{A/N: Allllrigghtttyyyy then. So for this chapter, imma mix things up a little. Since the events in the last few weren't entirely properly explained, that's gonna be fixed right here, albeit maybe not entirely right now. Haha gotta save a bit for the end right? Okay so getting to the point, this is going to be from a different point of view. It's Sebastian's, but part of it is in a letter format, a sort of 'jornal' entry, or 'diary' for American readers, as that term is more used to describe a schedule in Britain, what's like a planner over here, in the clearly superior and more awesome nation. At least that's what I learned in my feebile attempts to remain orderly during my studies in Oxford. Guess I'm just too...wait for it....FREE. Hahahahaha jk. Kinda. They got freedom too. It just took like 600 years. Anyway, my creative ass wanted to be excessively annoying and unnecessarily hipstery as possible so I did two changes of view, which in hindsight didn't really need to be described here. What I wrote isn't that original as far as P.O.V. to be entirely honest. I mean, Dracula was written the same way and Bram Stoker didn't put a 474858575 word note at the start of each one of his chapters describing what even the slightest of educated readers could glean for themselves. All great art speaks for itself too, ammmirite? Ehhhhhh?? Still, because I already typed out this whole explaination on the company iPad at work which is both hard to write on and if they find out I was writing weeb trash demonic fan fiction on, will be used to furiously beat me before they make me unhirable and blacklist my then-to-be embarrassed, besmirched ass, imma leave it. It's funny at least. Okay, hopefully this section clears up the prior confusion and only raises questions pertaining to the future plot; as I said, this is far from over. Gotta save some mystery for dat grand finale. I mean what's the point of stupid over-explanatory stream of consciousness run on sentences that kind of help shit in a story like this if they don't lead anywhere? Anyway here's Sebastian's point of view:}
Indecision has never been something I've faced, not in a thousand years. Never have I made an error based solely in poor judgement, but there is a first time for everything, so it's been said by those far more mortal than I.
Fear is an emotion I've never experienced, not my ceaseless eternity of immortality, not in all my time on this earth. What frightened me led to my misadventure, the incorrect reaction, the wrong choice, but an inability to properly perform all of my duties therein, that was not the origin of my concern. It was and is, instead my memory. It hasn't been satisfactory. I'm recalling elements of a life that is not mine, or at the very least, I don't believe to be my own. It isn't one I know, or care to remember. I would like to forget, and I do, for a while, but then it comes back.
Sleep is a luxury for me, for my kind, but I've come to understand that term as a misnomer. Demons share an unspoken catharsis, an inherent desire to categorise it as majorly inaccesible to hide what it really means for us. In reality, there is a reason we avoid it. I didn't believe the stories fully, that it is actually that terribly unpleasant, but what causes a demon pleasure other than the suffering of others?
That is another troublesome matter. Suffering is not altogether something I've enjoyed recently. Perhaps it's become boring, or too much to bear in the state I've found it. When I try to rest, even at times before now, in the early hours when my master needs me not, and all the tasks are completed, between the coming of night and the breaking of day, I see only light, blinding and disdaining, as I feel assaulted, cast out. It burns me. Me, to burn! How absurd! Another element prevents me from enjoying this 'luxury.' It feels as though I am falling, my wings not those of a raven, nor those of the subtly different crow, but the ivory wings of an enormous dove, and they rip from my shoulders, alabastrine feathers billowing through rapidly dissipating clouds, rain searing against incarnate flesh, to be eliminated by ash and a blinding crash upon stone ground. White light is all I see as the ringing in my ears wrenches me from my sleep. It is a fruitless endeavor to mimick the human nessecity for rejuvenation. Without it they shall die; without it I shall live. Worsening still, the most pervading, harrowing sensation every time I close my eyes in a vain attempt to relax is the sound of a thousand voices, sobbing, mourning the loss of someone they loved, a brother and a son. I don't know how I know this, but I do know I cannot fully escape it any longer.
Naturally, I dislike experiencing that sort of unpleasantness if I do not have to, and I avoid anything that may remind me of those strangely personable memories. How this relates to my current situation, I'm not sure, but I do know the visions usually haunting me only if I am weak enough to sleep have tormented me during my waking hours. They come and go, and have only recently began.
They started when that bastard girl came, and they have grown stronger the longer she has stayed here. I fear her presence may be indicative of a change, one I do not want to endure. Yet, I cannot find the reason, in my absent heart, to leave her, and what ties this whole poisoned gift together is even harder to comprehend. When she is harmed, when tormented, only her, the feelings from my dreams never leave me. While I cannot recall exactly when nor how many waking scenes I've seen, I know they've occurred. The girl is honest, she speaks the truth, which I cannot deny. She has accused me several times of acting uncharacteristically. Therefore, her hold on me is truly horrifying.
I acted without consideration tonight, and carless errors resulted from my lack of premeditation. In order to prevent forgetting what I'd easily have recalled in vivid detail before, I will relay here, solely for my own benefit, the details of the explanation I gave to my master in response to his criticisms of my poor handling of the situation, the kidnapping and defiling of his honoured guest. We were to protect her, and it was I who failed. Following this rendition, I will burn every page.
Saeclum XIX
{Ninteenth Century: transcribed in the common tongue which I have been utilising of late, English.}
I made a scene in order to distract myself, drawing attention away from what really made her so unbearable to be around. I was aware I had just undergone another episode, her mannerisms were heightened, she was angrier and more startled than normal. Dressed befittingly, on my master's command, she looked enchanting, no human could argue otherwise. Still, the fact that I could be so subjective about an unimportant woman's appearance was odd.
I was seated beside her, after preparing everything from the tea my master was drinking to his schedule, all the while ensuring she remained conflicted about her place here, instructing the maid to service her, a taunt more than anything else. My plan was clever. I focused on leading her astray, fooling her with false ideations of affection without the need to lie, as I remain dedicated in my obstinacy. I have not lied outright yet, not to her or to my master. The contract between us stipulates that, but it was my own choice with her, and it has become one I hope I will not come to regret.
Since the day was to be a long, arduous one, I wanted to confront my concerns head on. The bath the maid provided was overdone, as was each and every aspect to my master's livelihood. Still, this was perhaps too ostentatious. She reeked of salt, and while she typically emitted a rather pleasant aroma, this day, it was revolting. If I was to engage my senses, let alone control the sensibilities needed to ensure my master's every command was met in full , I had to get her alone, and put her in her place myself.
Finally, after much tribulation, my orders and my aims were met as one. Easier to influence than he thought himself to be, my master demanded that I take care of her. Gladly accepting and fully intending to do so, I did not feel the need to bolt immediately in pursuit as she fled. Instead I stayed behind, conversing pleasantly with my master as I closed off the need to address other matters, laying to rest any unanswered questions. Sooner than I could finish my response to his final inquiry, shots rang out in the distance. Unable to detect them as I could, my master was unaware of the men on the outskirts of his home, closing in quickly. As they advanced, I was torn. Should I act now? Should I tell him about the assailants, the ones he'd seen so recently before, or should I wait, as to truly gain the upper hand?
It wasn't just the desire to attain dominance in a pragmatic sense that drove me. That would be easy, too simple. Infantile. What truly bedeviled me was who came to mind when I considered my response. My priorities had shifted. Which human did I want to abuse more? I had been carefully perfecting my master's soul for several years now, and it was hardly to the point I wanted it to be. Yet, the girl, the one I only just knew, she tempted me more, her agitation with me, her hatred of me, my master did not posses that. He relied on me, and I sensed affection even if he denied it. I sensed none of that in her. Her hatred was fun. If I could bring her to care for me, I would win, and that is why I failed in my execution.
My master screamed before I had gone after them, his servants held them off, but they came through. I let them pass so they could get as close as they could to her, but I never wanted them to actually get to the point they did. I believed I would intervene, stop them, protect her, kill the intruders on Phamtomhive lands, then be done with it, and get back to handling her state, making her more desirable in a physical sense, her scent needed to be rectified. They were skilled, and I chose to protect my master first, and they got away.
It marked the first time I acted too late. By the time I got to her, my master had ordered it. The fact that I had to act as instructed meant I was an exemplary butler, my aesthetics relating to my pact with him upheld, but the conflict within me led me to doubt my veracity as a demon.
He told me to go, fear in his voice, as I knew a part of him enjoyed her. She was a rarity, a positive influence in his life, one hidden from the darkness in his world, the legacy that drew me to him. I went as instructed, knowing at once where the men had gone, and exactly what they were planning to do. 'They weren't going to kill her', I thought. They had something else in mind. The thought of seeing her undergo her greatest fear enraptured me, to see her fall apart, was temptation in its purest form, I desired it more than anything else, but as I ran, the images in my mind became too intense to bear. I stopped, crippled momentarily, hearing the cries of brothers and their father, and a white light obstructed my vision, my ears rang, and I felt pain.
I was wrong. I got to her as they were violating her, as I expected, but hoped to prevent. Her fear was to reach its height, but not ever did I yearn for its cause to be reached. That was what I would exploit. Her gratitude at being saved would inevitably outweigh her fierce resitution to hate me. Eventually, she would believe her God had allowed me to intervene. I knew it. This- this misery, it was not what I wanted. She was overpowered. The bird they'd killed, they were using it as a toy, one only pleasurable for them, as they leered, panting like dogs, licentiousness filling their eyes, driving their arms as they brutalised her. Blood, shed from the body of an innocent, abstinent virgin poured down her legs, as nails from the creature gashed alongside the greedy hands of men. It's beak was inside her, followed by fingers, and tongues, then in preparation, the one straddled over her pulled down his clothing, removing a disgusting, human atrocity, urging his fellows to do the same, and I finally acted.
I was too late to help her. I killed them all- all but one. The bird's head fell, she was again alone, unfettered, nothing within her that wasn't hers when she came into the world, and she fell to the ground, sobbing, her eyes shut as the smell from before no longer disgusted me. She had become the very essence of ecstasy. Her blood, sweat and tears flowed together to form the honey of ambrosia. These men had known something about this girl long before I did. They possessed something that was not theirs. They deserved nothing, not her, only one thing was fit for them: death. Complete and utter ruin. I was to deliver that. One after one I overtook them, and one in particular made her laugh in his pathetic attempts of redemption, a sinner in a foxhole, repentantly calling for his maker. His death was the most fun.
Turning to see her smile, able to find any mirth, to laugh of all things, after what had just befallen her, I discovered a sort of purity I never knew, nor believed existed. She was still unscathed, her body broken, her soul remained unblemished, as the dress she was wearing slid sloppily back down, her hair once again wild as it smashed into the dirt.
I wanted to observe how she reacted when I landed my final blow, cleverly hinting at my material familiar, my affiliation with the nobler version of the bird with which they had defeated her, capitalizing upon the lust in the air, preparing to claim her as my own, that I would be the only one with any connection to such avians to touch her, to be near her even in a way resembling what they had done. In their actions they had stolen from me something which I only now recall desiring.
I veered around as I ended life after life, not caring what became of their souls, the dreaded reapers could have every last one. In my starvation, their actions only made me angrier. Finalizing my victory, planning one final attack, I shouted, aghast, no one had ever bested me, been faster than I was, but it wasn't because he was quick nor skilled. No human was compared to me.
It was because I was weakened by something else, as though an unseen hand yanked me back. The man cut her, and his hand was on her throat. She was dying, and I could only watch as she lost consciousness, her hair tangled, blood all around her collar. At least she was covered. Despair washed over me. What was I experiencing? Had she truly been able to exorcise me? I never possessed her. I didn't recall making any attempt to lay claim to her soul either. My master's soul was enough. I told her that! Despite what she believed I had no recollection of meeting her before she showed up on his doorstep. My memories betrayed me. I could not get away. I stood, as though commanded, until I was released. I wasn't able to think about who or what had stopped me any longer. The moment it let me go, I advanced.
The man fell to the ground in tatters. Nothing was left of him. He was ripped apart. His threats were hubristic, and I the only remaining witness to his demise, isolated in my pleasure, alone to admire the irony in his prior threats as he met the fate which had been the punchline for his jokes. He was no more, but what he did remained, as I held his victim in my arms.
I raced back to the manor. Time was of the essence. She wasn't dead. He hadn't succeeded in killing her, and his attempted rape had been interrupted, but not entirely prevented. The possibility of long lasting physical ailments, disease, pregnancy, did not exist. Perhaps both fortunately and unfortunately for her, all that would remain if she escaped death's hold were mental wounds. Understanding her as I did, that would be the worst pain she could bear, the worst scars she could endure.
The door burst open as I held back the urge to break the wall down, knowing I had to first appease my master, to explain what had happened. It took me longer than I wanted, and she lay beneath us, as I was forced to converse in the slow, human way I so frequently did with the boy. He asked if she had died, and though my concern for her life was true, she may not live, I knew she was not gone yet. She had to come back to us, to me.
As she remained beneath us, she appeared tranquil, and the subtle indications of her mortality, of a soul caught between life and death, meant she was not long for this earth. I sensed happiness, inexplicably, as though she had crossed over, gotten what she wanted. Paradise. She was at its gates, and I hated the thought of my loss, of her going to be with the God she adored, not to remain here, alive with me. An indistinguishable smile crossed her lips, as I heard an earsplititng cacophony, the roaring of a lion. My master clearly did not hear anything. It was not one of the visions I only partially understood and dreaded before. This compelled me. It was a command from a source I intended to honor, no less than I honored my master, but for an entirely different reason.
I answered my master's question. "No." I said. She was not dead. She was alive, but just barely. After the cry, her eyes opened, disappointment would not even begin to describe the look in them. Nevertheless, I smirked. She would know I helped her. I was her savior. She would come to believe that, and then how could she ever again call me a liar?
I greeted her, upon her return to the world. It was good to see her. I meant it.
- Sebastian Michaelis {As I am presently named in accordance with the terms and conditions of my contract (and its obligations) with Ciel Phantomhive}
I gathered the papers I'd written. It took me mere seconds, as my master spoke to her, he ordered me to help in any way I could. Writing this was a pleasantry my origin provided. She was human after all, and even her short time remaining was lengthy for me. Finishing my script, I could not bring myself to burn it. If anyone should find it, that would be a problem for another day.
In no time, I reached her as she finally had the strength, remarkably quickly for someone in her state, to speak. I recognised at once that she was better off than I'd thought. Healing her would not be as dire of a task as I predicted. Still, the man had all but sawed her in half. She reached out, preparing to scream understandably, before I realised something else had befallen me.
"You traitor!" She hit me furiously, tearing open her wound, carelessly weakening herself with every move as I carried her upstairs, my master returning to isolation in his office after reminding me of my need to rectify my initial mistake. I still had to account for my original unfinished order.
Again, it took great effort for me to not break the door to the lavatory clear off its hinges. I tried desperately to calm her down, compelling her to understand that I wasn't going to be like them. I wouldn't pick up where those monsters had left off. Hot, fresh blood stained the fabric as I began to remove her clothes, unable to discern whether it was a predominate amount of terror or of hatred that filled her eyes.