The Last Song [Black Butler] [Kuroshitsuji]

CHAPTER VII

Staring at the white brick walls turned mind-numbingly boring so I took to humming. It wasn't much, but I have always loved music and it brought me some respite.

Despite being in a prison cell.

Another fascination of my mother's was music and, at her insistence, I had learned how to play every instrument.

Well, all English ones.

One day I had begun to imitate the singers we frequently saw at the opera and my music tutor bawled, insisting that no angel could compare to my voice. Mother was delighted and Father boasted by having me perform at the next gala.

Everyone always told me I had a lovely singing voice. The talent soon became embarrassing as more gushed about it so I had decided to only sing in front of my family.

That resolve crumbled quickly when the queen requested for a private audience when I was thirteen.

I hadn't been singing as often and I had begun to feel more and more ill. Mother had died by then and Father was not so much delighted as miffed to escort me anywhere.

In the end, I had no way out but to drive to Buckingham Palace and perform for her majesty. How on earth does one deny the queen of all Britain?

Little did I know that, had I not accepted the invitation, my whole life would have turned out different. I never expected her actions to be the greatest favor I could have ever received.

Because four years from that encounter, she would employ her guard dog to my aid and ultimate resolution.

To say I was nervous would have been a massive understatement. I was torn between going through with it or throwing myself out of the carriage - massive dress or not - to escape.

But she was kind and had a lovely smile. The crow's feet at the corner of her eyes told me she smiled often.

And her eyes. Earth brown, so sincere. The first time I looked in her eyes, I shied away from the depths of knowledge I saw in them. They told a lifetime of stories and were vivid with shadows, shadows of life.

The next time I received a letter was almost a year later, and then another, asking for one more performance.

Only the third time, she had a request for me.

"My dear," she began, setting the intricately decorated cup of tea down on a matching saucer.

My ears immediately picked up on the change of tone. "You have given me such beautiful music these past visits," she began, and I listened intently.

"I know that my dear Albert would have loved to - "

She burst into tears and had to bring a lace handkerchief to her eyes as a waterfall gushed out.

I had become used to the queen's uncontrollable sobs as she was prone to mentioning her late husband's name. His death brought her great sadness, perphaps even more than my mother's death did to my Father.

One of her immaculate white butlers rushed with a hand puppet to calm her down and soon she was once again composed.

"I know he would have loved to hear that marvelous voice of yours," she went on, as if the breakdown never happened, her dimpled hand clasping over mine.

My stomach plummeted.

She's going to ask me. Oh, stars, she's going to ask me! I mentally panicked.

"It would bring me great pleasure," she continued, "if you were to bestow upon my subjects the same talent."

A chorus of banshee shrieks ripped apart my skull.