Mortal Comforts || Kuroshitsuji OC

Quiet Roar

     The words hit Emilynne like a brisk slap in the face.

     All at once the world shifted, sliding out from under her feet. It melted into a galactic pool of constellations and starry shadows that writhed around her, forming and reforming the universe by the second. The sturdy, imposing grey walls of the parlor flaked away into the vastness of space, the bloodstained floors vanished, the residually dusty bookshelves sank into swirling black holes. In a blink, the air left her lungs, and fear stilled her heart. But it passed as quickly as it had come and she found she had never felt more light, as if she could float away on the westerly trade winds of her home country.

     He stood there across from her, shining brilliantly in the pit of the nothingness. Or rather, the everything - limitless expansion all around them, celestial bodies converging and breaking apart, comets carrying stardust never to be touched by human hands. And in the middle of it all he was there, silver hair snaking out into the stars like ethereal chains. Luminescent irises reflected the whole of the nebula spreading out before them; she stared, wide-eyed. It was beauty begetting beauty. Splendor in its most human form. Life, death, purgatory. The peril of existence. He was everything, all at once, and she felt her heart lurch.

     Oh, how mortal she was.

     She stole a single step towards him. His lips parted as though to speak; she leaned forward eagerly, awaiting his every word. What music would he play today?

     "Told you it was important, didn't I, milady?"

     And she was whisked back, down through the clutches of the universe. Reality, grounding her. The blackness of space was torn to shreds by a blinding light; stars winked out of existence around her, exploding into crackling cascades of light. She blinked the dust away from her lashes, dazed. "I'm sorry, what was the question?"

     A chuckle. A low, melodious sound, much like the cadence of rainfall upon a windowpane; her heart skipped a very important beat as it pounded in her chest. His chartreuse eyes were imploring, fixed on her face with a fervent curiosity. She returned the stare with vigor and a bright vermillion visage.

     "Lady Emilynne-"

     "E-Emilynne," she declared, puffing her chest as she hardened her expression as best she could. "You may call me simply Emilynne. No need for formalities."

     "Emilynne," he agreed, rolling the word playfully on his tongue.

     Heat pricked at the tips of her ears as he tested the name a few more times, toying with his enunciation and tone. Sometimes he would stretch out the vowels, other times he would punctuate the syllables with timed pauses; it was very much like he had learned a new word and was trying to decide if it was too foreign or if it was acceptable. His mischievous countenance indicated the latter.

     "Well, Emi-lynne," he drawled, fingers lacing together, "What do you think of me confession?"

     "I think- No. Wait. Th-the price for that piece of information is..." She halted, dithering for a moment, then drew her plush lips into a reticent simper. She would use his own scheme against him. "...laughter. Of the purest sorts."

     "Laughter, eh? Ehehe! Milady, you're so funny. Very well. Tell me... Why is a dog like a tree?"

     She tilted her head to the side, slowly, allowing herself to entertain his joke. "I don't know."

     "Because... they both lose their bark once they're dead, ehehe!" he tittered, bursting into a wide smile as he swayed with the force of his own laughter.

     "Undertaker! How morbid!"

     "But funny, milady. Here, I'll try another one... Who's the greatest chicken-killer in Shakespeare?"

     "Pardon?"

     "Macbeth," he replied, "because he did murder most foul!"

     Emilynne averted her gaze swiftly. "How ridiculous!"

     Her thin brows knit, drawing deep creases in her forehead as if to reflect dire focus. They twitched slightly and she acted as though she did not notice. A lady must maintain her dignity, above all things. As such, to retain appearances, Emilynne brought a gloved hand to her mouth, pressing her lithe fingers against her lips in a meager effort to smother a mounting laugh. Still, notwithstanding her best efforts, the rebellious sound came out as a nasally hum and soon enough, she gave in to a paroxysm of giggles. 

     "Oh, alright! You got me. Are you satisfied?"

     "Quite. And you, milady? Does me humor appease your need for laughter?"

     "Quite," she mirrored. Bashfully, she dropped her gaze and focused on the wrinkles in her dress, the deep ochre splotches all about her waist. With a gentle hand, she smoothed the front ruffles down. "I suppose it's only proper of me to relay my information to you, then. Very well. Of this confession, I thought... Well, I thought it..."

      She faltered, deepening fixation on her dress. Her fingers dug into the fabric; had it not been for her gloves, she would've seen that her knuckles had flushed white with the force of her grip.

     "I thought it lovely. And very... like you. And so I say with great pleasure that your words are appreciated and I return the sentiment. That is to say, I find you appealing. Quite. In fact, I would very much like to never leave this place and share laughter with you forever. If that would be no inconvenience to you, of course. I'm quite handy with most things; I've done servant work before - as a hobby, of course, is that strange? - and I'm sure I'd be adept at any task you need assistance with." She was rambling, and she knew it. The room somehow seemed stuffier than it had before - why was the cobwebbed chandelier hanging so low? When did the bookcases and coffins close in on her so suddenly?

     "Emilynne." His voice was soft, silky. She loathed how this tone made her heart leap into her throat. "No need to be so nervous. It's only me."

     "I-I know that!" came her snappy reply. "I... It has been some time since my heart has felt like this. And I must admit, it's draining. I find myself in need of rest once again. Furthermore, I really should retire to my estate; I'm sure Mother is faint with worry..."

     "Been a while for me too, milady. Eheheh. Now then, shall I walk you home?"

     He offered her his right arm, and after a moment of deliberation, she accepted, allowing their shared closeness despite the gelatinous feeling it brought to her legs. Deep breaths. She inhaled slowly, filling her lungs to the brim with air, and then exhaled twice as slow, a desperate attempt at quelling the feverish racing of her heart and nerves. She had been close to him before; why was this so different? Then, ah - there came the fresh memory of the confession. It should've instilled her with confidence, but instead, she found herself trepid, bursting at the seams with worry. She felt awfully like she was going to vomit, and so she ushered the both of them out the door quickly. Fresh air would be her saving grace.

     "So, milady. While we walk, would you tell me about Jack the Ripper?"

     She swallowed a lump in her throat.

     "Very well."