The storm lasts for nearly a week, throwing the mansion into a battle to remain scratch-less and clean. After the waging war stops ominously in it's tracks, it leaves an eerie silence behind it.
"I do not wish to see another storm after all of this."
Sebastian's dress becomes less stiff, allowing himself to dawn comfortable attire. Ciel gains a slightly more independent air about him, and as the days pass on, discoveries are made and hypothesis are created.
They find, that the profanity of the behavioral patterns regarding half-bloods, is quite unnerving. There is no regularity or patterns to follow as there are an immense number of stages and breeds of half-bloods alone. There are those who would be bitten by the now-extinct vampiric demons, those who are born to parents spawning of both human and demon bloods, those who are children of any other breed or types, and the rare few who are contracted, and through an uncommon string of events, become a fein.
"Well, what does it say?"
Ciel asks one evening, as they pour their usual attention onto the maps, books, and notes scrawled across the texture of the wood. Ciel's bicolored eyes scan the neat lettering of the dominant demon's notes as Sebastian himself gazes profoundly upon the parchment.
"Whoever wrote this book acknowledged the disappearances of the races."
"It seems like they were trying to attain knowledge on why exactly they disappeared. It says here: 'No extensive information has been disclosed regarding the vanishments of the extinct species, but as far as what's been gathered so far, I presume that-' and it ends there. It looks like someone spilled something on the pages, and the ink has been washed away."
He frowns as Ciel leans closer, inspecting the old, stained paper. The entire bottom-left corners of the next three pages is completely soiled beyond recognition or repair; the first flaw in the entire series of pages and leather. The imperfection, however, is around the halfway mark of the tome, where the heavy thread binding it together pokes through the layers.
"Well, what must we do, Sebastian? We can't just not know what it says."
"I'm sorry, Ciel... but there's nothing that can be done, other than the art of assumption."
His lips turn upwards into a dark smirk, the corners of his mouth curling in a menacing wave, as if he knows of something no one else has, and will ever, know.
The book offers no unusual information, yet the the feeling of missing something important never leaves Ciel's mind. Then, the snow starts, asphyxiating each foreign forest's painful, pounding rain. The blanket of white stretches out as far as one could see out of the window, the falling snowflakes looking like delicate flower petals as they spiraled down to the sparkling earth.
Ciel had always hated snow, and as Sebastian has said before, it is a rare occurrence in the depths of hell, even during the miserable winter.
"You made rain and snow fall in hell, Ciel... I knew your soul was a precious one."
Sebastian says, staring out of the tall windows guarding the hall.
"You know, for the first time since I have known you, I don't really mind much at all."
He whispers, bringing his cold, pale fingers up to rest upon the glass... then to Sebastian's own hand, entwining them shortly before pulling away.
The underworld is silent, as though the oncoming ice and snow has left the whole plain paralyzed in a ludicrous dance... as if a haze has been lifted, yet been replaced with another, colder one.
"This snow could last for weeks, even months, Ciel... but it is imperative that we venture out, no matter my hesitancy."
Ciel takes a moment, looking out across the extensive canvas of white before him, and dreaming of the mysterious ocean he knows full well is there, perhaps frozen in it's own wake.
"I don't much care for the cold, Sebastian. I feel as though it sucks the air out of my lungs."
He looks down at the carpeting now, inspecting the achromatic hues it provides.
Sebastian leans down a bit, cupping the boy's face in his beautiful hands.
"But this time, I'll be right here, with you."
Ciel looks up into crimson eyes, taking in the beauty of each sparkle, hue, and depth in the other demon's eyes.
YOU ARE READING
Ciel Phantomhive feels nothing, anymore. Not a single thread of empathy clung to the young demon. He chuckles to himself as he remembers that Sebatian was still destined to be his servant 'till the end of time. That didn't mean that he couldn't h...