In which, a man, though she saw him as nothing but a pawn, stayed by her side from dusk until dawn. Knowing her heart would never be true, he schemed in silence for her games to undo.
Marriage is one of the most beautiful things to ever happen.
Marriage is the most sacred alchemy of the human heart; it is not just a ceremony or a vow made in front of witnesses. It becomes transcendent when it is true and real. It is the discrete wonder of repeatedly choosing someone in the midst of a burning world. It is the solemn pledge to walk with them, not just through tenderness and laughter, but also through storms, and through the long, dark nights when love must be chosen rather than felt.
To marry the one you love, truly love, the one whose name echoes in the hollows of your ribs, whose voice stirs unpalpable emotions in your chest, is to bind your very soul in ribbons of light and fire. You would bleed for them, gladly. Burn, even. Not because it necessitates suffering, but because it renders all sacrifices seem joyful. It becomes a privilege to hurt with them, to heal with them, to grow old in the garden of their presence.
Marriage is more than just sewing two souls together; it is the weaving of time itself. Yesterday's thread intertwined with today, drawing firmly towards the invisible tapestry of tomorrow. And for Vox, that future glistened before him, horrifyingly beautiful, under the gentle mist of crimson altar light.
His hands quivered out of respect rather than fear. His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum, but it was filled with awe rather than chaos. Awe that he was picked by someone like her. Awe that they had both come to this holy cliff by fate, chance, or divine intervention. And it seemed as if the world briefly lost its ability to spin when she came into view.
She wasnโt merely beautiful. She was that aching stillness in a gallery before the masterwork is unveiled. She was the hush before the first notes of a symphony are played. Her beauty wasnโt in her dress, though it shimmered like spun moonlight. It wasnโt in the way her hair caught the light, or how her lips curved when she saw him. It was in the truth of her. In the solemnity of her eyes, assured and steady, as though she had the stars behind her and would present them to him one by one if he ever got lost.
Vox forgot to breathe. Not because she took his breath away, though she did, but because everything in him paused to feel. This was no performance. This was not for anyone else. This was the binding of souls.
This was love.
Vox's hands trembled at his sides, desperate to hold her, to touch her, to confirm that she was real. And her smile, although faint, hit him like a thunderclap. Her smile was more than just an accessory; it was a part of who she was.
He thought of the nights she had held him when he didnโt know how to hold himself together. The mornings when her laughter was the first thing heโd heard, like the melody of a song he never wanted to end. He thought of how her mellifluous voice had been his lifeline when the world felt like too much.
And now, here she was.
Standing only a breath away.
She was a constellation of everything he had ever desired.
She walked slowly towards him. Her dress billowed. Her clothing shimmered faintly in the light as she fixed his eyes, binding him to the idea he had never ventured to hope for: forever.
When her hands slipped into his, he felt itโa kind of gravity pulling him closer. She was warm, her palms were soft.
The officiant spoke, but the words melted into a blur. Vox was unable to hear them; all he could hear was their silent conversation as their eyes locked and he saw the joy shining on them.
When it was his turn to speak, his voice was low.
โI thought I knew what love was before you,โ he began. โBut I didnโt. I didnโt know it could be thisโฆ endless. You are my breath when I canโt breathe, my anchor when the world is unkind. I vow to love you not in spite of your flaws, but because of them. To see you, all of you, and never turn away. You are my reason.
โMy everything.โ
Her tears came then, streaming down her cheeks that he had kissed a thousand times but would kiss a thousand more.
โVox, my beloved,โ she whispered, her voice trembling.
โFrom the depths of my soulโฆโ Her breath hitched, her chest rising sharply. Her lips quivered, and for a moment, her silence was louder than her voice. โI promise to love you unconditionally.โ
A tear slipped down her cheek as she held his hands tighter, her fingers shaking, but her grip was firm.
โTo support and encourage youโฆโ
โโฆin all that you do.โ
She smiled then faintly. Her eyes searched his, as if she were seeking something only he could give.
โWith this ring,โ she whispered.
โI give you my heart.
โMy life.
โMy forever.
โTo walk with you in the light, in the shadow, in the places no one else dares to tread.โ
The room seemed to tilt. The air grew heavy, and the light dimmed imperceptibly.
And thenโ
The lights wavered. Twice. Then it got dark. Cold and suffocating, it pressed against their skin and lungs as if it were a living thing. Through the floorboards and the very marrow of their bones, a deep, guttural hum rose.
The sound abruptly stopped, leaving a thick silence that made it seem as though the entire world had gone silent. The lights came back to life all of a sudden, brighter than everโalmost too bright. The air seemed strange, too still, as though life had been sucked out of it.
She laughed then, a nervous, brittle sound that cracked against the stillness. โIt seems even the hells couldnโt handle our emotions,โ she murmured, brushing at her tears with trembling hands. Her voice was light, but the undercurrent trembled, frayed at the edges.
Vox didnโt speak. He smiled faintly, though it didnโt reach his eyes.
His eyes stayed locked on hers, their usual steadiness flickering like the lights that had just failed them. The officiantโs voice carried on as though nothing had happened.
โYou may now kiss your bride.โ
Vox stepped forward, his hands cold as they cradled her face. When his lips touched hers, the room erupted into applause, but it was muted, distant, like a sound heard through water.
โI love you, Y/N.โ
The reception was vibrant, filled with laughter and celebration. She moved effortlessly among the guests, her joy lighting up the room as she greeted friends. Vox stayed near the edges, his glass untouched, his eyes following her every move. She was a vision, a ray of life and warmth.
He saw her smile brightly and contagiously as she laughed with her friends, her head cocked back. It was intoxicating the way she exuded confidence and freedom. But as the evening drew on, his thoughts grew gloomier and his eyes heavy.
Finally, as the celebration began to wane, she found him standing alone on the balcony, the cool night air brushing against his skin.
โYouโve been so quiet,โ she said, her voice soft as she slipped her hand into his. โAre you alright?โ
He turned to her slowly, his smile faint.
โJust thinking.โ
โAbout what?โ she asked, tilting her head to study him.
โAbout how perfect today has been.โ
She smiled warmly, stepping closer. โIt really has been perfect, hasnโt it?โ
He nodded, though his eyes lingered on hers.
โWhatโs wrong?โ she teased, her voice light and playful, the way it always was with him. โYouโre usually the one who never shuts up. Donโt tell me Iโve finally left you speechless.โ
Vox smirked; his laugh low.
โMaybe,โ he said, his tone lilting. His hand rose, fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face. โI was just thinking about something, thatโs all.โ
She raised a brow, her teasing smile softening. โThinking? About what?โ
His eyes lingered on her for a beat too long, and his smirk faltered.
โAbout how lucky I am,โ he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. โAbout how lucky Iโve always beenโฆ to have you.โ
Her playful demeanor shifted ever so slightly, her teasing glint became gentler.
โYouโre getting sappy on me,โ she said, laughing lightly, though she studied him closer now. โThatโs not like you.โ
โYeah, well,โ he started. โMaybe Iโm just realizing a few things. About me. About you. About us.โ
He trailed off, his thumb brushing the curve of her cheek.
Her brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of unease slipping into her voice. โYouโre acting strange, Vox. Whatโs this about?โ
His grin returned, but it was sharp this time, a razorโs edge hidden behind a velvet tone. โStrange? Come on, sweetheart, you know me.โ
Silence.
โFrom the start,โ he murmured, almost to himself. โI always knew.
โKnew what this was.
โKnew who I was dealing with.โ
Her breath caught, her confusion deepening.
He chuckled, the sound dripping with charm that didnโt match his words.
โDonโt look at me like that, darling. Itโs not as bad as it sounds.โ His hand cupped her face now, the gesture intimate but the way he held her felt foreign.
โI let you use me.โ
His chest rose and fell. His eyesโthose eyes that used to soften for her like melting glassโwere hard now. Not cold. Never cold. There was too much heat in them for that. A hollow laugh ripped out of him.
โI let you do it from the moment we met. Even deep inside I fucking knew what you were.โ
A hollow laugh tore from him.
โYou didnโt even try to hide it. You looked at me like a thing. And Iโโ He faltered, breath hitching. โI let you.โ
He looked at her then.
โYou didnโt steal a damn thing. I gave it. I let you.โ
He gave a soft, bitter laugh.
โAnd now I get to call it a trick, because thatโs easier than admitting how low I bent for you. Isnโt that pathetic?โ
Silence.
โYou didnโt have to break me. I handed you the pieces. I fucking gift-wrapped myself for you. Not because I didnโt know better.
โBut because it was you.โ
His hands trembled at his sides.
โBecause I loved you. Because I stillโโ
He stopped, his jaw tightening, his ivories lancing the inside of his cavern.
โI loved you so much I let you ruin me. And worseโI watched you do it. I chose it.โ
His voice dropped again, quiet but honed like a blade.
โAnd I hate that. I hate you for it. I hate me for it.โ
Her lips parted, stunned.
โI would neverโVoxโโ she breathed, her voice cracking.
โOh, I know, babe,โ he interrupted, his grin stretching wider, but his eyes didnโt warm. โI know you love me. Or at least, you think you do. But we both know how this goes, donโt we?โ
โVox,โ she started, her voice trembling, but he only tilted his head, studying her like she was the most fascinating puzzle heโd ever seen.
โRelax,โ he cooed, his voice softening again, deceptively smooth. โYou donโt have to explain. Iโve always known what you were looking for.โ
โThatโs not true!โ she protested, shaking her head as her hands came up to grip his wrists. โI chose you. Iโm here, arenโt I? I--I love youโโ
His grin fell.
โI know,โ he said, his voice low. โBut itโs okay.
โI donโt need it to be real.
โMy loveโs enough for the both of us.โ
Her breath hitched as she felt the cold weight settle around her neck. Her hands shot up to the chain, her fingers clawing at its silver links, but it wouldnโt budge.
โVox,โ she gasped, her voice shaking. โWhatโฆ is this? What did you do?โ
Her tears spilled freely, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as she stared at him, her voice trembling.
Then, in fragments rather than all at once, it clicked. The way his words had curved precisely during the vows, the flickering lights, and the odd weight in the air. The wedding had not been the only event. A binding had occurred.
Horror crept up like frost on a windowpane, and her eyes widened.
โYou used it,โ she whispered, the words catching in her throat. โYou used my vowsโฆ the ceremonyโฆ to seal it.โ
Vox said nothing.
She shook her head slowly, the color draining from her face. โYou knew Iโd never sign anything if you laid it out bare. If you told me what it really was. But thisโฆโ
Her voice cracked, brittle and betrayed. โYou wrapped it in lace and candlelight. You made me promise my soul under the lie of love.โ
Her knees weakened. She stumbled back a step, clutching the cold chain at her neck, as if trying to undo time.
โYou tricked me,โ she whispered. โThe weddingโit wasnโt real, was it?โ
He laughed softly, the sound a mix of affection and cruelty.
ย โOh, doll,โ he murmured, brushing his lips against her temple.
โTake it off,โ she pleaded, her voice cracking as her hands tugged frantically at the chain. โPlease, Voxโtake it off!โ
His thumb trailed over her jawline.
โI gave you everything,โ he said, and for a moment, his voice was heartbreak itself. โYou swore you'd stay. You made your vow. And now you're trying to take it back?โ His head tilted. โCruel of you, love. Cruel indeed.โ
Her tears spilled freely, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as she stared at him, her voice trembling.
โIโm the first to admit Iโm reckless,โ he said softly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. โI get lost in you, in your beauty, in everything that makes youโฆ you. And Iโve never regretted itโnot once.โ
โHowโฆ how could you do this then?โ
He wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb, his touch achingly gentle. โBecause I love you,โ he whispered. โI had to make sure youโd never leave. Not in this life. Not in the next. Not for all eternity in hellโ
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing hers as he murmured his final words:
In words, her love for him was written so elaborately, capturing every moment she spent with her one and onlyโher first and last love for all eternity in hell.
[Redacted], [Redacted]
The evening light fell through the thick curtains, soft and crimson, painting the room in a glow that felt too gentle for the chaos in my head. I sat in the old velvet armchair by the window, fingers idly tracing the edge of a book I wasnโt really reading. It was one of the first things Vox ever gave meโan old collection of poetry heโd somehow known Iโd love. At the time, I didnโt think much of it. He had a knack for making grand gestures that felt more performative than personal. But now, years later, the edges of the book are worn, the pages creased, and it feels like a piece of him.
Not that Iโll ever admit that to his face.
The door slid open almost too quietly and somehow loud in a way. I didnโt need to look up. Iโd memorized everything about himโthe way his footsteps always landed just a little too perfectly in rhythm, like he was walking to a beat only he could hear. And I could always tell what mood he was in from the way he moved. Tonight, his steps were light, teasing even, but there was an underlying tension. Something electric, humming just below the surface.
โWell, well, my dearest sweetheart,โ his voice cut through the stillness, smooth and self-assured as always. Heโs so predictable, and yet, I never tire of it. โIโve come bearing gifts.โ
Of course, he didnโt specify what kind. Heโs all about the build-up, the mystery. I didnโt bother responding right away, keeping my eyes on the book as if I couldnโt feel the way the air shifted when he was near. He hates being ignoredโitโs one of the only things that ever throws him off balanceโand maybe thatโs why I do it. Or maybe itโs because I know heโll rise to the challenge.
His footsteps grew closer, and I felt him before I saw him. He always brings this strange heat with him, this pull I canโt describe. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head, and I sighed without meaning to.
โMy little dove,โ he murmured, his tone lower, softer now.
He rarely calls me by my name anymore. Itโs always dove or kitten or whatever absurd pet name heโs thought up that day. At first, I hated it. I thought it was condescending, another one of his attempts to remind me how easily he could get under my skin. But over time, I grew to love them, even the ridiculous ones. Theyโre uniquely his. And on the rare occasions when he uses my real name, it feels like the ground shifts beneath us. Itโs never casual. Itโs always willful. Always meaningful.
โYou look so beautiful when youโre lost in your thoughts,โ he said, his voice honeyed with affection. โWhatโs weighing on that gorgeous mind of yours?โ
I didnโt look up right away, but I felt my lips curve into the smallest smile. I couldnโt help it. Thatโs the thing about Voxโhe can be infuriating, arrogant, and impossibly smug, but he knows how to disarm me like no one else does.
We didnโt fall easily, Vox and I. From the start, there was something about him that both drew me in and made me want to run in the opposite direction. He carried himself with an effortless confidence, like the entire world was a game he had already won. It irritated meโhis smug grin, the way he always seemed to know what to say to get under my skin. I thought he was just playing a game, trying to collect me like some prize to add to his collection. And maybe, at first, he was. And I told myself I wouldnโt fall for it, that I wouldnโt give him the satisfaction.
But beneath the control and that insufferable charm, there was something else, something quieter that he tried to hide. It was in the way his smile slipped for just a fraction of a second when he thought no one was watching, in the restless energy that hummed beneath his carefully constructed exterior. At first, I didnโt know what to make of it, but I couldnโt look away.
The first time he let his guard down, it completely threw me. I donโt even remember what I saidโsome sharp remark I expected him to brush off with his usual smirk. But he didnโt. For a moment, he faltered. His expression shifted, and I caught a glimpse of something raw, something vulnerable. It wasnโt weaknessโit was depth. A part of him he rarely let anyone see.
That moment stayed with me.
Piece by piece, he started to show me more of who he was. And maybe it was because I knew what it was like to wear armor, to keep people at a distance, that I started to let him in.ย
Slowly, cautiously.ย
We were opposites in so many ways, but we fit together in ways I never expected.
It wasnโt perfect, of course.ย
Vox can be impossibleโhis ego alone could fill a room, and when we argue, itโs like the inferno itself comes alive. But when he loves, itโs with a kind of vehemence that sweeps everything else away. Itโs overwhelming at times, but itโs also grounding. No matter how chaotic things get, I know where I stand with him.
When we found out we were going to have a child, I think we both panicked. Vox doesnโt do uncertainty well, and neither do I. I remember the way his eyes crackled brighter than usual, static buzzing faintly in the air as he processed the news. โGuess weโre in it now,โ he said at that, trying to sound casual. But I heard the waver in his voice, saw the way his hand tightened around mine.
And yet, when the time came, he surprised me. He threw himself into fatherhood with the same relentless fervor he brings to everything else. The first time I saw him hold our child, I couldnโt speak. His sharp edges seemed to melt away, replaced by something softer, something fiercely protective. He whispered to them, low and quiet, promises only they could hear. But I did hear him anyway, not that Iโll admit it straight to his face how warm he made me feel that day.
โYouโll have everything,โ he said, his voice a mixture of love and his usual, infuriating confidence. โBecause Iโm your dad, and I donโt lose.โ
Even now, I can hear him in the other room from time to time, his voice drifting down the hallway. Heโs probably showing off some gadget or spinning one of his ridiculous stories. And even though I tease him about it, I canโt help but smile. I never imagined someone like Voxโarrogant, conniving, larger than lifeโcould be so utterly devoted.
I looked at him tonight, his posture still so perfectly poised, yet there was that same softness in his eyes.
โIโm just thinking,โ I finally said, keeping my tone light. โDo you know what your childโs up to tonight?โ
At that, his expression softened entirely. The shift was immediate. His trademark arrogance melted away as his gaze followed mine, toward the faint sounds of laughter coming from across the room.
โYou mean, ours?โ he replied, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face.
I couldnโt help but smile back, meeting his eyes. There was a warmth in them that made me feel like everything weโd been throughโall the arguments, all the chaosโwas worth it. He understood what I meant without me having to say it, and without another word, he rose to his feet.
I watched him go, as his tall frame walk towards her across the room. She was, sitting on the floor, legs crossed, surrounded by a mess of colored pencils and chocolate wrappers. She was completely absorbed in her little drawing pad, her brow furrowed in concentration, her tiny hands moving fast as if the world depended on her finishing her masterpiece.
Then there was Vox. His sharp, calculated presence seemed to transform the moment he saw her. Itโs strange to see him like thisโa man who commands power with such ease, brought to his knees by a child with smudged hands and wide, trusting eyes. He smiled at her, and not the smirk I know so well, but something softer, something I donโt see often.
โThere she is, our precious princess,โ he said, his voice carrying that rare warmth that always catches me off guard. He knelt beside her, watching her draw with an expression so unguarded, it almost felt like I was intruding by just being there.
โHas anyone ever told you that you are the most precious thing in all of existence, my little princess?โ he asked her, and she giggled in response, beaming up at him.
โIโm drawing a picture of you, Daddy!โ
โOh, really? Let me see,โ he said, his voice playful, but there was pride in it too. โYouโve made me look even more handsome than I already am. Thatโs some real talent, sweetheart.โ
I sat back, watching them from my chair, and I couldnโt stop the smile tugging at my lips. For all his arrogance, his ego, and his maddening ability to always be right, thereโs a side to Vox that only comes out in moments like these. Itโs soft and almost innocent, a love so pure it feels out of place coming from someone like him.
Of course, I had to break the moment. The basket of chocolates sitting nearby was a crime scene, wrappers scattered everywhere, and the evidence was smeared all over her face.
โYouโve given her too many chocolates today,โ I said, raising an eyebrow as I pointed to the chaos around her.
He didnโt even flinch. Vox just waved me off with that trademark confidence of his and shot me one of his infuriatingly charming winks. โSheโs my little princess, darling. A few chocolates wonโt hurt her. If I could spoil her forever, I would.โ
I rolled my eyes, though I couldnโt entirely hide my amusement. โJust remember, youโre the one dealing with her sugar rush later.โ
He laughed at that, a rich, warm sound, and turned his full attention back to our daughter. He reached out, brushing a hand through her hair before scooping her up and settling her on his lap. She squealed with delight, her tiny hands grabbing at him, completely oblivious to the world around her.
โAnything for you, my little star,โ he said softly, unwrapping another chocolate and feeding it to her. She giggled again, leaning into him like he was the safest place in the universe.
And then, so quietly I almost didnโt hear it, he leaned closer to her and whispered, โYou know, sweetheart, if you need anything at all, you come to Daddy, and Iโll make it happen.โ
โYou and your mother were my everything.โ
I donโt know why that got to me. Iโve seen Vox command rooms full of people, manipulate entire situations with ease, and wield his power without hesitation. But here, in this tiny, messy living room, he was just a father, completely devoted to his child in a way I never expected when I first met him.
Itโs moments like these that make it hard to stay angry with him, no matter how impossible he can be. Thereโs a part of himโguarded, yes, but fiercely loyal and endlessly protectiveโthat I canโt turn away from.
For all his flawsโand there are so, so manyโhe loves with a kind of fervor thatโs hard to explain. And when it comes to our child, that love is the purest thing Iโve ever seen.
A divine creature found himself committing a sinโa grievous sin, so much so that he knew heaven would bar his return. Yet he found peace in it, for the sin was born of love. And surely, could heaven truly condemn a transgression made in something so pure?
Idk what's happening to me but I've been super insecure of my writing lately that i couldn't bring myself to sit on my desk and scribble down my ideas. Was it lack of inspiration or obsession? But i feel like it was way more deeply rooted to perfectionism. Anyway, i tried to do a little bit today and ended up rewritting the whole plot of this one, i'll try to do a bit of writing yet again, i just wanted to badly escape the suffocation of this perfectionism
In which, he had seen it allโthe greed, the lies, the filth that consumed the world, dragging everything down with it. And yet, there she was, untouched by it all, the purest thing he had ever known.
EACH STEP ECHOED QUIETLY against the stone as he walked down the vast, shadowed hallways. Everywhere he had ventured that night, the same iniquitous designs unfolded before him, leaving behind the cloying miasma of human perfidy where polished rhetoric concealed whispered threats and courteous smiles masked predatory intent.
The citadels of power teemed with figures draped in exquisite silk, each driven by an ambition that knew neither restraint nor conscience. Their voices wove falsehood and betrayal into every exchange until the halls themselves seemed saturated with deception, each conversation another thread in an endless tapestry of corruption.
He had witnessed more than his mind cared to endure, and the memory alone stirred a bitterness that rose into his throat. The white-clad angel drew a slow breath before his hands closed into fists, the leather tightening across his knuckles. What purpose did such creatures truly serve? They consumed whatever remained untainted, leaving ruin wherever they passed.
The world would be better without them.
He could make it so.
But then, the corridor stretched before him.
It led only one way.
Each step carried him farther from the voices that still lingered beyond the great hall until their laughter and hollow courtesies dissolved behind thick stone walls, leaving only the rhythm of his footsteps upon the polished floor. The tightness that had settled across his shoulders remained, though the anger that had threatened to consume him no longer pressed so fiercely against his ribs. It yielded little by little with every step that brought him nearer to the room waiting at the end of the corridor.
She was there.
The thought alone drew a slower breath from him.
Beyond those doors was the only place the world beyond these walls could not reach, where no carefully chosen words, smiling faces, or hidden intentions could follow him
His pace slowed.ย
The door stood exactly where it always had, plain enough to escape another's notice, its polished surface marked only by the grain of the wood and the brass handle worn smooth by years of passing hands. He came to a stop before it, drawing a long breath that settled slowly within his chest before leaving him just as quietly.
His hand rose, fingers hovering over the handle. He let them drift past it, brushing the cool brass without taking hold. Instead, he stepped closer until his forehead rested lightly against the wood. The faint warmth lingering beneath its surface met his skin as he closed his eyes, and somewhere beyond the door her gentle humming reached him, softened by the walls until little remained beyond its melodious melody.
Another breath escaped him. The last of the anger he had carried through the corridor loosened its hold, leaving only the silence between them and the sound of her voice waiting on the other side. He had heard countless songs throughout his life, performed before kings and nobles by voices trained to perfection, yet none had ever settled over him the way hers did.ย ย
He remembered the first time he had seen her.
She could not have been more than fifteen, standing near one of the great windows while the Queen's court swelled with conversation around her. Silk brushed against polished marble as nobles crossed the hall, their laughter rising and falling between carefully chosen words, yet she stood apart from them all. Her hands were folded neatly before her, her attention wandering beyond the glass whenever another conversation drifted too near, as though the gardens beyond the palace walls held far greater interest than the people surrounding her.
She had been sent there to learn the customs of the court.
It had never suited her.
Whenever someone addressed her, she answered with the courtesy expected of her station, though the smile that followed belonged to neither politics nor ambition. It appeared too easily, reached her eyes too readily, and disappeared just as quietly when the conversation passed. There was nothing guarded about her.
His gaze had returned to her more often than he cared to admit.
At first, he had mistaken it for curiosity.
The court had long since taught him that every smile concealed another purpose and every kindness carried its price, yet days became weeks, and weeks surrendered to months without that belief ever finding its way to her. She remained exactly as she had been the day he first saw her, untouched by the hunger that lingered within those halls, until he found himself watching not because he expected her to change, but because she never did.
Long before he understood what name to give it, he had already begun arranging the course of his days around the certainty that she would be there. And somewhere between those passing mornings and conversations, he had made a promise to himself without ever speaking it aloud.
Whatever became of that world beyond her door...
It would never reach her.
However, the years that followed brought no kindness. The court noticed her long before she noticed the court.
Suitors found their way to her one after another, each arriving beneath polished manners and carefully painted smiles, carrying gifts chosen to flatter. Ash watched them from across crowded halls and candlelit banquets, saying little while his eyes lingered upon the hands that reached too readily for hers, and the conversations that always seemed to end with another request for her company.
None remained for long.
A duke whose appetite for excess had become the subject of whispered conversation throughout the capital found his name ruined within the span of a fortnight, undone by rumours that spread more swiftly than he could silence them. A viscount whose attentions had grown difficult to ignore never returned after his carriage overturned upon the eastern road, leaving the court to mourn a tragedy before replacing him with another eager face.
Ash never questioned it. Each empty place at another banquet seemed only to affirm what he had long believed: that there were hands which had no right to reach for her, and that removing them demanded no regret.
But her purity came at a cost.
The Queen announced her engagement before the court with all the ceremony such an occasion demanded. Courtiers raised their glasses, musicians filled the hall with cheerful melodies, and voices drifted through the palace in warm congratulations. She accepted every blessing with the same gentle smile she offered to anyone who approached, thanking each noble in turn while the man chosen to stand beside her watched with satisfaction.
Ash remained where he stood.
He had heard enough of the man's name long before that evening. Too many wives had entered his household draped in white, only to leave it carried beneath the same colour. The court called each death an unfortunate misfortune. Others lowered their voices whenever the subject arose, allowing unfinished sentences and wary glances to speak where certainty could not.
The engagement lasted four days.
On the fifth morning, whispers had already begun their passage through the palace. Servants paused in the middle of their duties to exchange hurried words before moving on as though nothing had been said. Folded letters passed quietly from one hand to another. By noon, every corridor carried another version of the same story, each differing only in the details while arriving at the same conclusion. Before the day had reached its end, the Queen dissolved the engagement herself.
The nobleman vanished not long after. Some claimed he had abandoned the capital beneath the cover of darkness. Others spoke of an empty carriage discovered upon the northern road, its horses wandering home without their master. Ash never troubled himself with learning which account the court had finally chosen to believe.
The rumours did not end there, however, they found her instead.
Her name lingered upon lowered voices wherever she walked. Conversations faltered when she entered a room, only to begin again once she had passed beyond hearing. Servants made the sign of the cross against their chests. Noblemen who had once sought every opportunity to stand beside her now bowed from a careful distance before finding reason to continue elsewhere.
The Queen watched it all.ย
When the summons came, he answered without delay.
The Queen entrusted her niece to his care without hesitation, placing the young woman beneath his protection as though there were no hands more worthy of bearing the responsibility. Ash bowed his head and accepted the charge without a word.
The first time she greeted him as her appointed guardian, she smiled before he had spoken a single word.
It was the same smile.
The same warmth that had first met him across the crowded halls of the palace remained in her eyes. She thanked him as though the duty had been a kindness offered rather than a burden placed upon his shoulders, and when he inclined his head in return, he found he could no longer remember what answer had left his lips.ย
From that day onward, he rarely left her side. He walked beside her through the palace gardens while she wandered aimlessly among the flowerbeds, listened as she spoke of books she wished to read and distant places she longed to see, and remained outside her chamber until the candles within had long since burned low. She never asked where he disappeared to after nightfall, nor why unfamiliar names vanished from the court, and he never gave her reason to ask. So long as she continued to greet him with that same unguarded smile, the blood upon his hands remained his alone to bear.
It was during one of those afternoons, while they sat together beneath the shade of the gardens, that she turned to him without warning.
"Ash..." She hesitated. "Do you think I'm cursed?"
Her question lingered between them.
"No." His answer came, his voice scarcely louder than the breeze stirring the branches above them. "The world has never known what to do with something so untouched, my lady, but you are not cursed."
His gaze remained upon her.
"That much, I swear."
She searched his face in silence, before the faint crease between her brows gave way beneath a gentle smile.
She believed him.
The memory remained with him even now.
His forehead rested lightly against the door while the melody drifting from the room beyond settled over him once more. He drew a slow inhale, his hand closing around the brass handle before he turned it carefully enough that the hinges offered scarcely a sound.
The room lay open before him.
Moonlight poured through the tall window, spreading across the floor before climbing the chair where she sat. It caught the loose waves of her hair, drawing pale ribbons of silver through each strand, before resting across her folded hands and the soft line of her cheek. Beyond the glass, the palace gardens lay silent beneath the night, yet her gaze remained upon them.
Ash did not cross the threshold.
His fingers remained around the edge of the door, the wood pressing firmly into his palm while he watched her in silence.
She had never belonged to that court.
His breath left him slowly. Whatever name others might have given the feeling that settled within his chest each time he looked upon her no longer mattered. He only knew that he could not look away.
She turned then.
The movement drew his eyes at once.
Her gaze settled upon him, free of the guarded caution he had long since learned to expect from everyone else, and the faint smile that followed reached her eyes at once. She had never looked at him with suspicion. She accepted his presence as naturally as she accepted the morning light through her window.
"Ash."
Her voice carried gently across the room.
He stepped inside.
The hinges yielded without complaint before the door came to rest behind him.
"You're back."
She rose from the chair, smoothing the folds of her dress before crossing the room.
"You look exhausted."
"It is nothing, my lady."
She stopped before him.
Her hand found his, her fingers settling lightly against his glove, the gesture already familiar. Warmth reached him even through the leather, and he drew a shallow breath before he realized he had been holding it.
"Come," she said softly. "You need to rest."
He allowed her to guide his movements toward the chaise beside the window, her small, fragile hand resting securely inside his grasp.ย
"Sit," she urged softly.
Ash lowered himself onto the chaise.
She knelt before him. Her fingers slipped through his hair before brushing the side of his face, lingering only long enough to smooth a loose strand behind his ear. Her eyes searched him for a moment.
"You spend so much time looking after me." A faint smile touched her lips. "But you never seem to look after yourself.
"You're too good to me."
The words settled deeper than they ever should have.
His hands had long since forgotten how many lives they had taken. Blood washed from steel as easily as rain from stone, yet none of it had ever reached her. She knew nothing of the roads he had walked after leaving her chambers, nor the things abandoned there before dawn.
She could never know.
"You're my everything..."
The confession escaped him before he thought to keep it.
"...I suppose that is why."
She made no sign that she had heard him.
Her attention remained upon the loose strands of hair she had drawn back into place, her fingertips passing lightly across his temple before falling away.
Ash said nothing more.
The silence spared him the burden of repeating the words.
But he meant every word.
And if anyone, anything, tried to take her from him, he would burn it all to the ground.
In which, a woman writes in her diary, recalling the fleeting freedom she once had and the cruel path that led her to be bound to the man who orchestrated her downfall.
March 31st, 1875, Phantomhive Manor
The ink smudges beneath my trembling fingers to leave a dark and indelible stain upon the parchment as a fitting testament to the ruin of my thoughts. How deeply the irony strikes to pen the words "Dear Diary" when this ledger remains my sole confidant. In this suffocating isolation, the scratch of the nib against paper forms the final vestige of a freedom I once possessed and serves as a fragile bridge to a life now irrevocably shattered.ย
There are nights when a terrible longing grips my mind, forcing a desire to violently excise my own heart from my breast and bury it deep within the unyielding earth. Perhaps then, and only then, would I find surcease from this unrelenting ache, this sorrow that Vincent Phantomhive has deliberately carved into my soul.ย
It commenced with deceptive innocence, and I perceive now, with the cruel clarity of hindsight, how that exact guise of harmlessness rendered the trap significantly more perilous.ย
Memory transports me back to that fateful evening at the midseason ball, an event marking neither my initiation into society nor my final foray before the ton unceremoniously cast me into exile. The ballroom that night presented an opulent spectacle with its towering crystal chandeliers dripping a suffocating, golden luminescence. I stood sequestered with my companions at the physical periphery of the glittering throng, occupying my frequent position as an unwelcome interloper settled directly amidst the gilded ranks.ย
It was there that his name first drifted to my ears. My companions spoke of the Earl Phantomhive in feverish cadences, weaving tapestries of his unparalleled influence and the menace that lurked just beneath the veneer of his charm. They spoke of the "Queen's Watchdog" as if he were a myth.ย
His arrival attracted attention without any apparent effort on his part. I cannot say that conversation ceased entirely, yet there arose throughout the room a subtle alteration in its character. Even among so distinguished an assembly, he possessed that rare advantage of commanding notice without seeking it.
He was a man of uncommon height, and his attire, though elegant, displayed none of the ostentation that too frequently accompanies wealth. The dark blue of his coat suited him exceedingly well, while the precision with which every article of dress had been arranged suggested habits of order and self-possession. Yet it was not his appearance that most impressed me; rather, it was his clear blue gaze.
I had scarcely observed him for more than a few moments when he approached and, with a slight inclination of the head, addressed me.
"Lady (L/N), may I have the honour of this dance?"ย
There was nothing improper in the request, nor anything unusual in the manner in which it was delivered; yet I found myself unexpectedly disconcerted. Some instinct prompted me to refuse, though I could not have explained its origin. Nevertheless, before I was fully conscious of my decision, I had placed my hand in his and allowed myself to be conducted to the floor.
He danced with ease, possessing that rare ability of guiding without appearing to direct. The conversation he maintained throughout was of the most ordinary description. He spoke of the weather, of the season's entertainments, and of several recent developments in London society. Yet, while his remarks were entirely commonplace, I could not escape the impression that his interest extended beyond the subjects he discussed. More than once I found myself wondering by what means he had acquired so familiar an understanding of my character, for he occasionally alluded to opinions and inclinations which I had never knowingly revealed.
At length, observing perhaps the uncertainty I was unable wholly to conceal, he bent slightly nearer.
"You hesitate, my lady," he'd said, his breath brushing my ear. "Do I unsettle you?"
The question, though spoken lightly, produced in me a degree of embarrassment which I fear became immediately visible. I attempted to laugh and assured him that he was mistaken; but the denial lacked conviction even to my own ears.
There was about him a union of gentleness and authority. His manner remained perfectly courteous, yet beneath that courtesy lay a strength of character which one felt instinctively rather than perceived. It was this impression, more than any word he spoke, that rendered me uneasy.
The music drew at last to its conclusion, and he escorted me back to my place. Before withdrawing, however, he paused and regarded me with a faint smile.
"You dance beautifully, Lady (L/N)," he said. "I trust this shall not be our last dance."ย
Having spoken thus, he took his leave; yet long after he had disappeared among the crowd, I remained conscious of the encounter, and found myself reflecting upon it far more frequently than prudence would have advised.ย
The past has assumed that peculiar indistinctness which belongs to places long abandoned. I can recall it still, yet only as one recalls a landscape viewed through mist, whose outlines remain familiar though its details have become obscured by distance. There are moments when I attempt to revisit it in memory, to persuade myself that the life I once anticipated was real and not merely the invention of a younger, more hopeful mind; but such efforts invariably prove futile. That existence has receded beyond my reach.
My world is narrower now. It begins and ends within these walls, bounded by the passage of days, the increasing burden of the child I carry, and the familiar sound of footsteps traversing the corridors of Phantomhive Manor.
In the beginning, I confess that Vincent's attentions occasioned me more gratification than alarm. His letters arrived with regularity, each written in a hand whose elegance reflected the care with which every sentence appeared composed. There existed within them a degree of thoughtfulness which could not fail to flatter any young woman, and a gentleness of expression that seemed wholly sincere. If, on occasion, some indefinable quality within his words left me vaguely uneasy, I dismissed the feeling as foolishness. Courtship, I reasoned, was seldom entirely free from uncertainty.
Yet even then there lingered beneath his courtesy something I could neither name nor understand. Looking back, I think it was not affection alone that animated his pursuit, but a determination that admitted no possibility of failure.
When at last he sought my hand, I declined him.
I endeavoured to do so with all the consideration his regard deserved. My heart had already attached itself elsewhere, to a gentleman whose learning and integrity had inspired in me those hopes upon which young women are apt to build entire futures. I imagined that honesty, however painful, would be preferable to false encouragement. Above all, I believed Vincent sufficiently secure in himself to accept disappointment with dignity.
I attributed to him virtues he did not possess.
At their inception, the rumours were little more than vague suggestions, beginning so gradually that I scarcely noticed the conversation that ceased upon my approach, the cold looks exchanged between hitherto warm acquaintances, or those remarks delivered with an excessive politeness whose true, devastating meaning only became apparent long afterwards.ย
It was said that I had pursued the Earl with an unbecoming eagerness. That I had sought to entangle him in obligations from which he had wisely extricated himself. Some embellished the tale further, supplying details which bore no resemblance to reality yet possessed precisely the kind of scandalous improbability society delights in believing.
The cruelty of such stories lies not in their falsehood, but in the readiness with which they are accepted.
One by one, the people upon whom I had relied withdrew from me; invitations ceased, familiar faces grew unaccountably distant, and doors that had once stood open to welcome me were now quietly but firmly closed.ย
Even he abandoned me.
I remember still the restraint with which he delivered his decision.
"I cannot marry a woman whose name has become the subject of such discussion."
No anger accompanied the words, nor was any defence offered on my behalf; he simply pronounced judgment and departed.
Only later did I begin to perceive the extent of Vincent's influence, but by then, there remained little to salvage. My reputation had already been dismantled piece by piece while he stood beyond reproach, admired by the very society that had condemned me.
The scratching of her pen faltered as a wave of weakness passed through her, compelling her to rest her hand until the dizziness subsided. The fever had lingered for days, draining what little strength remained to her, while the weight of the child grew increasingly difficult to ignore, until at length she set the pen aside.
The interruption came moments later when a knock sounded at the door.ย
The door opened, and Vincent entered, followed closely by the butler, who carried a silver tray upon which rested a glass of water and the medicine she had repeatedly refused.ย
"You should be resting," he said.
The words were spoken gently enough, such that another listener might even have mistaken them for concern; yet she had long since learned that tenderness and authority occupied an uneasy partnership within him.
She closed the journal and laid one hand over its cover.
"I am resting," she said, "I was merely writing."
His gaze settled upon the journal resting across her lap, a slight crease appearing between his brows as he observed it.
"Writing will not restore your health," he remarked.
"No," she replied, "but it occupies the mind."
"It is the mind I am concerned about."
He placed the medicine upon the bedside table before taking the chair beside the bed.
"You should not exert yourself unnecessarily," he continued, "for the physician was quite clear on the matter."
"I have done nothing strenuous," she insisted.
"No?" A faint smile touched his lips, "You have filled half a journal this week."
Before she could offer an answer, his hand closed lightly around hers.
The gesture would have appeared affectionate to any observer, and indeed, there had once been a time when she might have mistaken it for affection herself; however, experience had rendered her far less charitable.
"Rest," he said, "and you must think of the child."
His eyes drifted briefly toward the curve of her abdomen as he added, "Our child."
The words produced in her a sensation she could not adequately describe, which was not anger, precisely. Anger required a certain degree of strength, and strength had become a rare luxury of late; what remained instead was a dull heaviness.
His hand moved gently across the coverlet.
"You concern yourself too much with the past," he murmured. "You will be happier if you let it go."
She lowered her gaze.
The fever had left her thoughts sluggish, yet they were not so dull that she failed to understand him; he mistook her resulting silence for agreement, a misconception that perhaps everyone shared. After a few moments, he rose from his chair and adjusted the cuff of one glove, his expression softening slightly as he spoke.ย
"I shall return later. Try to sleep."
The door closed behind him, the butler following in his wake, and only then did she allow her eyes to close. A tear escaped despite her best efforts to prevent it, followed quickly by another, until soon she found herself weeping, careful not to make a sound.
I had once imagined myself capable of resisting him.
The memory might have amused me had it not been so painful.
For there had indeed been a time when I believed the truth alone sufficient to defeat falsehood.
How young I was.
How little I understood the world.
The recollection returned with a distinctness I would gladly have escaped had such a thing been possible, for there are certain memories which time, in an excess of cruelty, preserves more faithfully than others. I remembered the afternoon of my visit to Phantomhive Manor; remembered the low clouds gathering over the countryside, the rain striking intermittently against the carriage windows, and the miserable consciousness that every mile which carried me nearer to my destination seemed also to carry me further from the life I had once anticipated for myself.
By that time the mischief had already been accomplished. The rumours, which had at first appeared so absurd that I could scarcely persuade myself they required contradiction, had acquired through constant repetition the authority of established fact. Even my father, whose confidence in me had once appeared unshakable, had begun to speak of retirement to the country as though concealment might somehow accomplish what vindication could not.
Under such circumstances, I persuaded myself that my visit to Vincent had been undertaken for the purpose of obtaining an explanation; yet I have since wondered whether I was not, in reality, seeking something altogether different. Misfortune renders us strangely credulous. Although reason ought to have warned me otherwise, some foolish part of me continued to hope that the man whose attentions had once seemed so earnest could not remain entirely unmoved by the consequences of my suffering.
He received me in his study.
The room presented an appearance of comfort and order scarcely altered by the dreary weather beyond its windows. A fire burned steadily within the grate, while the fading afternoon light fell softly across shelves crowded with books and upon the polished surface of the desk beside which he stood. There was nothing hurried or discomposed in either his appearance or manner. Had I encountered him without knowledge of my own circumstances, I should perhaps have remarked only that he appeared unusually composed.
"Lady Y/N," he said, advancing a step as I entered. "This is an unexpected pleasure."
The perfect courtesy of the greeting struck me almost as an insult.
"You know why I have come."
If the accusation disturbed him, he gave no indication of it. He merely regarded me with an expression of mild inquiry.
"I am afraid I do not."
I had intended to speak calmly. Throughout the journey I had rehearsed a hundred variations of the conversation, each more measured than the last; yet the sight of him standing there, so entirely untouched by the disgrace that had reduced my own existence to misery, swept aside every resolution I had formed.
"Then I shall explain it," I replied. "My name has become a byword for scandal. People who once professed friendship now avoid me. Every day brings some fresh humiliation, some fresh invention, and you would have me believe that you know nothing of it?"
He continued to watch me in silence.
At length he said, "You have suffered greatly."
The acknowledgment disarmed me more effectively than contradiction could have done. There is a peculiar cruelty in receiving compassion from the very hand that has inflicted the wound.
"If that is indeed the case," he continued, "you have my sincere regret."
For a moment I found myself incapable of answering. The words possessed all the outward qualities of kindness, yet conveyed so little that they seemed scarcely to belong to the conversation at all.
He turned away then and moved towards the window, where he remained for several moments contemplating the rain-darkened grounds.
"Society is not always just in its judgments," he observed at length. "Indeed, it is frequently quite the reverse."
I remember experiencing then a sensation less of anger than of utter helplessness; for he neither denied my accusation nor admitted it, neither defended himself nor offered any explanation, but spoke throughout with such perfect moderation that any further protest on my part threatened to make me appear unreasonable.
When he turned again to face me, there was in his expression which caused an unwelcome apprehension to stir within me.
"It occurs to me," he said, after a brief pause, "that there may yet be a remedy."
Before he spoke another word, I understood him.
And, what was infinitely worse, I understood that he knew I understood him.
I remained silent.
The rain continued its steady assault upon the windows, while the fire crackled softly in the grate behind him. The ordinary sounds of the room appeared suddenly magnified, as though my mind had seized upon them in an effort to avoid the meaning of his words.
"A remedy?" I repeated at last.
His expression altered very little.
"Your difficulties, Lady Y/N, arise chiefly from appearances. Society concerns itself less with truth than with presentation. It condemns one narrative and applauds another, often without troubling itself to distinguish between the two."
I did not answer.
"The situation, unfortunate though it may be, is not beyond correction."
The dreadful composure with which he spoke began to affect me more than any anger could have done.
"And how," I asked, "would you propose to correct it?"
His gaze did not leave my face.
"By allowing me to offer my protection."
The words were expected. Indeed, I had anticipated them from the moment he first spoke of a remedy. Yet their utterance nevertheless filled me with a sensation not unlike despair.
"You mean marriage."
"If you prefer."
The answer was accompanied by the faintest suggestion of a smile.
I turned away.
Outside, the rain had become heavier. Water streamed down the glass in trembling silver lines, blurring the landscape beyond into indistinct shades of grey.
It occurred to me then that he had arranged matters with extraordinary care. Whether by design or by some darker instinct, every road before me appeared gradually to have narrowed until they all converged upon this single moment.
"My reputation has been ruined," I said quietly.
"It need not remain so."
"My friends have abandoned me."
"Friends are frequently recovered."
A bitter laugh escaped me.
"And what of affection, Lord Phantomhive? Can that also be recovered at convenience?"
For the first time, his expression changed, showing neither anger nor embarrassment, but merely a slight coolness that he quickly mastered.ย
"Affection," he replied, "has often proved a less reliable foundation for marriage than necessity."
With the last of my uncertainty extinguished by the words, I rose.ย
"I cannot answer you today."
"Of course."
The readiness of his agreement only deepened my unease, yet he accompanied me to the door with the same courtesy he might have shown any guest.ย
As my hand reached the handle, his voice stopped me.
"You will discover, Lady Y/N, that I seek only your happiness."
I left Phantomhive Manor without providing him an answer; yet as the carriage carried me home through the rain-darkened countryside, I found myself haunted less by his proposal than by the confidence with which he had offered it. He had not behaved like a man seeking permission. Rather, he had spoken as one who had already calculated the outcome and merely awaited the interval required for its arrival. The weeks that followed did little to prove him wrong. My father's concern hardened steadily into persuasion, persuasion into expectation, while the gentleman whose constancy I had once trusted withdrew from my life with a politeness that rendered the rejection all the more painful. One by one the possibilities upon which I had relied disappeared until, at last, only a single path remained before me.
Thus it was that, several weeks later, I found myself standing in my father's drawing room while Vincent placed a ring upon my finger and accepted the congratulations of those assembled. I remember very little of the occasion itself. The relief visible upon my father's face remains clearer in my memory than any of the words exchanged. Vincent told me I had made the correct decision, and I suppose everyone present believed the same. Yet as I looked down upon the ring that now bound me to him, I could not rid myself of the conviction that what appeared to others a choice had, in reality, been nothing more than the final consequence of a hundred earlier decisions made by someone else.
For now, I close the diary, that carry truths of my miseries.ย
That in his twisted game, there is never an escape.
greetings ! i'm aware you are packed atm but once you have the time in the future could you possibly write a Yandere Ash Landers ( black butler ) with a human reader ? the thought is , while he thinks the rest of humanity is damned , he clings to the only soul he deems worthy . if not it is fine , i dont want to overwhelm !! pls take care !!
I was actually thinking about writing the same idea but with a different character, haha! But sure! I just hope I can finish and publish it around December 20-25
The story contains a portrayal of manipulations, intent to kill, and many more topics considered taboo by the polite society. All the characters will have their age adjusted to 18 and above. Do read at your own risk.ย
๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐,
The youngest Phantomhive has now reached her rightful years. With Ciel away, Sebastian is entrusted with watching over her as ordered, especially as the young beauty begins to attract the interest of numerous suitors.
Yet, as the demon dutifully guards her, he finds himself drawn to her in a way he cannot ignore. Though he denies the existence of any emotion, his actions betray him as each suitor tries to woo her.
In a love spawned from forbidden deeds, he forsakes all, abandoning everything to draw close to him. Veiled in deceit, he trades his prized feather for a fruit both divine and forbidden, and united, hidden in spiteful lies that they embrace the sin woven by their boundless love.
Summary: She always thought the summoning was a big hoaxโuntil, before her very eyes, stood a man. And as he stays around, she gets drawn into a world of dark secrets and unexpected truths that challenge everything she believed.
๐๐๐๐ ๐
The winter was cold and brutal, with the streets of the town glistening under a thin sheet of ice that covered the cobblestones. The wind was bitter and stinging against the skin in the moonlit city. It was January, and the cold air remained firmly over the capital city. Even during the darkest nights, there was still life stirring through the slumbering hours, when many had already drifted off to sleep. In the shadows, patrons of taverns and brothels, night workers, street dwellers, and vagrants moved quietly, away from the gaze of those who walked by day.
Drunken laughter echoed loudly in the streets as the gas lamps flickered their yellow glow onto the frost and ice below. A man, heavily intoxicated, emerged from his favored tavern, leaning heavily on the shoulder of his steadfast companion. He staggered, barely able to remain upright without the support. His speech was slurred, a jumble of sounds not unlike the exhausted grunts and groans of mill workers at the end of their shift. Amid his ramblings, he spoke of visiting a brothel for a rendezvous with "a soiled dove."
As they continued their unsteady journey home through the cloaked night, the drunken man's eyes caught sight of an orange hue painting the sky in the distance. He squinted, trying to focus through his inebriation, and then pointed with a wavering hand and slurred voice.
"Look yonder... fire... over there," he mumbled, struggling to form the words.
"You've had too much to drink, old chap. Thereโs no fire, just the gas lamps."
"Nay, truly... look!"
The sober one rolled his eyes but followed the direction his friend was pointing. At first, he saw nothing unusual, just the usual shadows and flickering lamplight. He was about to dismiss it entirely when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a faint, eerie red hue. It wasnโt the steady glow of a gas lamp but a flickering, pulsating light.
He turned his head more deliberately and saw it clearly nowโan ominous glow reflecting off the frost-covered streets, illuminating their path in a way that was unmistakably unnatural. Smoke billowed upward, thick and dark, mingling with the night sky.
"Good heavens, youโre right," he muttered, his voice now tinged with alarm. "Something is indeed ablaze."
Their eyes soon met the sight of raging flames under the darkened sky, the fire's sinister dance casting long, twisting shadows over the cobblestones. The once faint glow had now grown into a monstrous blaze, consuming everything in its path with relentless ferocity. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burning wood and the mournful cries of those caught in the infernoโs merciless grip.
The sober manโs breath quickened as he took in the sight. โDear Lord, the entire district is aflame!โ
Crackle
Massive waves of orange, red, and white flames rolled through the night, wreaking havoc with a ferocity that felt almost alive. The inferno swallowed everything it touched, its heat so intense that the very air seemed to shimmer and warp. Smoldering embers snapped and popped as charred buildings crumbled, collapsing onto streets now strewn with lifeless bodies. Thick, gray smoke billowed into the sky, suffocating the stars and turning the night into a bleak, ashen wasteland. Snowflakes, delicate and pure, melted instantly upon meeting the fire's scorching breath, evaporating into nothingness in the midst of the chaos.
Piercing screams of agony filled the air, cutting through the night with a haunting clarity. These cries, carried on the wind, could be heard for miles, a tragic symphony that spoke of the disaster consuming the town. People who had gone to bed expecting the usual tranquility of their slumber were jolted awake, their hearts gripped by fear and sorrow as they realized the scale of the calamity.
Efforts to combat the blaze were tragically futile. Buckets of water and shovelfuls of sand were swallowed by the voracious flames, offering no more resistance than drops of rain on a raging sea. The fire devoured all in its path, leaving behind only smoldering ruins, twisted metal, and bodies burned beyond recognition. Firefighters and volunteers worked frantically, their faces streaked with soot and despair, knowing their efforts were in vain against such an unstoppable force.
And there she lay, pinned under a burning column that had fallen from what was once her home. The weight crushed her slowly, mercilessly, while the intense heat seared her back, making her skin crackle and blister. She tried to scream, but only a weak, muffled cry escaped her lips as the scorching stone pressed deeper into her flesh. Her fingers dug into the dirt, the pain so excruciating it blurred her vision, making the world around her seem like a hellish dream. Lifeless bodies were scattered around her, their faces frozen in expressions of terror and agony, a sight so horrifying it churned her stomach.
Her home, once a sanctuary filled with love and laughter, was now reduced to a smoldering ruin. Flames licked at the remnants of walls and furniture, casting eerie shadows that danced in the fiery glow. The air was thick with smoke, each breath a struggle as it seared her lungs and filled her mouth with the taste of ash. She could feel herself weakening, the fight slowly draining out of her.
Desperation clawed at her heart; she didnโt want to die here, not like this.
With wheezy, shallow breaths, she sucked in the smoky, polluted air, her hands digging into the cold, rocky soil. Her home was annihilated, reduced to rubble and ash. Her parents were among the many distorted, scorched carcasses buried beneath fallen bricks, crumbled support beams, and flickering cinders atop dead trees. They were now completely unrecognizable, their identities lost to the flames. She couldn't even mourn their loss, for she had no way of knowing which charred remains were theirs.
Her belongings, now ablaze, were strewn all around the flaming estate. As she lay trapped like a bird in a cage, consumed by blinding agony, her mind wandered back to the tranquility of the morning. Just a few hours ago, her maid had woken her as usual, dressed her, and informed her that her parents were waiting in the greenhouse for breakfast. She had gone downstairs, chatted with her family, picked flowers with her mother, and played chess with her father. She then read peacefully in the library and petted her favorite black cat. The simplicity and beauty of that ordinary morning felt like a distant dream now, swallowed by the nightmarish reality of the fire.
Her lungs filled with black ash and smoke, causing her to cough violently and spit out droplets of blood. Multiple times, she had tried to call out for help, even though her voice was nearly gone. She still attempted to strive to live, driven by an instinctive will to survive. She could scream all night long, hoping against hope that someone might hear her. Yet, her cries would be drowned out by the cacophony of despair from others, all lost in their own agonies throughout the blazing town. Her pleas, though heartfelt, seemed futile amidst the overwhelming devastation.
Coughing yet again in another wild fit, she brought her hand to her mouth. Her weak breaths were labored and heavy as her senses began to wear out. Through her stinging, drooping sky-blue eyes, she noticed a ghastly dark figure striding toward her. It looked sinister, devious, and blood-curdling enough to kill someone with just one look. Its vivid, emotionless crimson eyes fell upon her, and it was shrouded in black.
She couldnโt see its body clearly, but she saw its heel-adorned feet, black clawed hands, and sharp teeth that glistened like fresh snow as it smirked devilishly.
"Are you... the Grim Reaper?" the girl managed to rasp out, her voice hoarse and weak. Despite the dark creature looming over her, she felt a desperate need for salvation. She didnโt know what it was, but she clung to the hope that it might save her.
Silence hung in the air.
"I heard... tales of you," she continued, her words barely more than a whisper.
"No, child. I am not the Grim Reaper," it replied, its voice smooth and haunting. "I am a Demon."
"Are you here to claim my soul?" she asked, her voice trembling.
The demon chuckled softly. "Your soul does smell delightful, little one. But I find no interest in a soul that lacks experience. How would you like a boon from me instead?"
Her heart pounded in her chest as she stared at the demon. "A boon? Why would you grant me a boon?"
"Because, child, even in your darkest moments, there are choices. I can offer you something to ease your suffering. In exchange, of course."
She swallowed hard, wincing at the pain in her throat. "What... what sort of boon?"
The demon's smile widened. "A chance to alter your fate."
"But... what would you require of me in return?"
The demon's voice grew softer, almost soothing. "A simple thing, really. A promise that one day, when you are ready, you shall perform a task for me. A favor, to be named later."
"A favor? What manner of favor?"
The demon shrugged, a casual gesture that seemed out of place given the circumstances. "That is for me to decide when the time comes. But I assure you, it shall be within your power to fulfill."
She looked around at the devastationโthe burning ruins of her home, the lifeless bodies of her family. Her voice was filled with desperation.
"And if I refuse?"
The demon's expression darkened slightly. "Then you shall perish here, in agony. Your soul will pass into the next world, and your suffering will end. But know this, childโevery choice has its price."
Tears mingled with the soot on her cheeks as she closed her eyes. The pain was unbearable, the loss overwhelming. But the thought of a future, a chance to live, even at such a terrible cost...
"I... I do not wish to die."
The demon's smile returned, its fangs gleaming in the firelight. "Then we are agreed?"
She nodded weakly. "Yes. I agree."
The demon extended a clawed hand, and as she reached out to grasp it, a strange warmth began to spread through her body, easing the pain and filling her with a newfound strength.
"Remember, child," the demon said softly, its voice echoing in her mind. As she watched, his form began to dissolve, the shadows around him swirling and thickening. The firelight flickered violently, casting eerie shadows that danced on the smoldering ruins. The demon's body seemed to meld with the smoke from the fire, the dark tendrils of his form intertwining with the ash-laden air. His presence became one with the chaos, a swirling mass of darkness and flame.
The smoke and shadow rose up, coiling and spiraling through the inferno, before dispersing into the night, leaving behind a lingering chill that contrasted sharply with the heat of the flames.
I have a question and I really hope it doesn't make you uncomfortable-
Are you open to writing for Mei Mei(jjk)? And if so, do you write for WLW?
I'm so sorry if my ask made you uncomfortable, there just aren't a lot of Mei Mei fics nor do I usually ever se writers that have included Mei Mei as someone they write for-
Have a wonderful day
-Yui
No problem! I would love to write a story for her someday but at the moment I need to finish first all the previous request! I hope youโll let me mention you if ever I already wrote a story for her!
๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐, the newly wedded Duchess finds herself entangled with the Earl, and both become prisoners of an intense, forbidden love. And as their commitment to an affair becomes inescapable, what dreadful sin will they further commit for the sake of living in their desire?
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐
THE UPPER GALLERY OF PHANTOMHIVE MANOR was enveloped in a peculiar and somber quiescence. From the eastern window, the vantage of the estate was remarkably pellucid. The torrential downpour of the previous evening had abated by dawn, leaving the gardens below laved in a cold, and effulgent sunlight, lending every gravel path and manicured hedge lucidity.ย
On the lawn below, two young boys were engaged in a game of chase. They were twins, identical in stature and the pale pallor of their features, yet entirely disparate in their movements. The sturdier of the two ran thoughtlessly in unfettered freedom across the damp clover; the other followed slightly behind with a more faltering stride, his breath hitching slightly as he labored to keep pace. When the younger boy tripped, stumbling forward into the grass, his brother paused and offered a brief laugh before extending a hand to pull him upright. The small, velvet-clad figures immediately resumed their play, entirely unaware of the vigilance from above.
Within the room, the lady sat motionless, her fingers resting lightly against the pane of glass. The surface was cold, wholly unaffected by the bright summer heat that seemed to animate the world outside. She did not attempt to follow the children with her gaze as they vanished behind the boxwood maze; her eyes remained fixed on the empty space where they had been, while her expression remained locked in the vacuous composure that had defined her existence since the bleak winter of her return.
A slight friction against the carpet announced an arrival. The door had been opened without haste, and the heavy latch fell back into its socket willfully with its metallic click.
Vincent Phantomhive stepped into the room, his boots moving quietly across the carpet. He stood behind her chair, a tall silhouette against the dim drapes, observing her profile. He was a gentleman of remarkably pleasing appearance, tall and slender, and possessing an elegance. His deep blue hair framed a face distinguished by refinement, and his clear sapphire eyes lent warmth to a mild expression that concealed a firm character.ย
He reached down, his long fingers brushing the lace collar of her gown before settling firmly upon her shoulder, where the expensive and heavy pale blue silk lay cold and rigid over her flesh. Moving his thumb slowly across the embroidered seam to trace the pattern, he ignored the unnatural chill of her skin as a breath escaped his lips, breaking the stagnant atmosphere of the apartment.
"They are well, at least," he remarked, his voice smooth and perfectly modulated. "The physician remains confident that the younger one's chest will strengthen by autumn."
His gaze softened slightly.
The lady offered no indication of having registered his utterance, her shallow respirations continuing in grim dissonance with the vital pulse throbbing aggressively in the hand anchored to her shoulder. Vincent slid his hand downward to trace the length of her arm, pressing his palm against hers and entwining his fingers with her cold digits until their hands were locked together on the mahogany armrest, forcing direct contact between his own warm blood and the stagnant stillness of her frame.ย
Outside, the childrenโs voices rose faintly in a distant cheer as the boys picked up dried hazel sticks from the border of the shrubbery, swinging them at one another with the clumsy and earnest enthusiasm of children mimicking soldiers. While one lunged, his small boot slipping slightly on the damp clover, the other dodged the blow with a quick twist of his shoulders, laughing aloud as he struck back against his brother's velvet sleeve. Inside, the Earl looked down at the woman, thoroughly satisfied with the silence he had purchased from her as they watched the view before them together.ย
"They spent yesterday afternoon by the fish-pond," Vincent murmured, his baritone voice remaining mellow. โCiel managed to tumble in among the reeds, and you should have seen the spectacle that followed. The nurse dragged him out soaked to the skin and his linen entirely ruined.
"Honestly, I do not know which of them is more likely to drive their tutors to an early grave," he added as his long fingers idly traced gentle circles against the palm of her hand, his thumb catching the small ridges of her knuckles. A lilt of genuine amusement flickered in his tone while his gaze wandered toward the gravel path where her own dull hues remained settled. "Ciel is the reckless one, of course, so one would expect it of him. Just look at him now."
Beyond the polished pane, the elder twin dashed ahead, cutting through the boxwood path with all the thoughtless and superb confidence of a boy who had never known a physical boundary or feared a consequence, his thin but clear laughter ringing brightly through the afternoon air. The second boy trailed behind with smaller steps, his movements were cautious where Ciel's were careless. He was not truly chasing his brother, but simply followed the sapphire velvet coat ahead of him to remain always a few paces in the rear with his face turned forward in watchfulness.
"Sirius never attempts to restrain Ciel, even when he sees quite clearly where such ventures are likely to end." Vincent exhaled softly, the warmth of his breath grazing her temple, touched by the faint aroma of tobacco. "I suspect the poor boy finds the prospect of being left behind far more frightening than whatever mischief lies ahead.
"Rachel dotes on him to an absurd degree, you know, because look at the way he hesitates before he ventures across the open lawn.The child is so slight, so terribly delicate for this climate, that she treats every cough as a catastrophe and every chill as a dire warning. She is forever keeping him indoors, as though the morning-room were some enchanted sanctuary capable of keeping sickness at bay."
His gaze drifted back toward the pane, tracing the trajectory of her sight, yet there remained not a vestige of comprehension upon her pallid countenance, nor any indication that her fractured mind assimilated his somber declarations. On the lawn, Ciel turned suddenly with his young face as he waved his stick to urge Sirius forward into the shrubbery, and, just as he had done since they were infants in the nursery, Sirius obeyed the gesture.
"Yet I suspect it shall make very little difference in the end.
"Ciel will always draw him onward, whether the boy possesses the strength to endure the journey or not," his fingers tightening slightly against hers to force her hand to remain flat against his own knee.
Silence.ย
"There is a certain danger in loving another so completely," he remarked. "Though I imagine there is no one better acquainted with that truth than yourself ."
There was a murmured fondness in his voice. Yet still, his gaze never wavered from her profile as he watched the stagnant geography of her existence, his eyes tracing the way the pale blue silk he had chosen draped so flawlessly over her form while the strands of her hair framed her face gracefully. Perhaps he even knew precisely how many times she had blinked since the noon bell, or perhaps he knew every hidden detail of her frame more intimately than he knew the structural lines of his own inheritance, which was indeed the indisputable truth of the house.
But this was not mere adoration, because even that word was too feeble, and too shallow to grasp the feeling that had inscribed itself upon his heart with such a fervent and ruinous devotion years ago when he was but a boy of fifteen and she was eighteen.
"There is a great deal of you in them, whether Rachel recognizes it entirely or not." Vincent continued, his voice dropping into that rhythmic cadence he used when speaking entirely to himself. โShe insists they resemble none of her relations and describes them as remarkably sharp, exceptionally wilful, and quite defiant, even at such a tender age. I told her it must be the ancient Phantomhive blood asserting itself.
"Though I think we both know that explanation to be somewhat insufficient."
His thumb brushed over her cold palm lightly while he waited, yet she did not answer him for even her lips did not even tremble with the ghost of a reply, merely blinking slowly as her long lashes cast brief, dark shadows against her pale skin.
Outside, beneath the brilliant canopy of the sky, one of the boys had stopped his play to pluck a heavy red rose from the iron trellis and hold it between his small, gloved fingers and tilting his head as he examined the deep crimson petals. After a moment, he turned to call something across the grass to his brother, who hesitated before smiling that bright and unclouded smile and stepping forward to take the offering.
She felt her fingertips twitch in an involuntary friction against the glass, and at the movement, Vincent exhaled softly, his breath warm against the stagnant air of the room as his other hand lifted to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His touch was gentle, being so entirely careful that an observer might have supposed he was holding within his arms the most delicate, expensive porcelain doll he could ever hope to add to his private collection.
"Do come back to bed, my love."
Vincent leaned down, his lips brushing her temple where the pulse ought to have been.
She closed her eyes just for a moment and obeyed the pressure of his hand that guide her away from the window that had become the only piece of the world still feeling as though it belonged to her, a world carrying on without her presence and leaving her behind in a body that felt less like her own with each passing day. The heavy linen sheets shifted dryly with a rustling sound as he tucked them around her shoulders,their artificial warmth settling against her cold limbs, yet as she eased back against the pillows, her gaze drifted upward to meet a pair of eyes that were not his.ย
They were eyes fixed in a visage of a grin, so ghastly and divested of human sympathy that she knew she could never escape their gaze, however far she submerged into the mire of this waking nightmare. They belonged to the white-haired visitor who haunted the night, exuding the cloying stench of formaldehyde and sepulchral decay; it was this same creature who had stitched her back into her clothes with his silver shears, forcing her to part her lips in a rasping and scraping strain that felt entirely alien to her chest.ย
Note: O!Ciel will temporarily assume the name Sirius until his real name is revealed by Yana Toboso.
Credit for @dhktlq for the art and @cafekitsune for the divider.
๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐, a promising young man earns himself an unhealthy obsession towards the sister of his wife, who was too married to someone else already.
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐
THE SKY, FRAMED BY LONG AND DRIFTING PLUMES OF WHITE CLOUDS, captivated the eye with its unblemished splendor. It was a joyful morning, uncommonly warm and soothing under the sun's first gentle touch after the previous day's torrential rain, a storm which had left behind a heavy, sparkling weight of dew upon the petals of the climbing roses and the deep emerald blades of the lawn below. Inside the manor, the air smelled faintly of beeswax, old paper, and the sharp, medicinal sting of the camphor lamps that had burned through the small hours of the night.ย
A young boy stood by the tall, arched window of the upper gallery. His small palm, pale and slightly damp from a lingering trace of fever, rested against the cold, carved mahogany corner of the casing. His blue eyes, unblinking and heavy with the forced quietude of the chronic invalid, gazed downward at the manorโs serene surroundings.
In the meticulously tended labyrinth of the garden below, his brother, Ciel, who shared his precise complexion, his features, the very slope of his shoulders, yet possessed a vitality that felt like an entirely different language, was playing cheerfully upon the damp grass. Ciel was chasing after their cousin, Elizabeth, whose golden hair gleamed like spun sugar in the midday light, her high-pitched laughter drifting up through the leaded glass like the distant chiming of small bells. Nearby, their mother, Rachel Phantomhive, watched over them from a wicker garden chair, a warm, soft shawl draped over her shoulders, her pale lips parted in a gentle smile while their father, Vincent, occasionally stepped away from his tea to join in their robust, running games, his dark coat tails snapping in the breeze.ย
In sharp, melancholy contrast to Siriusโs life, the atmosphere below was one of unrestricted motion and vitality. It was only recently that Siriusโs illness, that cruel, tightening constriction within his chest that made every breath feel like drawing liquid lead through a needle, had worsened to such an alarming degree that his parents and the family physicians had begun to speak in those low, terrible whispers that children are never meant to hear. Thus, with a gentle, suffocating kindness, they had imprisoned him within the opulent, carpeted walls of the manor house, leaving him to look down at his own family as though they were figures in a painted diorama. He was a spectator to his own childhood.
He did not hear her approach. He had grown so accustomed to the heavy, deliberate footsteps of the butler or the rustle of the nurseโs stiff skirts that the silence of the gallery had become a sort of second skin. Yet, a sudden, subtle shift in the light beside him announced her arrival. Elizabethโs younger sister, who, though a Midford by blood, bore no structural resemblance to her family in feature, voice, or the grace of her movements, walked up to his side. Her soft leather slippers made no sound against the thick pile of the green runner.ย
She did not speak at first, simply leaning her small forearms against the polished windowsill beside him as her dreamy, kind gaze drifted down to the sunlit lawn where the shadows of the cedar trees were stretching across the grass. For a long minute, the only sound between them was the faint, rhythmic wheeze in Siriusโs chest and the distant caw of a crow over the stables.
"You've been watching them a long while," she mused at last. Her eyes did not look at him, keeping instead on the figures below.
His breath caught slightly in his throat, a small, involuntary hitch that he quickly tried to swallow lest she think he was about to have another fit. Even at this tender age, Sirius had always perceived the girl beside him as entirely ethereal, an angel stepped directly from the pages of the illuminated medieval texts he devoured during his long hours of confinement. Her soft-spoken manner and steady appearance only heightened the impression of her sanctity.
When her mesmerizing hues finally turned to meet his, a gentle smile played upon her lips. The sharp morning sunlight refracted through the glass behind her, catching the tiny, loose strands of her hair until she appeared to him to be the single brightest star in an otherwise darkened sky.
"Are you feeling any better today, Sirius?" she asked, her tone as soothing as the south wind through the pines.
Sirius nodded quickly, his fingers tightening slightly against the mahogany molding. He found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the curve of her cheek. "Yes. Thank you. Much better. The camphor steam helped my chest before dawn, and the nurse permitted me to leave my bed, provided I did not venture near the stairs."
"The stairs are very cold today," she agreed softly, her gaze returning to the window. Down on the lawn, Elizabeth had paused her running to wave frantically up at the second-floor gallery, her small white handkerchief fluttering. Beside her, Ciel looked up and smiled, his face bright.
Sirius looked from his brother's bright face back to the girl beside him. A small, protective curiosity began to stir in his mind.
"What are you doing inside?" he asked, his voice dropping. "Don't you want to run with them? Edward and Ciel are setting up the croquet hoops by the hedge. Elizabeth said yesterday that you were to be on her team."
Y/N turned her face back toward him, her expression entirely devoid of the restless energy that governed her sister.ย
"I did not care for croquet today. The grass is still far too damp, and Elizabeth always shouts so when she misses a hoop." She paused, her small hand reaching out to touch the velvet sleeve of his coat. "Besides, I wanted to check up on you. I brought something from the library, but I thought you might prefer a distraction first."
The nod of his head was faint, though a radiating warmth had begun to bloom beneath his ribs, far more effective than any of the bitter, dark tonics the doctor poured into his silver cup. His lingering mood was not lost on her, and she did not let go of his arm; instead, her small fingers slid down to his wrist, her touch was light but insistently pulling him away from the bright glare of the window. The confusion he felt caused his brows to furrow slightly, yet he followed her without a word of resistance, his tentative steps matching hers.ย
"Where are we going?" he queried guilelessly, his voice barely above a whisper as they passed the tall grandfather clock. "If the housekeeper catches us roaming near the kitchens, she will tell Mother."
She offered no immediate answer, only a mischievous look over her shoulder that made his heart skip a beat. "The housekeeper is currently in the stillroom with the linen count. And you might want to hear what my mother and father have been talking about recently in the library when they thought the door was securely shut."
Their footsteps echoed softly as they walked down the wide corridor of the west wing. The walls were adorned with immense, ornate family portraits, generations of Phantomhives whose painted eyes seemed to track the two children as they passed beneath the heavy, tarnished gilded frames. She led him down the back stairwell, where the stone steps grew cooler, until they reached the heavy oak door of the kitchens, where she waited after giving a firm knock.ย
The door swung back with a groan to reveal a young kitchen maid, her white apron pristine, though her face was flushed from the heat of the great roasting ranges.ย
"Good afternoon, Miss Midford," the maid said, dropping into a quick, practiced curtsy. "How may I assist you? Lady Midford is not expected in the parlor for another hour."
Concealing his presence, Y/N held Siriusโs hand steady behind the fold of her skirt and grinned at the woman with an innocent, disarming sweetness.
"We should like a bit of sweet, if you please, as ordered by my aunt Rachel," she requested. "She said the fresh almond cakes would do quite well for the afternoon."
Sirius hid his face against the stone molding of the doorframe, his small heart hammering violently against his ribs as he listened to her tell the lie with such magnificent composure. The maid nodded without a second thought, hurried back into the depths of the pantry, and returned moments later with a small porcelain platter bearing two golden-brown almond cakes and a cluster of sugared plums.
Y/N accepted the prize with a polite thank-you, and the very moment the heavy oak door clicked shut, she turned to Sirius. For a long moment, they simply stood in the dim, stone corridor, looking at the platter between them, before both of them broke into identical grins.
They carried their spoils out through the glass doors of the conservatory, where the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming ferns, and ventured out into a secluded corner of the grounds. There, beneath the shade of an old stone bench nestled deep within a riot of late-blooming summer flowers, they finally sat. The crimson and violet petals dazzled in the midday heat, and the heavy, drowsy hum of the bees among the lavender seemed to wall them off from the rest of the estate.
For several minutes, they dined in a friendly silence. The only sound was the faint, rhythmic chirping of the thrushes in the hedgerows. Sirius observed her with an immense fascination as she ate, her small hands holding the pastry neatly. He took a sugar plum from the edge of the plate, and as he did, his fingers briefly brushed against hers and a sudden, strange little shudder ran straight through his small frame, leaving his skin tingling.
He waited until she had wiped the last stray crumbs of sugar from her fingertips before he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his blue eyes fixed entirely upon her face. The unhurried peace of the garden had given him the courage to speak.
"What is it, then," he asked, his tone curious and completely innocent, "that you heard your parents discussing in the library? You looked so serious when you came to the window."
Every time she was near like this, an emotion he could not quite categorize filled his chest, a sudden, fierce desire to be stronger, to be healthy, to be the sort of boy who could run through the rosebushes and protect her, rather than the boy who had to be looked after, especially by her on her every visits.
Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink under the midday sun. She leaned closer across the stone bench, her voice dropping into a secretive, breathless whisper that made the space between them feel incredibly small.
"Did you know," she began, "that Mother and Father have promised me to you? I heard them speaking with Uncle Vincent over the port. They said that when we are grown, I am to be your fiancรฉe."
Siriusโs eyes widened in utter surprise. The silver-edged platter nearly slipped from his knees onto the grass. "Truly? To me? Are you certain they did not mean Ciel? Ciel is... Ciel is the one who will have the earldom."
She shook her head firmly and joyfully, a shy smile gracing her lips as she reached out to touch his knee. "No. Father specifically said your name. He said Sirius has the gentler soul, and that Ciel would be far too busy with the city to notice the flowers. I am glad, you know. It means we shall never have to say goodbye when the carriages come at the end of the summer. We can spend every day playing, and when the winter storms come, we can have sleepovers endlessly in the great east wing by the fire."
Her comments caused a vast sensation of warmth to rise within his chest. The thought of an endless future spent entirely beside her, shielded from the terrifying expectations of the peerage by the simple geography of her presence, delighted him until his small chest felt as though it might burst with happiness. He reached out, his small fingers closing around hers, and for the first time in his life, the future did not look like a series of closed windows and bitter medicines.
The gentle rustle of the summer foliage blended with their shared laughter as it reverberated across the private yard. The world beyond their small, sun-drenched cocoon vanished entirely, leaving only the two of them on a stone bench in the center of the world.
For a single, beautiful moment in time, everything appeared perfect; the future was bright, golden, and full of promise.
But fate had other plans.
A month later, the fire arrived. An act of monstrous, unspeakable cruelty occurred at Phantomhive Manor, one that shattered their peaceful world, scattered the ashes of the family to the wind, and changed the trajectory of their lives forever.
Sirius Phantomhive was publicly declared dead alongside his parents, his very name erased from the registry of the living. Ciel was believed to be the lone, miraculous survivor of the tragedy; leaving the practical, childhood engagement between the sickly second son and the illegitimate daughter of Midford utterly broken, a forgotten relic of a life that had been burned to the ground.
This story depicts themes of obsessiveness, possessiveness, insanity, and other immoral behavior that some readers may find detestable. Despite these themes, the author does not endorse or encourage any of the following actions that portray voilence.
A young woman was deceived by a man who had been turned into a poor child by a spell. With her conscience at odds with her intuition, she found herself ensnared in his web of lies.
The more she fought in vain to escape, the deeper she fell, sealing her fate.
Despite its theme, this story does not glorify any acts of violence or any other form of immoral act. I am writing this story for the enjoyment of the series and its theme, not to glorify any cruel or immoral acts.
A naive young witch found herself in deep trouble when her spell fell to shambles, and her world turned to rubble.
Trapped in hell with no way to return, she wondered if she should truly be worried or set aside her concern, as a certain demon had promised to aid her quest.
But was it truly help, or simply a trick to keep her oppressed?
THE TRANQUIL EMBRACE OF A WINTER DAWN had settled upon the waning dimness, suffusing the surroundings with an otherworldly serenity. The air bore a constant chill, a gentle caress of frosty breath that enshrouded everything in a delicate, wintry embrace. Snowflakes, resembling graceful dancers, descended from the heavens with an almost poetic grace, their feathery touch turning the landscape into a canvas of shimmering white.
In perfect harmony with the surrounding palette, two silhouettes took center stage amidst this breathtaking winter day. They ventured forth into the wintry wonderland, guided by a pact made days prior to seize the opportunity this free day presented. Their goal was simple: to embrace the natural playground before them, crafting snowballs and snowmen just as they had in their youthful years.
Stretching out as far as the eye could wander, a mesmerizing landscape unfolded, as if painted by nature itself. Each tree branch was adorned with glistening snow. Stoic fence posts donned a layer of snow, like soft woolen scarves hugging them closely. The rooftops, pristine and unmarred, resembled enchanted cottages straight from dreams. Amidst the hushed silence, their laughter echoed through the atmosphere, lost in the unfettered joy of the present.
With the first rays of sunlight peeking over the horizon, the blend of cool white tones and tender morning light created a visual masterpiece that touched the soul. The relentless march of time couldn't weaken their unshakeable bond. Even with the demands and responsibilities of adulthood, their deep-rooted friendship remained as carefree and joyful as it was in their youth whenever they were together.
Their connection held a pure, untainted essenceโan unspoken agreement of unwavering trust and mutual understanding that wrapped them in a blanket of security and profound comfort. As they played in the pristine snow, their unchecked joy and contentment lifted their spirits, bringing back the pure pleasures of childhood. Together, they relived those simple moments, marveling at the winter wonderland around them.
Y/N and Satoru continued their walk along the snow-covered path, enveloped in pervasive calm and tranquility. Satoru, walking ahead with a playful air of superiority, maintained a distance from Y/N, teasing her about how frustrating it would be if he had a shorter leg, clearly intending to provoke irritation. His remark earned a soft scoff from Y/N, her expression a blend of irritation and amusement.
Despite the biting winter chill, Y/N pressed on, her hands wrapped in hand-knitted gloves that provided little warmth. As she followed Satoru, her gaze was drawn to his lips, tinted deep red from the cold, his teasing words delivered with a glint of glee in his captivating ocean-blue eyes. The sound of his playful taunts broke the fragile stillness around them.
On the contrary, Y/N, finding silence a more enjoyable response to his snarky remarks, remained acutely attuned to the picturesque scenery enveloping her. She drew deep, invigorating inhalations of the frigid air, allowing the wintry essence to invigorate her senses. As Satoru persisted in his tiresome and somewhat juvenile antics, Y/N merely shook her head in a gesture of resignation, her lips curving into a faint chuckle in response to his predictable yet somewhat irksome behavior. However, when a group of children caught her eye, joyfully frolicking in the snow in the distance, a playful inspiration seized her. With a sly grin dancing across her features, she sought to capture Satoru's attention for her scheme, calling out to him with unbridled eagerness. Yet, the obstinate Satoru remained unmoved, his demeanor radiating insolent disregard as he continued to saunter forward.
Gliding forward, her gloved hands dipped into the snow that embraced the ground, shaping it into a ball. With a firm flick of her wrist, Y/N playfully propelled a snowball in Satoru's direction, expecting his swift evasion guided by his preternatural reflexes. Yet, in her next throw, Y/N expertly launched a snowball with pinpoint accuracy that caught Satoru off guard, connecting squarely with his face and causing the snow to cling tenaciously to his white locks.
Thump
A melodious chuckle escaped from Y/N's throat as she observed the fleeting expression of surprise on Satoru's countenance. Her amusement was palpable, and he couldn't help but mirror her infectious smile.
However, Satoru was not one to be outdone. Swiftly sculpting a snowball, he hurled it toward Y/N. He reveled in the satisfying thud as it made contact, sending her tumbling backward into the fluffy snow. His laughter echoed through the crisp air, but it was short-lived, dissipating abruptly when he noticed Y/N's lack of response.
A furrow appeared on Satoru's brows, his features etched with concern, yet he maintained a smirk as he approached Y/N cautiously. "Come on, don't tell me you've grown weak."
Drawing nearer, he discerned the subtle rise and fall of her chest.
"Hey, don't tell me that your defenses can crumble so easilyโ" His words halted as Y/N sprang into action. The moment he drew closer, her movements were deft and nimble as she hurled a snowball at him, hitting him squarely in the face.
"Got'cha!" she exclaimed triumphantly.
Satoru's reaction was swift, yet not quick enough to evade the masterfully aimed snowball. He stood there, momentarily stunned, before a wry grin gradually spread across his face as he shook the snow from his hair.
"You got me good," he quipped, his tone light and playful, expressing his admiration for Y/N's skill and cunning. "But, you still need some lessons from the master."
The two reveled in their playful snowball fight, chasing each other across the snow-clad ground, laughter echoing in the crisp air. Satoru finally tackled her to the ground, with her still refusing to admit defeat.
As Satoru gazed down at Y/N, a wave of adoration washed over him, concealed behind his playful yet disappointed expression. He battled the urge to let his gaze linger in the depths of her eyes, where emotions swirled fiercelyโa tempestuous blend of joy and sorrow that seemed poised to consume him. Succumbing to instinct, he extended his hand to assist her to her feet.
However, his breath hitched as his gaze was immediately drawn to a glimmering ring adorning her finger. The glove that had been removed from her hand when she accepted his offered assistance had unveiled this sight, causing a sharp constriction in his heart.
Fixated on the ring, he stood frozen while his thoughts raced through the implications.
"An engagement ring?"
Y/N's tender smile calmed Satoru's tumultuous thoughts, though turmoil still churned within his heart, impossible to ignore.
"It was meant as a surprise," she revealed. "But I suppose you beat us to it."
Satoru's mind was a chaotic whirl of conflicted emotions, his heart gripped by intense anguish. The searing pain threatened to overwhelm him, yet somehow, he found himself smiling despite the torment that gripped his soul.
With a forced cheer, his voice wavering slightly, he ventured, "So, Suguru finally... proposed to you?"
Y/N's affectionate gaze melted his defenses, her eyes shimmering with warmth.
"Yes," she affirmed, her fingers tenderly caressing the delicate ring on her finger. "I even considered proposing to him instead, given the time it took for him to make his proposal."
Satoru's heart swelled with a bittersweet mixture of emotions. Skillfully, he masked his true feelings behind a facade of conviviality.
"Well, you can't blame him, considering how stubborn you are. I'd have a hard time deciding if I were in his shoes," he declared, his words carefully masking the storm of emotions he felt. Pinching both her cheeks, he added, "Maybe I would even ditch you, eh, who knows."
"Luckily, he's not you." Y/N playfully punched him on the chest, her radiant smile growing wider, her eyes sparkling with genuine affection. "Or I'd have endless headaches throughout our married life."
Satoru smiled sadly.
"I'm truly happy for both of you."
"Thank you," she replied, her voice suffused with unbridled happiness. "I truly couldn't ask for more."
โI'm sure you'll find the right one for you soon enough.โ
Warning: Mentions of corpse, blood, and murder. Read with caution!
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐
THE MOON HUNG LOW IN THE SKY,
casting a cold, silvery light over the quiet village nestled between the rolling hills and dense forests of early Edo. Outside, the air was thick with an unsettling stillness, enveloping the village gravely and broken only by the soft rustling of leaves. In the heart of the village, within a place hidden from prying eyes, a young girl knelt on the ground. Quiet sobs escaped her lips as her fragile frame trembled with her cries.
In front of her lay her beloved lover, lifeless on the ground and bathed in his own blood, which seeped deeper into the tatami mat sprawled neatly on the wooden floor. Her lover's eyes were wide open, with trails of blood in his irises showing his struggle against a monster that, while she was busy tending to something just within their shared home, inflicted fatal damage upon him. His eyes bored into her own, now drowned in tears accumulating at the corners.
The quiet sobs escaping her throat echoed through the night in a mournful melody. Her tears fell freely, trailing down her cheeks uncontrollably as her mind was in utter turmoil. How could such a vile creation possibly exist? Only a moment ago, she had been in glee with her lover, discussing their plans for the future. Both of her hands covered her mouth as she remained petrified, kneeling upon the ground the moment her eyes fell upon his body.
There were no people around, a silent sin committed under the cover of night. The blood dripping continuously onto the floor reached the hem of her kimono, marking her as a suspect in the crime. She was still a child in many ways, her naivety and innocence stark against the harshness of the world around her. The villagers would surely gather in a wide circle, their faces twisted with fear and suspicion as they whispered among themselves about a sin she never committed. Was she afraid of the consequences of being found with the body, or truly grieving the loss of her beloved? Surely it was the latter.
As she wept continuously in the place, darkness shrouded the gilded walls where she lingered. A chilling breeze swept through the clearing, grazing the tears from her cheeks.
"Ah, I feel sorry."
She felt a dark presence behind her, a commanding aura trailing down her spine, making her shiver. As her sobbing halted, she turned her head slowly and saw him-those familiar eyes staring back at her, a hue she knew all too well growing up, owned by only one person. With the faint light of the moon grazing his features, his eyes glowed. When his fingertips softly touched the side of her cheek, she was drowned in the strange comfort of his presence.
"My sweet, sweet Y/N," his voice was deep and resonant, cutting through the oppressive atmosphere. He placed a hand on her shoulder, his lips curling downward in disdain. "What have you done?"
She looked up at him, her eyes red and swollen from crying.
"I wasn't..." she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sukuna knelt beside her, arms open as he called for her.
She crawled up to him, his sculpted form enveloping her fragile body in a protective embrace. His hands stroked her hair gently, soothing her, his fingers intertwining with her strands as she leaned deeper into his embrace, finding solace in his words and warmth.
"Ah, I feel sorry..." Sukuna placed his head against hers, his arm completely engulfing her. His lips curled into a barely perceptible smile as he held her close against his chest, feeling her form tremble. His lips continued to whisper comforting words to quell her sobs.
"Let your benevolent king comfort you."
He was always the one to comfort her whenever her heart shattered from the loss of her lover, always the one beside her when the world seemed to conspire against them. Ever present, helping her navigate the labyrinth of her pain, always there to offer a sanctuary, a solace amidst the relentless tragedy. She considered him her savior, her benevolent king. She knew where to run whenever anguish devised new torments for her.
"Oh, who would do such a thing?" he mused. "You must be so terrified."
"I didn't. Y-you must... believe me..."
"Oh, but the village will think you killed him."
"I-I didn't commit... anything."
She sobbed on his chest, burying her face as she clutched his kimono tightly, soaking it with her tears.
