The Last Song [Black Butler] [Kuroshitsuji]

CHAPTER I

"Thank you for coming."

The words, muttered automatically and repeatedly over the past hour, were starting to make my head throb.

It had become a sequence: nod, hold out your hand, say thank you, then repeat.

A woman in a glittering grey dress paused after withdrawing her hand to bend down and press a kiss to Rosemary's crown of dark hair.

Despite being only nine years old, it seemed my younger sister was handling things much better than me in terms of hospitality.

They didn't fear her like they feared me.

Her pale green eyes flickered at the woman, unaccustomed to such a show of affection, and the clamp of guilt over my heart tightened, squeezed.

I massaged my forehead, hoping to ease the ache.

Henceforth, things will be excruciatingly difficult.

Having no living relations from either of my deceased parents left me, a seventeen-year-old, under the scrutinizing glare of society. It was unheard of. Sure, a widow could temporarily steer business until finding a husband or the next male of kin - but a girl being the head of a family? And such a prosperous one at that? No, no, no. No, I can't do this. Not on my own, especially since Father is -

A tug at my skirt pulled me out of my self-depreciating thoughts.

"Daisy, can we leave yet?" asked Rosemary, understandingly uncomfortable. It was her first time at a funeral, explaining it alone proved challenging for me. The gaping hole between her and Father couldn't have been more vast.

Although, I thought. We weren't what you'd label as close either.

"I suppose we could step outside. They already finished the burial and everything's in order," I said, finding myself grateful for an excuse to get away from the suffocating atmosphere and hushed whispers.

Perking up, she slipped her hand into mine. It was small, trusting, and shockingly warm.

Gently tugging her through the clusters of people proved easy. Most recognized us and discreetly shuffled away, if not in sympathy than in caution.

It's not as if death were contagious.

The stinging slap of cold air was immediate. Although it wasn't near sunset yet, the sky was dark with the promise of rain. In London, the weather was a constant mix of foggy days, stormy nights, or sweltering sunshine.

"Do you think it'll snow next week?" Rosemary smiled, her eyes brightening at the thought of the plush white frosting that coated our gardens every winter.

"Hm . . . They say it might be even sooner than that. And Thames might freeze up again." I felt a small smile edge its way to my lips. "You've never been to their fairs, have you?"

As expected, her response was instantaneous.

"That's only because you didn't allow me to go last winter!" Smothering a laugh, I recalled the tantrum she had thrown. So angry, she refused to speak to me for the entirety of the day. Although it didn't last, never did. In the end, I was woken up and begrudgingly asked for a 'goodnight.'

"But I suppose it would have been my fault if your fever worsened." Crossing my arms, I smirked at her. "If I had let you go, what kind of sister would I be?"

"A good one," the girl muttered, scuffing the stone path with her boot, not meeting my eye.

I arched a brow. "Is that so? Do you wish to go back inside?" I asked, jabbing a thumb over my shoulder to the large and ornament church. My response was simply her sticking her tongue out.