{ Revenge is like drinking poison, and expecting it to hurt someone else. }
- William Shakespeare
〰〰〰〰
The streets of London have always smelled of decay and ruin. I can hear my shoes clicking against the slick pavement and cobblestone streets as Sebastian and I make our way up to where the Undertaker works. The strong scent of rotting corpses masked with heavy perfumes and preserving agents waft through the door as it is opened, and we step inside the cool, dank room.
"Undertaker. Are you in?"
I call out into the darkness, readying myself for the grey-haired man to spring forth upon us from a coffin, or from under the table in the corner that is covered by a stained, white sheet.
"Ah... I've been expecting you, Phantomhive."
His low, gravely voice comes from behind the front desk of the room, and I can make out his robed figure hovering with a jar of dog biscuits in his hand.
I step forward, keeping my eyes on him like a lion stalking its prey.
"I suppose you know what I am here to ask, then?"
I question him obligingly, letting a small smirk form at the corners of my mouth. A low chuckle escapes from his mouth.
"Why of course. Everybody is talking about it, you know? If I were you, I'd fix this problem soon."
Though I cannot see his eyes, I feel them searching upon me and scanning along my ribcage and collarbones.
"Care for a biscuit?"
He holds the chalky, crumbling thing up, dangling it in front of me as if he were taunting an animal. He is, though. But it is not that horrible dog treat that he is teasing me with.
"No, thank you. I don't have time for games. What is it you ask?"
He glides out from behind the desk, and I turn to face Sebastian as the Undertaker scurries up to him, circling him as a clawed-tipped finger brushes along his jawline like a knife would brush along the throat of a victim.
"I ask only for the simplest of things, of course. The live-giving force that can drive a man mad."
He stops to turn his ominous gaze on to me.
"Prime laughter."
I sigh, briefly closing my eyes as I step towards the two men. My eyes lock with Sebastian's, and I can feel the anticipation swirling and burning through his pupils like a red flame.
"Very well. Sebastian, you know what to do."
He nods obediently, the moment hovering like a hummingbird before flitting off and out of sight.
"Please, master... close your eyes."
I find the corner of the room by the door, and crouch down with my head in my hands. This is the trick Sebastian has pulled many times before for the Undertaker, and I am glad that it is laughter he has requested, today. And though I should be frightened of what is about to become of my butler, I feel the stirrings of excitement mixing with adrenaline in the pit of my stomach.
The air grows cold around me, and I can almost feel the energy being sucked towards the center of the room; undoubtedly where Sebastian is standing. The wind outside seems to pick up and whistle through the trees and closed windows, and even behind my eyelids I can see all light and color disappear into the oblivion that is Sebastian.
I have seen Sebastian in his true demonic form thrice in the time I have known of him: first, when our contract was made, the second when he was attempting to scare off a bothersome detective... which seemed unneeded, though I may never unwind the coils of that man's mind. The last time was a year ago... and it is a time I should never forget, for he became so agitated at the thought of me that he couldn't control himself. I have never seen someone so utterly dark and writhing at such a simple thing as human speech... though I suppose that is the mystery of demons.
It had felt how it feels now, as though anything and everything would just simply disappear if your fingertips brushed along the frame of this wanton creature before you. Sebastian can be such a terrifying and ugly creature. I had not been bothered by his transformation that night a year ago, until he stepped closer and I saw the longing and hunger and lust that was swimming through his veins. He stopped, once he had pinned me there and I was fearing for my life and my sanity, for I knew that he was going to devour my body and soul. He had found where I pick and scratch at my skin... and saw the self-inflicted wounds that covered my pale fragile skin. And the whole thing had started and ended with a firm, yet quiet 'stop'.
I keep my eyes squeezed shut as I hear the rustling of feathers that signal the appearance of his giant, overwhelming wings. The Undertaker's hysterical laughter starts up, and that's when I have to plug my ears to preserve the sanctity and sanity I do have left. There's something awfully disturbing about a man - or rather, reaper - laughing at the sight of a demon. I can't bear to hear it.
A few moments later the air warms and the flow of it settles around me. I slowly open my eyes and look up to see the Undertaker nearly in tears, panting and clutching the counter in order to catch his breath. Sebastian stands stoically where he was before, but I can see in the way his expression is so stoic yet impish in the way that he feeds off of chaos and destruction. I inhale. I exhale. In, and out. In, and out. In. Out. In. Out.
I stand, gearing my brain back towards the target goal. I look up at Sebastian, glaring at him in a way he must find endearing... for he smirks at me as I turn away.
"Undertaker."
I say firmly. He stops laughing, clearing his throat and standing tall like a captain on a ship. Though he is still holding back a fit of laughter... and anyone would be able to tell you that.
"Now, do tell me... who, or what, and how? I value your opinion, though I suppose if yo-"
He coughs, covering his snickering and scurrying behind the desk, the humor of the moment now gone to him. He rustles around with some papers he pulls from a drawer I cannot see, and pulls out a parchment leaflet.
"Well, well... Phantomhive. I hope you know you're in for it."
He chuckles lightly, his smirk ominous and disturbing for once.
"As you may have guessed... the killer cannot be human, for there is no observed cause of death. The only thing that could've killed these people are reapers, for a demon always leaves a mark."
I shudder. Sebastian shifts his weight beside me. If the killer truly is a reaper, the stakes have been heightened, for only a reaper can kill a demon, and only a demon can kill a reaper.
"Yes, the victims are quite random... but only because whoever is doing the killing is smart. The people whom have been murdered have no connections. The only thing linking them is that they all live in London. No where else. London. Which makes it harder for you to track, and easier for them to kill."
I sigh.
"Well I mustn't expect you to give me advice on how to hunt the killer, or killers, should I?"
I look at him from the corner of my eye, beginning to turn away to leave.
"Wait, Phantomhive. The only thing I can say is that you ought to stay on high-alert at all times. You must be quick on your heels and smart in your reactions."
He glances at Sebastian.
"Good luck."
We leave.
In the evening, I sit on the edge of my bed. Dressed and ready for sleep. Sebastian stands in front of me, having just buttoned my nightshirt closed.
"I do believe you are in a proper state, now."
He admires his handiwork. Though I know he is staring at me, and not my dressing. I sigh, looking to the floor... looking to my eyepatch resting on the nightstand.
"Sebastain, what if the killer is Undertaker himself?"
"Then I do trust that you shall catch and slay him... though it would be a fatal loss of a connection, wouldn't it?"
I nod, thinking back to our visit. I've always wondered why he liked Sebastian's true form so much. The stillness and quiet in the air is tense, suddenly. I feel as though Sebastian knows what I am thinking. I open my mouth to speak, but am cut off by his words.
"Does my true from frighten you, my lord?"
He interrupts me, as I was about to ask him if his true form was, perhaps, a weakness. Coincidence? Perhaps.
"Whatever does that entail, demon?"
I sit back on the pillows of the bed, my posture casual. He is silent for a few moments, and I know that we must both be holding our tongues. The silence between dialogue feels like it is carrying the weight of a thousand sinners. It is wretched and heavy, filling my mind with white noise and static. And I must be gazing at him longingly, for he emotes something indecipherable to me. Yet I do know fur sure that I long for him in a way that is wretched, and wrong. I am what I am. I know that I am sinful and ruined... debauched. I am what I have always been, I suppose. His gaze lingers on mine like partners dancing in a waltz, and I command my eyes to stay still, and to not quiver in their sockets. I beg myself not to melt into his stare... into him. Though I am drawn to him... always drawn to him. His voice becomes a low, ominous whisper... and what he says nearly shatters me.
"Have you lost sight of what I truly am?"
The statement is so heavy... full of regret, revenge, irony, remorse, sadness... love... mischief. My breath catches in my throat, holding my lips in an iron grip. I want to scream and yell at him, at the world and all of its inhabitants. And yet I still find myself wanting him... and now I want to collapse into the grassy earth that is right below my bedroom window. I want to drown beautifully in a frozen river. I want him to let me disappear. Though that is how my mind treats me most of the time. So I am used to it. I bite my tongue. I bite it clean in half and simply reply.
"No."
For I shall never forgot. I shall never be allowed to forget it in the slightest. For I am destined to perish. I am destined to be a simple blip in his existence, a meal that will subside only a sliver of his hunger; of hell's hunger its self.
And suddenly, he is sitting on the edge of my bed, leaning closer. And I am sitting up, too... reaching my hand gingerly up to his torso and neck.
He finds my soul pure, I do suppose. Though I cannot understand this strange craving. As far as I am concerned to discuss, I am anything but pure; rather a debauched, sinful creature full of the things that have been done to me... and full of the things I have done, as well. My only guess is that tainting this phantom innocence, and turning something that is gold at its core into black, rusting metal is somehow unjustly tempting. He finds destruction enticing... exciting and worth craving over. He gives himself just a taste of this, sampling the skin behind my right ear. I close my eyes, clutching onto the crisp white of his shirt.
That is how it is. I cling to him. I cling to every nip he leaves as he trails his tongue down my neck and over my collarbone. I wind my fingers in his hair in loops I wish to never unravel. I bare my neck again. But this time, he gives me no snide remark... no smirk or chuckle of amused impishness. No, instead he seems to attack the skin with a type of fervor, graciously accepting the offering given to him. I lean my head back, and sigh.
But his kisses still feel like he is pressing a loaded gun to my neck, and I gather that this feeling must be generated from me, and not him. For only I would equate love to violence. Only I wouldn't let myself be swept away in the torrent of thought that must accompany most while there is a demon attached to your skin, pulsing all around you. I wrap myself into him, pulling him closer, closer... closer.
His chest is pressed against mine and his hands begin to search for more of my skin, squeezing at my waist and hips, kneading me like dough in his beautiful hands. He lays me down, pressing his lips to mine and surrounding me. I whimper out a debauched form of his name.
"Michaelis."
For he must know that I shall never forget his title. His real title. Not the name I gave him upon the moment he was enslaved to me. It is an act of respect, I suppose... perhaps even foolish kinship between the two of us; though I suppose having your butler's lips pressing against your skin as he whispers the shadow of a word in your ear shall always be more foolish.
I shift so that I am straddling him, now... and lean down to press kisses of my own across his trachea. A low, almost animalistic groan escapes his lips as his arms snake around me. Or perhaps it was a growl, for within another instant he is back to laying nearly on top of me. And I am finally surrounded by him, though it is a suffocating kind of feeling that I know I will never be able to shake away. And I grow all the more confused, because though I must know for sure this demon does not love me, he must know for sure that he is behaving oddly, now.
I decide that I will not say a word this time around; I will not order him to stop or to not stop, for that matter. Yet, somehow he does... just before the point of no return. He hovers over me, his shirt halfway unbuttoned. His lips place a small, delicate kiss upon my forehead as he strokes my hair... and then he gets up at leaves. He leaves me here more puzzled than ever... though I am in a strange place of ease. I suppose it was respectful... though I do not know whether it was out of duty or care. I suppose I shall never know with him. He leaves me here with my nightshirt a wrinkled mess upon me as I stare at the ceiling... until I drift to sleep.
My dreams evade me upon this night.
He leaves me here more puzzled than ever... I bite my tongue.
I bite my tongue.