Hospital For Souls (M i c h a e l i s) [Kuroshitsuji 3]{Completed}

Chapter XX (ii): 'I will give you everything I can, if you'll only let me try.'

"Of course, thank you." I brush down the skirts of my red dress and stand, bronze hair slipping over my back as I leave the room. I much prefer to keep my hair loose nowadays. It affords me some feeling of safety and protection.

Climbing down the stairs with the stiffness in my knees is slightly uncomfortable, but I manage. I always do. I must now, since there is no one there to look after me anymore. A small pang as I think of Greenhill, Undertaker... they were only doing what they felt was right, weren't they?

I step onto the floor, finally, my soft shoes bending against the wooden floorboards. They're quite similar to ballet slippers and incredibly comfortable -- preferable for me, since I rarely leave this house, anyway. I can hear Finny and Mey Rin arguing about something, the blonde cook trying to separate them both. Sebastian, as always, is unheard; wherever he is, and I can hear the soft, low drone of Ciel's silky voice from his study.

The door to the study is slightly ajar, but I take the crystal doorknob in my scarred hands and let myself into the quiet drawing room.

The person waiting for me does not turn around, but I can recognize him. I know the brush of his heavy black hair against his shoulders, which are slim but strong, broad in his suit. Streaks of pure white are obvious in the man's locks, as if he has been through some kind of severe trauma.

I know him.

But Violet is dead.

He's dead.

Unless... unless... did Undertaker bring him back for me?

Is he soulless, like I was?

But I saw him going into the ground.

I do not realize that I have dropped my novel until the thump to the ground startles the pair of us. What appears to be Violet jumps from his seat, all of a sudden; turning quickly to see what the commotion is.

It's him -- oh, it's him, with his beautiful, angelic face, and the soft curve of his full pink lips, the point of his elegant nose, his dark brows. But what I can't put together are his eyes; he is wearing spectacles. Square shaped and purple. And his eyes, the eyes that I loved so much; they are no longer lilac, but a burning shade of acid green, just like Undertaker's.

His lips move together soundlessly as he spots me, shaping my name. My name on his lips; oh, how I longed to see it. Violet clears his throat as I stare at him and blinks, sooty lashes tangling.

"I -- Grace?" I can do nothing but stare, stare, stare.

Something inside him crumples, seemingly broken, empty. He expected something -- oh. Oh, no, Violet, no, I'm no longer the zombie I was. Tears spring to my eyes as I croak his name.

"Violet," my hands shake as I bring them to my mouth, placing them over my lips. He's here. My Violet, my gorgeous, gorgeous Violet. Different, but he's here – surely, he must be some apparition, some figment of my imagination.

Both of us take one shaky step forward, each. We are at opposite ends of the room, and the space is killer. A few feet seems like oceans, and I take another step – and another, faster and faster, until my knees are screaming and I am running, I am running toward him –

"Violet!" I throw my arms around his neck with an almighty sob, burying my head in his shoulder. "You were dead! You're dead, you're dead!"

He's frozen for a moment before his hand wrap around my waist. Tight, impossibly tight as he holds me against him, his face hiding in my soft hair. "Grace." His words are a breath at my ear, a softness that I forgot he had. A care that I forgot he could possess. "How could you think that I wouldn't ever come back for you? Gods, you're supposed to be clever."