Mortal Comforts || Kuroshitsuji OC

Until We Find Our Way

     A thick, disturbing silence descended across the room, punctuated only by the sound of church bells outside chiming 1 o'clock.

     She had picked the worst time to say it.  The words had bubbled into her throat and spilled from her mouth like bile, completely against her will and equally as uncomfortable, much to her chagrin. She had scarcely known the thought was even on her mind; it was like an ebbing tide, receded, when suddenly, with all the force of a crashing wave, it surged back in, slashing the shores with sharp cuts of water. It dragged her composure back into the ocean, pieces flaking away into the dark and unknown. How had she subconsciously mustered the gall to say such a delirious thing? It was despicable - and oh, how careless she was! Undertaker was in the midst of chewing the last of his samosa when the spontaneous declaration came, and he was so caught off guard that he sucked in a sharp breath and nearly choked himself. He sputtered, bringing a hand to clutch his chest as he cleared his throat; Emilynne cringed, face flushing an unbecoming shade of carmine. How utterly embarrassing.

     "L-Lady Emilynne," he coughed, nails digging into the fabric of his coat as he struggled to pull together his equanimity.

     "H-hush," she snapped. With a bit too much force, she thrust her teacup down onto its saucer; dark liquid, left to steep far too long, sloshed onto her silky white gloves. "Do not say anything. I haven't completed my part yet. Yes, I fancy you. But you ought to know why. I am no simple woman and my heart not so easily won, but you are so peculiar that I find I am drawn to you, and furthermore your laugh sends my heart into hysterics. So, yes, that is my truth. Do try not to resent me."

     "Resent you, Lady Emilynne? Ehehehe... I could never. You flatter me so."

     "Do not misconstrue a modest profession of feelings for flattery."

     "Must say, you surprise me, m'lady. Always do," he tittered. "To think you'd vacate a spot in your heart for me."

     "It was not intentional," she quickly retorted, a defensive sort of riposte. She wasn't sure why she felt the need to justify herself, but nonetheless she let out a petulant huff as she folded her arms across her chest, forgetting about the tea on her gloves. It dripped across her lap, left dull splatters on the otherwise clean fabric. She would notice this later and become cross, though at present the thought had very much slipped her mind.

     "That I believe. Sure wasn't me own intention either."

     His words went unheard. "Oh, it never is. Romance is so trite these days. An antiquated idea, really, forced upon us by our forefathers. 'Oh, love will heal all; do fall in love someday, dear.' Such rubbish. And really, it's-" She paused, milled over the right words. As she did this, she dithered on the whole of today, reflecting on everything that led up to this ghastly moment and why ever she had to open her mouth and speak. Lord, let it be known that Emilynne Abrahms was a bumbling idiot. Mentally, she chided herself for being so frank; Mother would surely have a fit if she were to have any knowledge of this exchange. So improper. A lady must hold her tongue. A lady must be coy, but not overtly so. A lady must this, a lady must that.

     Oh, she thought, to hell with what a lady must do! Emilynne curled her hands into fists, squeezing her fingers into her palms so tightly that her nails dug through her gloves and her knuckles flushed white. To hell with propriety and to hell with ignominy! She could care for it no longer.

     New determination wrote itself across her mien as she glanced up from her teacup and locked eyes onto the Undertaker's swaying form. He seemed impatient, waiting for something; for what, she did not know.

     "Ahem. Undertaker. I care for you." Her words were crisp, lacking the stuttering that would normally mar such a confession. "Gravely. Do pardon the pun. And I should quite hope you feel similarly. If not, I understand. But should you return my feelings, I would ask you to meet me at the cemetery tonight, and we will have a proper chat. But for now, I would like to finish this meal, so please do your best to pretend none of this happened."

     The Undertaker laughed - not in a rude manner, purely a vexed one. "My. As you wish, Lady Emilynne."

     For the remainder of lunch they sat in silence, a weighty uncertainty hanging over Emilynne's head like the blade of a guillotine. She wished she could take hold of the rope herself, grasp it with all her might to keep it from falling. But she couldn't. There was no way to mollify the agitation that gripped her heart; she had willingly surrendered all control the moment she uttered such a daring thing, as it was no longer her game to play.

     It was dangerous now. The rope was in his hands, waiting.

[[ A/N: short chapter, apologies. having a bit of writer's block. also, fun fact: i suck at writing romance so this is h a r d for me ]]