In This Hell ( V i o l e t ) [Kuroshitsuji 2] {Completed}

Chapter VI : An Unexpected Letter

And, well, should I be shocked now, by the last thing you said?

That was a difficult job when reminders of him kept appearing everywhere.

It was mostly in the papers. When I was looking for any sort of shred of information on him, I studied his drawings intricately, and had become acquainted with his elegant, dark style. I'd even taken a look at some of the sketches he'd done for the crime magazines, and they were too beautiful, even in their detailed, graphic state. Soon, every time I saw even a brush stroke that was Violet's I was able to label its artist correctly.

It was not an obsession, I promise you.

But the heavy feeling of abandonment in my chest only began to worsen as time went on without any sort of interaction from Violet. In fact, it was as if he had disappeared completely; I heard nothing about him from anyone. My friends had never ever seen him before. Of course, they'd heard of his family — was I really the only one who didn't know that his father basically worked for Scotland Yard? — But as for Violet himself, no one knew anything about him other than he was an introvert, and tended not to venture outside very much at all. Once I heard these words from someone else's mouth, I finally began to accept the fact that the attention I'd received would have to be a solitary event.

Although maybe, that wasn't the case.

I remember how the day was so well simply because it held a memorable happening. It was a Saturday, the morning sun streaming through the window panes onto our dining room table. It lit up the whole room, warming the air, making me feel happier than I usually did. The end of July was always an amazing time for wonderful weather.  

"Grace?" My father waved at me from the other end of the table, his egg-coated knife in the air.

"Mhm?" I looked up from my meal of porridge.

"You have a letter, sweetheart."

He lifted up an envelope from the stack of mail beside him and passed it to my mother, who passed it to me.

"Lady Grace Harcourt

18 Westbrough Drive

South London

185-4548"

It was written in small, curling script, the purple ink standing out boldly against the creamy paper.

Purple ink? Now, that was strange.

I turned it over to read the return address.

"Gregory Violet

375 Kensington High Street

South London

185-7877"

Violet? It was from Violet?

I slipped a finger underneath the tab of the envelope and pulled it open. Inside was a stiff, folded piece of paper with a short letter on one side.

"Dearest Grace,

I was able to contact you through the school — I hope that you do not mind. I am interesting in both starting a correspondence with you, and studying your exquisite proportions in further detail. I know this may sound bold of me. I also know that you enjoy my art, and this fact humbles me greatly. I have enclosed a drawing for you.

It would mean a lot for you to reply.

Yours,

Violet."