love to know what Lau has in mind, what he wants from Ciel, and when—if ever—he will betray him.
For the "passage" between Ciel and Snake:Snake knows that Sebastian is supernatural, even if he no longer believes he's a demon. This ties back to the manga because in chapter 55, Sebastian kills the zombies in the basement while Snake watches in shock (as Ciel covers Lizzy's eyes). So, I'm not straying too far from the manga...
The executioner :John Berry was the chief executioner in England at the time. The death penalty was carried out by hanging. The goal of the calculations performed by the executioner was to ensure that the drop broke the condemned's neck. The calculations involved the condemned's weight and the length of the rope. If the executioner miscalculated, the condemned would either strangle slowly (which wasn't the goal) or be decapitated by the fall. In the case of John Berry, he had several tragic incidents that illustrated both scenarios... Alcohol didn't help matters. Mishaps or accidents during executions weren't hidden from the public, and people knew if an execution had gone wrong because, although executions were no longer public, crowds would gather outside prisons on execution day. So, the public was aware of what happened within the prison walls, and Ciel emphasized these well-known facts to frighten Snake, who was surely aware. No thrillers on TV at the time, so the public loved such grisly details...
To learn all this, I watched a whole documentary on capital executions in England... It really sobered me up... But for the story, it was perfect!