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

Chapter VII : A World of Colour

"No." I heard the ghost of a smile drifting on his lips. "You have been tarnished by my eccentricities."

"The non-talkative Violet uses such long words, congratulations."

"Your attitude is exactly the type that makes me want to keep my mouth shut." Oh, he was definitely amused now. I had won him back on my side. "Through here. Step ahead of me."

We'd stopped, in front of an apparently extraordinary stretch of wall. However, Violet gave me a gentle prod in the back.

"If you push hard enough, it will open." Violet said hesitantly.

Ah. I saw. So there was a door in front of me. I reached out, warped, aged wood buckling beneath my palms, and gave it a firm push.

The door creaked open, exposing a courtyard in front of us. It was open top, showing us the stars studded in the purple velvet of the sky, frosted with wispy white clouds. The ground was made up of slabs of large grey flagstone, mapped out in an orderly fashion. Ours wasn't the only entrance - there were three more shadowed archways, light reaching beyond the gloom of two of them. Lanterns, tapers burning low in their iron clutches, hung in brackets on the wall. And everywhere, there were stalls - knocked together from different types of wood, canopies created with heavy, rich fabrics to keep the rain from the head of the merchants.

It was alive. Alive with women and men and children, everything imaginable - buying, selling, playing.

I took a soft breath in. "Oh. Violet."

"Do you want to look at everything?" he said quietly, his hesitant hand looping around my waist. "We can see everything and still be back at a reasonable hour."

"Please." I nodded, still awestruck at the fantastical sight in front of my dull eyes. "Show me around. Tell me what you like to see."

"Well... this first one here, the merchant is from Saudi Arabia. He's incredibly wealthy." Violet kept his voice low as we advanced on the stall, manned by a tubby little man in a turban, a beaming smile on his face. "He sells the most beautiful fabrics - silks and satins and the like."

The merchant himself said something in a language that I couldn't understand, holding out his hands. I reached out, stroking my fingers along a length of bright pink fabric - it felt like melting butter in my hands.

We moved on, then - to dark, bold incense, flavouring the air with its sharp smell. Then jewellery, pendants spinning from stands, their crystals and silver chains grabbing the extra light from the walls.

I'd insisted on buying Violet a present from one of the stalls - a fabric covered notebook, stitched with flowers, and a sharp-nibbed pen. He'd accepted it with scarlet cheeks and a mumbled 'thank you', but I didn't mind; he was near silent for most of our walk around, only making the occasional comment to let me know what was going on.

The real centrepiece of the market was the glassworks stall - the tall, scraping sculptures of melted glass screaming through the air, dripping and swirling and spiralling. I didn't know that glass could be so many colours - smooth red and spiky yellow, violent blues and calm oranges.

"I want to take a closer look." I squeezed his fingers. "You can sit somewhere, if you want to. I don't want to bore you."

He gave a microscopic nod; notebooks still tucked away neatly underneath his arm, and in a second had dissolved into the shadows - like they were a part of him.

I stood for a while longer, transfixed by the beautiful glass spirals, the delicate flowers and the elegant wine goblets. It had managed to get even darker while I appraised the wares, but even so the square became livelier - as if their lives truly did start at night.