Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the shadowy halls of the Phantomhive mansion, amidst the secrets and solemn duties of its young Earl, a diligent and gentle presence arrives: Gwendoline Leigh, a simple maid. A modest woman who, like any other, holds passions, dreams, and convictions. A woman who loves.

—Edward, —she whispered gently, her voice steady yet tinged with melancholy, —love never ceases. I’ve always loved you, and I still do. But you must look beyond mere passions. I’m not the same woman I once was, nor are you the same man. You have a home now, a wife, children who need you whole.

She paused, allowing her words to settle softly into the silence.

—Cherish what we had. Love for what it is, because it is! Now return to yourself. Love what you have. Simply… love.

Yet everything began to shift when her subtle, gentle gaze fell upon the butler. Believing him to be a creature like herself, exemplary in his duties, deserving of serving nobility as she herself served the young Earl, she admired him deeply. She saw in him the ideal man, the perfect butler.

But soon, Gwendoline discovered that the man she had come to love was a creature of darkness: the proud and arrogant demon known as Sebastian Michaelis, hidden beneath the refined form and name of a servant.

Inspired by the principles of "reality creation" taught by her sister, Gwendoline embarks on an inward journey, forced to confront the very meaning of love itself.

Together with the enigmatic butler, she will witness love as far more than mere romance or lust.

Both will perceive the purest essence of the other, challenging their own definitions of good and evil, of light and darkness.

Of the Contract and fidelity.

And thus, they discover that in truth…

There is no such thing as "separation."

—Doesn’t that make us rather similar? —Winy asked softly.

Sebastian’s brow furrowed slightly, a candle sputtering in response.

—You love the form my master gave me. A human guise, a butler with the name of a dog.

—That’s not true

—Liar, —he retorted plainly. —It’s easy for your small, simple mind to love this face. Youthful. Attractive.

Like a parable, the bond between Gwendoline and Sebastian reveals that the only limitation in being the masters of our reality is ourselves, no matter who or what we may be. What we truly believe and desire is already given.

What happens when a demon who claims to defy his very nature finds, in a simple human woman, the reason for his own existence?

—Would you die for me? —the demon demanded, his tone unyielding. —Would you willingly lose your life simply to behold me?

She wiped away her tears, a broken yet resilient smile trembling on her lips.

—Listen to me, woman, —he growled softly. —I’m a creature beyond your comprehension. Superb. A devourer. I feed upon everything that exists. Can you even fathom that?

Yet she stood firm, a fiery certainty in her heart that only she understood, her absolute truth. She answered quietly but resolutely:

—I only say ‘Sebastian’ because I don’t know your true name. But if I did, I would speak it just as this…

He stared at her defiantly, repelled by all that she represented.

—Sebastian… I would live for you.

This personal, philosophical reinterpretation of Yana Toboso’s world delves into the monochromatic human universe, illuminating the quiet, shared existence of two beings, similar in their masks, yet fundamentally distant in their essence. Is that not so?

Drawing inspiration from classical literary references, esoteric philosophies, alchemy, and Hermeticism, Omnia Vincit Amor transcends conventional romance, exploring instead a universal truth: Love, like the Creator itself, is present in all things.

“What is good or evil but human judgment? Only infinite possibilities exist.”

And this story is merely one such possibility.

Chapter Text

While Laidenin was known for defying logic and transcending the boundaries of possibility with her alchemy, her younger sister, Eshani Sharma, shone with a subtler brilliance: one of order, harmony, and devoted service. Born the fifth daughter to one of the Maharaja of Bhārat-pur’s brothers, Eshani grew up amidst rituals, lush palace gardens, and fabrics threaded with gold. Unlike her older sister, she had no supernatural gifts, yet possessed something equally extraordinary: a genuine calling for caring, serving, and aiding others.

Throughout her childhood, she heard stories about Laidenin, who had long since escaped the palace to distant lands. Her sister’s absence was felt profoundly within the palace walls, a powerful silence echoing through its corridors. It was at the age of fifteen that Eshani realized she did not desire the destiny planned for her: an arranged marriage with her cousin, Prince Soma Asman Kadar, a young man she loved dearly as family but not as a future husband. When the engagement was announced, Eshani made a bold decision: she would follow in her sister's footsteps.

She would discover her true self beyond the incense-filled rooms and golden bracelets of her upbringing.

Thanks to a secret network left by Laidenin, set up "in case anyone else wished to choose another path," Eshani left the palace carrying only a single family jewel, two changes of clothes, and iron-clad determination. She journeyed through ports, cities, and villages until she finally reached England.

Upon arrival, her new life began, and with it, a new chapter, and an identity she chose herself: Gwendoline Leigh.

She presented as a maid.

Her story unfolded within noble households: she learned diligently from housekeepers, perfected her English with every "Yes, my lord" and each "Yes, my lady" and became highly skilled in sewing, cleaning, and tea etiquette. She left a lasting impression on every family that employed her.

She never sought luxury, additional pay for extra tasks, or social advancement. To her, an ordinary life held a simple, profound beauty. One worth cherishing.

When the Bridgerton family departed London for a season in the south, leaving Gwendoline unemployed, fate knocked on her door once again: the Midford family informed her that the Phantomhive household was in need of a new maid.

With her neatly pressed uniform, letters of recommendation, and a leather suitcase, it was she who knocked on that door.

Chapter Text

The walk to the Phantomhive manor wasn’t particularly long.

The leather suitcase hung from her right hand, outwardly light but filled with memories: a fresh change of her maid’s uniform, her bead necklace or japamala, an embroidered handkerchief threaded with gold, a gift from little Honora Bridgerton, and a note sealed with red wax, in which Lady Victoria Bridgerton expressed her deepest affection.

—Never has there been a nobler presence among us, Gwendoline,—the letter read. —You are the sweetness every household needs. It breaks my heart to let you go, but you shall always remain a part of our lives. Especially for my children, you’ve been like their second mother...

Winy cried softly as she reread those words.

Saying goodbye had been difficult. Not only to Lady Bridgerton and the household staff but also to the children, her children. Honora, who clung to her neck each night, begging her to stay. George, who loved hearing her read stories of faraway lands. Even the old gardener, Thomas, had quietly placed a sprig of lavender in her suitcase without her noticing.

But she had to go. If life was once again pulling her from a loving home, it was because her job there was complete. Now she had to move on to the next place, serving with sublime diligence. After all, it was the simple yet profound calling of service that fueled her life: cleaning, laundry, and general housekeeping

She left her tears at the station, carrying only gratitude and anticipation in her heart now.

—Thank you, Bridgertons. Thank you for caring for me and allowing me to become part of your family. I hope to see you again, —she whispered to the wind.

She walked determinedly along the cobblestone path toward the hill where the Phantomhive manor rose, half-hidden by mist and sunlight. Her navy-blue coat brushed her legs in rhythm with her thoughts, and her gloves, a new silk pair, seemed to hold more than just her suitcase; they carried her emotions.

Winy always grew attached.

It was her greatest virtue, and her Achilles’ heel.

To love.

With all her heart.

Every household she had served became family. Every child, her own. Every mistress, an elder sister. She never sought praise as the perfect maid; efficiency and the joy of easing other’s burdens were reward enough. To serve those she loved, that was sufficient.

Her heart was always open, eager to embrace those who crossed the thresholds of her life. But inevitably, upon departure, certain doors closed behind her, standing as eternal guardians of her memories.

The Austens.

The Barons.

The Bennets.

The Bridgertons.

Yet inevitably, life shifted, northern winds turned southward, and with sorrowful hearts, those families moved forward, and so did she.

Winy was a simple woman who delighted in every discovery, laughed freely, and lost herself watching leaves dance in the breeze or steam swirl from a cup of tea.

—Phantomhive… — she murmured, as the tall black gates began to appear through the hedges.

Her wish to explore and understand the world was coming true again with a new home, a new city. How many new experiences awaited her new recipes, different customs, unique lives.

This time was no exception.

She knew the Earl by reputation. The sweet Miss Elizabeth Midford, engaged to Earl Ciel Phantomhive, had often spoken about him during teas at the Bridgerton house. Gwendoline had the honor of serving Lady Elizabeth, ironing her handkerchiefs, adjusting the hem of a dress stained with raspberry jam.

Elizabeth affectionately called her “Winnie Beth,” for she reminded her of her nanny.

But Gwendoline wasn’t naive. Life had taught her to be sharp, and if she wanted to remain true to her convictions, she had to be wise. Unyielding.

—From what Miss Elizabeth has said, Earl Phantomhive is quite extraordinary and remarkable, —she thought, as her shoes touched the first step of the grand staircase. —I wonder what it will be like serving such a young master, already lord of his house and quite peculiar.

Her heart skipped, a mixture of excitement, anticipation, and curiosity. What worlds would she discover through the young lord. If she were hired, of course.

Gwendoline had served noble families before, but this was different: direct service to the Queen. And more importantly, a household shrouded in mystery and secrets.

—But everyone has secrets, it is to be expected. —she reminded herself as the morning breeze gently stirred her curls.

She had done her homework, researching everything she could about the Phantomhive family: the Aristocrats of Evil, the Queen’s Guard Dog, the Funtom Company. But she refrained from judgment, having learned that lesson long ago. She chose empathy, searching for reasons and motives, never labeling anyone as purely good or evil. Instead, she saw herself reflected in others.

A possibility of herself.

Therefore, humility was essential.

—Besides, there’s always politics, —she told herself. —Especially among the nobility. They're busy lords, after all. Occupied with wealth and social appearances. Ah~ everyone needs a helping hand...

She preferred to see the brighter side, seeking the best in everyone, their virtues, convictions, dreams, and hopes.

—Brahma, let me be useful to them, —she whispered to the divine above her, with the humble faith that had guided her since childhood. —Grant me favor in the young Earl’s eyes, and if it’s meant to be, allow me to stay.

She adjusted her coat, straightened her elegant velvet-green dress slightly, discreetly smoothed her hair, and raised her gaze to the grand dark oak door.

And then, she knocked.

Chapter Text

The door opened, heavy.

It was the second butler, the honorable Mr. Tanaka, who greeted her with a solemn bow, wasting no words. His wise and peaceful gaze scanned her from head to toe, assuming she must be some noblewoman in distress.

Winy inclined her head slightly, respectful, her smile carrying a genuine sweetness that only highlighted her noble composure. That air of elegance was but a trace of her time in Indian royalty, her smile concealing years of memories in palace gardens, fleeing arranged marriages and sorrowful concubines. She presented herself now as a symbol of humility and devotion to service.

—My name is Gwendoline Leigh, —she pronounced with the poise of her upbringing, though no one would ever guess her true origins—. I was sent by recommendation of Lady Bridgerton through Lady Frances Midford. I have come to offer my service to the Phantomhive household.

Tanaka nodded and, extending an arm with grace, gestured for her to enter. Winy stepped forward, luggage in hand, and immediately sensed the change in atmosphere. The mansion wasn’t just majestic, it was... silent. Used to the liveliness of the Bridgertons, with children's games, music in the halls, and the laughter of the staff, this place felt rather grim.

Somber.

To her, the estate was tastefully decorated, somewhat Gothic even, but she adored the carved woodwork and polished chandeliers. Still, the quiet didn’t bother her.

—Please wait here. —said Tanaka with an almost ancestral courtesy.

Winy stood on the grand rug of the entrance hall. Her eyes wandered across the stained glass, the curtains, the large thresholds leading to salons and gardens beyond the windows. Her heart beat with the thrill of discovering a new world, and to her surprise, everything gleamed. Pristine. Immaculate.

—Perhaps they’ll need help in the kitchen or somewhere else, but everything looks so well cared for.

Minutes later, a young voice was heard from afar. Formal, noticeably young, yet aristocratic.

The Earl Phantomhive.

Beside him, a notable figure. He walked nearly in step with the boy, just a pace behind, radiating the pride and meticulous order of the manor.

When they appeared, Gwendoline took a deep breath and straightened her back, holding her posture tall and firm. Ciel Phantomhive was young, but his gaze was not. In that expression, she saw years, either a long life or a life lived too harshly.

Remembering that every servant must reflect their master, she didn’t forget all the noble houses she had served. She bowed, more like a countess than a maid.

—My Lord. It is an honor to meet you. —she said as she rose, placing her luggage at her side. —I was sent by the Bridgertons on behalf of the Midfords. I was informed that you are hiring staff —she spoke with precision, without faltering—. I have my letters of recommendation, and if you will allow it, my full disposition to serve in this house.

Ciel observed her with his typical calculating gaze. Her precise accent, her impeccable posture, her clarity without hesitation. There was something in her that spoke of refined education, even if she came seeking service.

—I was informed by Lady Frances you would be coming, though I didn’t expect you so soon. Tell me, Miss...?

—Gwendoline Leigh, Your Grace. —she added.

—Miss Leigh, where have you served before? —he asked.

—I served for four years with the Bridgerton family, my Lord. Before them, with the Bennets. And since I was seventeen, with the Austens and the Southern Barons, in the countryside estates. —she answered with genuine pride—. I’ve worked in the kitchen, sewing, general cleaning. I’ve also assisted in raising young masters and ladies. I can read in French, German, and a little Latin. My skills adapt to any requirement, even particular situations.

That caught his attention.

—Such as?

She nodded.

—Matters like repairing clocks, fixing issues in carriages, any unexpected situation that seems beyond my area of expertise, I’ve learned to manage.

Ciel seemed convinced. A maid with skills like that spoke of adaptability and initiative. Moreover, her linguistic profile seemed useful, unusual, even. Still, what he needed right now was simply a competent maid. He would see later if she had potential to do more.

—Why do you want to work in this house? What drew your interest to us? —Ciel asked, his tone sharp and authoritative.

Winy smiled gently.

—Lady Frances Midford was a close friend of my former mistress, Lady Victoria. —she answered with a bow. —She recommended me to work with you because Lady Victoria was pleased with my service. Moreover, Lady Frances said I had the right profile to serve Your Grace. —then she added with confidence—. In her words, a bit more help was needed since you’re often very busy with your duties.

Few had the courage to say so much with so few words, with certainty so bold it bordered on impertinence. But the way she softened her words, with elegant gestures and precise language was remarkable.

Ciel was intrigued.

He knew what his cordial mother-in-law meant. There were often unexpected incidents at the mansion. Though they were quickly resolved, the truth was Lady Frances feared for her beloved daughter’s safety, his betrothed. So, as a precaution, she considered it wise that Miss Leigh get accustomed to life with the Earl, ensuring that Lady Elizabeth would have the best service, worthy of her.

—Do you have any family? —asked the Earl.

—An older sister. —she replied with a discreet smile, thinking of Laidenin and her well-known reputation among nobles—. As for the rest of my family, I haven’t seen them in a long time.

She didn’t lie, but neither did she tell the whole truth. Gwendoline had learned from her sister not to lie, but that half-truths could be the ideal way to avoid sharing facts that weren’t kind or favorable.

Sebastian, who had remained silent until then, observed her with a courteous expression, but he had already read her from head to toe. He searched her face for something, any crack, any doubt, something that might suggest a threat or hidden motive. He found none. Only serenity, and a resolve he found fitting.

—Very well, —said the young Earl—. You’ll undergo a probationary period for the first few weeks. Should your performance meet expectations, we’ll then discuss formalizing your position.

—I thank you, Your Grace. —she replied, bowing once again.

—Sebastian, please attend to Miss Leigh.

Sebastian stepped forward, and something in his voice, now speaking for the first time, made the air vibrate in a peculiar way.

—Please, follow me. I shall show you your quarters and provide your uniform. Your first shift begins this afternoon.

She followed him with the grace of someone who has chosen to make service an art. Though she did notice something odd in the butler’s presence, she attributed it to his flawless professionalism as the Earl’s right hand.

—I am the young master’s butler, Sebastian Michaelis.

She nodded, offering a small bow as a sign of respect.

—A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Michaelis. —she bowed gently—. It will be a pleasure to work with you.

Winy had only one thought: to prove herself worthy of the young Earl. That she was ready to write a new story under the roof of one of the most prominent nobles in London, and all of England.

—I see you came prepared for the position. —added the butler—. What would you have done if the master had turned you away?

She replied warmly.

—I would have left.

—I imagine this isn’t your only option.

—That’s true. But I hold great affection for Lady Victoria. I couldn’t disappoint her, especially since it was Lady Frances who made the request. She is a dear friend of my former mistress.

—I see. —he said kindly—. I hope you don’t disappoint us. Lady Frances, the master’s mother-in-law, is very strict. She doesn’t extend recommendations lightly.

Winy smiled.

—One week is all I need to prove my abilities, Mr. Michaelis.

—I appreciate your formality, but you may address me simply by my name.

She shook her head.

—If you’ll allow me, I prefer not to lose the courtesy of addressing my superiors properly. Personally, a person’s name is sacred, using it lightly would feel like a disrespect, an intrusion upon their honorable identity.

The butler hesitated for a brief moment, clearly taken by her conviction.

—If that is how you wish to do, I will respect your choice.

She was proper, perhaps too much so. But Sebastian didn’t mind. Better to have someone who knew how to recognize her superiors.

Even if he was simply the Earl’s butler.

Chapter Text

Gwendoline Leigh's arrival was like a feather duster clearing from a high shelf: a quiet, gentle presence that seemed to fit as if she had always been there.

In her first days, she stayed on the sidelines, never seeking attention. Despite her lively and proactive nature, she greeted others with a sincere smile, spoke only as needed, and listened attentively. She completed her tasks with a care that stemmed from personal conviction.

The usual routine in the mansion, marked by small explosions, ovens blazing, broken dishes, and gunpowder near the fireplace, grew curiously silent. No one spoke of it. But everyone felt it.

Sebastian noticed immediately.

When he wasn’t attending the Earl, he roamed the servant’s tasks, as usual. Expecting, of course, that they would botch their duties and he’d have to fix everything.

As always.

But for the first time in a long while, or perhaps since he began his work as butler, he didn’t have to repair, correct, or prevent any major mishap. No more burnt breakfasts or dishes about to crash to the floor. Each morning, upon entering the kitchen, he found everything in order: bread freshly baked, milk boiled, butter newly churned.

The new maid began her day before dawn. By five thirty, she was already in the gardens near the servant’s quarters, doing morning prayers and stretching. After a cold bath that made her shiver, she dressed swiftly and headed to the kitchen.

With her little notebook always in hand, she carefully noted the day’s tasks, inventory of ingredients, lost objects, slow clocks, and small repairs she silently observed. Every line written was a task to be completed, in addition to those assigned by the butler.

One morning, Sebastian went as usual to wake the staff. But upon reaching Finny’s room, he found him already dressed, clumsily combing his fringe and smiling brightly.

—Good morning, Sebastian! We're about to serve breakfast.

—"We"? —he asked, raising an eyebrow.

—Yes. Winy came to wake me. Bard and Mr. Snake too —he laughed—. She was up before everyone.

Sebastian said nothing. He merely nodded and continued on his way.

That morning, walking past the kitchen, he saw Gwendoline placing dishes with precision. The kitchen was spotless, crockery lined up, food ready to serve, and the floor gleaming.

By lunchtime, she had already organized the staff area and completed all tasks assigned by the butler.

—Miss Leigh, you’ll be in charge of the kitchen today —said the butler—. Keep up the excellent work.

—Yes, Sir.

—Everyone else, please don’t make her job harder than it needs to be —he added, shooting a look at the staff, who responded with awkward little smiles, clearly used to messing things up.

Winy, as she was commonly called by those she allowed the privilege, had taken it upon herself to prepare dinner for the staff, freeing Sebastian to focus exclusively on the Earl’s meal. This earned her extra credit, as the Earl was very particular about desserts, which took considerable time to prepare, and with everything else he had to do, that extra time felt like a breath of relief.

Even Snake’s serpents, usually wary and guarded, seemed to trust her.

—Very good, Mr. Snake.

—You can just call him Snake. “Mister” is too formal, said Emily.

Winy nodded, writing in her notebook.

—I see your companions are quite self-sufficient, though I noticed a few have slightly lifted scales. Is it shedding season?

That caught Snake off guard.

—Now that you mention it, with the cold weather, my skin has felt a bit irritated, says Oscar.

—I understand —she said, closing the notebook, noticing that Snake didn’t speak much for himself—. If you allow me, I can suggest a few dietary adjustments so they don’t have trouble with their skin.

Gwendoline had improved the snake’s diet using advice from a book she recalled from a former employer, who was fond of reptiles, and whom she often helped care for them.

—I also suggest placing them in this wooden box —she pointed to a box filled with fresh hay—. Inside, I’ve placed glass containers with warm water wrapped in cloth. This will help them maintain a better temperature.

Snake knelt and placed his hand in the box. It was cozy, and the snakes quickly slithered up his arm.

—I like her. Hope she stays with us, said Emily.

She smiled.

—She’s very kind. You should stay, Miss Leigh, said Wilde.

—Please, just call me Winy.

A week had passed, but it felt like an entire month. In the office, the young Earl reviewed Sebastian’s weekly report, concise and structured as always.

One section stood out.

"Regarding the maid on trial, Miss Leigh. She has proven competent in all service areas. Her presence has significantly lightened the operational load. She requires no constant correction. She has established a functional dynamic with the crew, and her foresight has prevented multiple accidents. I recommend formalizing her employment as soon as possible."

Ciel raised an eyebrow.

—So, she’s turned out to be quite useful. —he said, holding his teacup—. I noticed the kitchen’s usual uproar has stopped. I like that everything stays quiet.

—Miss Leigh is very efficient. She’s taken a great load off my shoulders. —he sighed in relief—. Shall I draft the employment contract?

—Yes, have her come in. Take care of the payment proposal. —then he rested his chin on a closed fist—. I hate to admit it, but Lady Frances’s recommendation was spot on.

—It’s to be expected from a lady like her to have an excellent instinct for picking the right people. —he then smirked—. Though she was probably already concerned about the many accidents our staff have caused.

Ciel simply pressed his fingers to his forehead.

—It’s your fault for hiring such people. —he said, smiling—. You’re the one who brought all that work upon yourself.

Sebastian just smiled, hiding the faint twitch in his brow.

Hiding his irritation at the remark.

In the kitchen, while the others discussed what to prepare for dinner, Winy pulled out her notebook, glanced at the clock, and smiled as she thought to herself.

—All right, everything’s on schedule. Hard to believe the week flew by so quickly.

Chapter Text

Every morning began the same: her sacred ritual.

Before the mansion awoke, before sunlight touched the kitchen tiles or the pendulum clock chimed its first note, Gwendoline Leigh bowed toward the East. With her forehead pressed to the ground and her lips moving in steady murmurs, she prayed to the gods of her childhood: Shiva, destroyer of ego; Parvati, the gentle mother; Durga, fierce protector; and Kali, lady of ferocity and balance. These prayers were her daily tether to her roots, a private moment of devotion to herself.

She never spoke the prayers aloud. Feeling them in her heart was enough, like incense perfuming the air.

Then she made her way to the edge of the inner gardens. Sitting with her back straight, she breathed silently and began her meditative stretching routine. It wasn’t just for health—it was for memory. She’d done it since she was a child, alongside her sister, Princess Sarasvati Sharma, better known as...

—Laidenin Herson. Ma’Sari. —Winy whispered, asking for her sister’s good fortune.

In the cool dawn, beneath the stone arches of the palace courtyard, each pose was a tribute to the discipline and freedom they once shared. She wore her simplest green sari, lightly adorned, just enough to allow her freedom of movement.

She absolutely hated cold baths.

The icy water bit at her ankles, stung her back, and made her teeth chatter as she wrapped herself back in a towel. But worse than that was the feeling of sweat in her hair roots.

Shivering, she’d return to her room, everything prepared from the night before: uniform pressed, cap clean, notebook ready, shoes lined up beneath the bed. She dressed with meticulous precision. Her long, thick curls were tamed into a high bun, secured with pins, though by day’s end, a few rebellious strands always escaped. Her fringe framed her face with two long locks that curled more as the hours passed. She adjusted her black dress and apron firmly, accentuating her curvy figure. She smoothed her white sleeves and polished her black shoes for the umpteenth time with obsessive care.

The final ritual was her favorite,a touch of vanity: a faint pink shadow on her eyelids, a hint of blush on her cheeks, and light lipstick that made her naturally red lips appear even more vivid.

—I look beautiful. —she’d think, satisfied to maintain the standards she’d set for herself. The reflection of her master, neat made flesh.

Her hands, though calloused from labor, were always well cared for. Every Saturday before dawn, while the house still slept, she treated herself to a long hot bath. She massaged cow tallow into her skin and wrapped her hair in aromatic oils, a nod to the days when maids tended to her, back when she was nobility. There were no maids to care for her now. She was the one who served. These small indulgences were her way of honouring both her past and her present.

Her day began with breakfast, following a routine with almost mathematical precision. She woke each staff member with a soft knock, never an extra word. If anyone overslept, she knocked again, always gently. Finny, Bard, and Snake had learned to respect that kind of wake-up call. Snake, especially, greeted her shyly, impressed by how his reptiles accepted her without fear. She fed them with the exact protein blend at just the right temperature. Lancelot, the albino snake, would even nap on her lap when allowed.

But she never dared knock on the butler’s door. She didn’t need to ask, she just knew. Someone like him had to run on perfectly timed precision.

The kitchen turned into a small sanctuary of laughter during staff meal prep. It was her favorite part of the day, when stories flowed freely. Finny shared awkward jokes, Bard exaggerated war tales, and Snake murmured his serpent’s commentary under his breath. She listened, laughed, and when the moment felt right, she’d share her own stories: ones that had everyone laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

No one ever suspected that the woman who peeled carrots so gracefully could also be so eloquent.

For the rest of the day, Winy was like a swift breeze, polishing windows until they gleamed like mirrors, dusting every book in the library, and checking curtain seams with a seamstress’s care. She swept the stairs like one cleans a temple: each task precise and devoted.

And at night, she wrote.

Every word in her journal was penned in neat black ink, a personal treasure she guarded closely. It held everything from daily anecdotes to reflections. Once a notebook was filled, she wrapped it in silk and sent it to her beloved sister, the sole keeper of her memories. Though she longed to write more often, she knew distance was necessary, for both their protection. Especially since her sister lived near the Queen, and any perceived closeness might be misinterpreted by the Earl or stir trouble. When the time was right, she’d send all the letters together, a complete story of her new life. Proof that she was still alive, steady, and deeply convinced that leaving the palace of Bhārat-pur was the best decision of her life.

Then, with a fresh page, she would write about the butler.

She never took her eyes off him, out of deep respect. He was the invisible center of the house, and she treated him with the same reverence she gave the Earl himself. She never spoke to him unless addressed, and when she did, her words were measured, her tone neutral, her intentions always practical.

She saw how busy he was. Overloaded with duties and short on time. Yet somehow, he finished every day with everything exactly as planned.

She admired that.

She followed his instructions diligently and sometimes, before he even gave them, she’d already completed the task.

Lighten his load.

She knew hard work. That’s why she volunteered for extra tasks, to ease his day a little.

But watching him, anticipating his next move, she noticed odd things: he barely ate, didn’t seem to need sleep, and somehow always managed to be exactly where he needed to be, no matter the hour.

It became clear, through her trained instincts, that his life revolved entirely around the Earl Phantomhive and his every command.

—I must lighten his burden so he can focus on the young master —she often thought, speeding through her own work.

So she tried to match his efficiency, reading the room before asking, leaving everything in place so he wouldn’t have to hunt down the tea service. One invisible gesture after another: hot water, dishes ready, napkins folded.

And above all...

—Why does it smell like gunpowder? —she wondered, storing the dishes.

—All right —said Bard, leaning over the hearth, ready to light the logs—, just a bit of fire and...

—Wait a second —Winy said, stepping toward the pile—. Look —she pointed, picking up a spilled bag of powder.

—Oh, so that’s where it went.

Winy let out a relieved sigh.

—You’ve got to be more careful, Bard. Do you really forget where you leave these things that often?

Bard just scratched his head.

—Honestly, it’s usually Sebastian who stops us from blowing things up. —he looked at her, approving—. But lately you’ve taken over that job. That’s a good thing.

She shook her head and sighed again.

—Poor man,—she said as she carefully picked up the last grain of powder—. Were incidents like this really so common?

—Once or twice a week, maybe. Good thing we’ve got Sebastian to prevent them —he paused, remembering the last time— or fix it all afterwards.

Winy looked at Bard with worry.

—Don’t you think that poor butler's already at his limit?

—Not at all —he replied casually—. If you saw what he could do... He’s even come back from the dead! Ha!

—How funny —she smiled, thinking it a compliment.

—No...really. He did. —he lit a cigarette.

In Winy’s journals, as she filled page after page and her bedside candle slowly burned away, the butler’s name began to appear more and more.

"The butler made tea for the young master so fragrant it seemed to scent the whole mansion."

"His walk, it’s as if he floats."

"Today he tightened the pantry hinge before I could, and still thanked me when I showed up with a few tools."

"He’s got an internal clock as precise as mine, maybe even better. I wonder how he manages to show up in two places at once. He’s incredibly fast."

"He never speaks of himself except to boast of his skills, and when he does, he always says something strange. Hcalls himself: ‘a devilishly good butler.’ I wonder if he has a hidden obsession with the supernatural."

To her, it felt normal to take notes like that.

But deep down.

In the quiet ink and silent sighs.

Those notes hinted at something more.

Chapter Text

The mansion was quiet. One of those heavy silences that comes before the storm.

Miss Gwendoline Leigh walked quickly down the east wing corridor, notebook in hand. The small clock in her apron pocket read 7:04 p.m. Time for hallway inspection and lock checks.

As she walked, she heard the sharp creak of wood behind her. She turned slightly, subtly, not wanting to look nervous. Nothing. Silence.

She kept walking.

Then, as she rounded the corner, she saw him.

Him.

Standing in the doorway of the music room, as if the marble itself welcomed his stillness. The shadows cast by the chandeliers sharpened the angles of his face. His black suit seemed to absorb all light, save for the subtle glint in his eyes. Crimson, honey.

Just barely visible, those vivid shades in his gaze.

The Earl’s butler.

Sebastian Michaelis watched her without moving. He smiled with curiosity. As if he'd been following her steps.

Winy stopped. She bowed her head with grace. Her gaze didn’t waver. She knew how to greet nobility, neither submissive nor arrogant, and prepared to resume her task.

—Miss Leigh, —he said, in that calm, measured voice of his—. The chandelier in this room has been modified. It was you, wasn’t it?

She paused, looked him in the eye, and nodded gently.

—I noticed one of the bronze hooks was loose, and the crystal hung crooked. I adjusted it, cleaned the crystals, and reattached the chain.

He tilted his head in that harmless, almost flirtatious way of his.

—Interesting, —he said—. that chain has been loose for three months, and no one’s dared to touch it. Most assume it was from one of the many accidents that used to happen here. But you had no trouble with it.

Winy answered calmly:

—It’s hard to believe the other staff were as clumsy as everyone says. I’ve noticed a few things that could cause problems, but it’s all about putting out the spark before it catches fire. Besides —looking at the chandelier—, ornaments should always shine. Their only purpose is to be beautiful, and they should do their job.

Sebastian stared at her. The polite smile had vanished. In its place, a more controlled expression: arrogance, as if the demon behind the white gloves had lifted an eyelid to get a better look at her.

—What an obsessive woman, —thought the butler. —But if her obsession is to keep everything perfect, then she’s a flawless machine. A slave to order. —He glanced down slightly. —Lucky me, thanks to her, I can focus better on my duties to the young master.

And she… noticed.

For a second, Winy felt the same thrill she had as a child petting her favorite tiger. That warm ripple under her skin. That delicious tension between awe and danger.

But she didn’t back away.

—Is there anything else I should do? —asked Winy.

Sebastian stepped away from the doorway and moved toward her with his usual grace. Once in front of her, he said:

—Not at the moment. You've done more than expected. Finish your rounds and get some rest.

Winy nodded. But before leaving, she said:

—May I ask you something?

He straightened his posture.

—Go on.

—You don’t sleep much, do you?

—I don’t.

She thought for a moment.

—Have you tried any medicine?

He smiled.

—I appreciate your concern, but I don’t really need much sleep.

—Oh. I see. I thought it might be insomnia or exhaustion. —she smiled, beign polite. —. Your tireless work is admirable, your spirit strong, but don’t forget the body needs rest to stay sharp.

Sebastian gave a faint smile that revealed a hint of fang. The thought of needing rest made him chuckle secretly.

—I can see you’re good at making teas and remedies for all sorts of ailments. But I’m afraid your talents wouldn’t work on me.

Then, placing a hand on Winy’s shoulder, he wished her good night and slipped into the shadows, carrying a candle whose flame barely flickered.

Now alone beneath the chandelier, she exhaled. She turned briefly and looked at the hallway where he had vanished.

—What an obsessive man, —she thought. —I admire hard work, but we all pay the price if we don’t take a break once in a while.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he reminded her of the tiger from her childhood, and how oddly she felt both admiration and fear.

Maybe that’s why she couldn’t stop watching him.

Chapter Text

The study clock struck 6:40. The sky was turning grey as the wind stirred the branches outside. In his office, Earl Phantomhive reviewed royal documents, Funtom reports, and a list of pending tasks.

Sebastian stood to his left, still and flawless as ever.

—The meeting with the toy manufacturers is scheduled for Tuesday. I filtered the models based on export standards.

Without lifting his gaze, Ciel asked:

—The packaging blueprints?

—They should arrive this week.

—Any word from Lady Sullivan?

—According to her last letter, she is doing very well and eager to see you again.

A brief silence fell over the room.

—How is the new maid doing? —Ciel asked with studied nonchalance.

Sebastian smiled, aware that his master’s question was anything but casual.

—Exceptional.

—Hmmm. —Ciel raised an eyebrow—. You’re pleased to have someone taking over your work, aren’t you? And that satisfaction, what does it mean, coming from you?

Sebastian straightened.

—It means I no longer have to keep disasters at bay —he explained with a hint of relief—. The kitchen stays in one piece, the hallways are spotless, and even Mr. Snake’s reptiles are in better spirits.

—That’s good to hear. —Ciel smiled—. So, not everything needs your touch to function?

—I prefer to see it as an opportunity to stay by your side more often. —Sebastian corrected, in that tone of his that edged on irony.

Ciel smirked, reminded that his butler, though loyal, was motivated purely by self-interest. For the sake of their contract.

—What else do you see in her? —Ciel leaned back in his chair—. Potential for another skill, perhaps?

Sebastian seemed to consider his answer.

—She’s methodical. Disciplined. Moves through the mansion as if she’s known it forever. And most importantly: she’s highly observant.

—A rare virtue, —Ciel remarked—. She’ll notice eventually.

A subtle nod to the true nature of Phantomhive affairs, the hidden strengths of the household staff, and the Earl himself.

—She will. In time. But I believe she has earned our trust.

Both were speaking of the true nature of each servant, excluding the butler, of course.

But soon enough, the Earl’s duties would call on him again, and with them, the full support of the household staff.

—Then what do you suggest?

Sebastian gave a subtle smile.

—For now, let her remain where she is. —his voice was velvet-soft—. Sometimes, all one needs is a competent maid. And in Miss Leigh, that’s her greatest skill.

Ciel studied him for a moment before returning to his documents.

—Very well. After all, you are the one best suited to spot promising souls.

Sebastian bowed in a perfect arc. As he straightened, his eyes flashed with a reddish gleam, as though the candlelight had briefly revealed something deeper.

—As you said.

And for a fleeting moment, the demon smiled.

Chapter Text

It was a full moon.

Winy had always felt drawn to the stars, to the thickness of the night sky, but that particular full moon made her blood feel warmer. As if something inside her stirred, beneath her skin, beneath her thoughts, beneath her composure. A new and intoxicating sensation that left her bewildered.

It wasn’t illness.

It wasn’t fatigue.

It was him.

The thought of him.

His figure.

His perfection.

The butler.

Sebastian Michaelis. The way he moved so silently. How he always seemed to know the next step before anyone else. His precise phrases, his modulated voice, his unshakable efficiency. His gestures, gracious and eloquent.

—And that insufferable stare of his, —Winy thought, recalling those honeyed eyes—. Far too seductive. He really should tone it down.

The way he looked at her. The way he glanced over the pantry notes or read letters.

To Winy, those small gestures were enough to make her lose composure. She had never experienced this kind of attraction before. Her ideas of romance were shaped by what she’d observed in debutante circles: formal courtship, discreet glances, perfumed letters. Everything beyond that belonged to the sacred bond of marriage and intimate matters too improper to mention aloud.

But she was a woman, and sometimes, with or without the moon, the heart sighs for that kind of company. The thought she cherished most, though too indecent for her to admit, was the sensation of those white-gloved hands brushing against her own hands. That made her blush without fail.

Just the brush of those gloves.

Her mistakes began as tiny cracks in the porcelain of her efficiency. A fork instead of a knife. A dish washed twice. A cup out of place. Nothing alarming, but for someone like Gwendoline Leigh, they were sins.

Her notebook was no longer perfectly ordered. Her bow, slightly loose. She caught herself replaying conversations with Sebastian as she mopped the floors. She remembered the way he addressed her:

Miss Leigh.

As if savouring each syllable with that unwavering English accent.

In truth, the only thing that had changed was how she perceived the everyday. She began to magnify every gesture from the butler. Each morning task, each new instruction, especially when he complimented her work.

She felt as if he were speaking solely to her.

Then came the afternoon.

She was in the pantry, reviewing inventory, when she felt him arrive.

She didn’t hear him.

She felt him.

—Miss Leigh —came his voice, so close it felt like he had spoken at her nape.

She spun around with a start, nearly dropping her pencil.

—M-Mr. Michaelis! —she stammered, then cleared her throat.

He looked at her calmly, though his eyes.

Those eyes...

—Are you well? I’ve noticed a few slip-ups lately. That’s not like you.

She straightened and met his gaze.

—I think it’s something in the air. Maybe a strange vibe, or a sudden change in the weather. Nothing to worry about.

Sebastian took a step closer. She backed up until her spine touched a wooden pillar.

And then he leaned in.

Not enough to invade, but just enough that she could feel his breath.

With two gloved fingers, he lifted her chin. The difference in their height forced her to look up at him. Directly. Accentuating her vulnerability.

His eyes gleamed. Not from the chandelier’s glow. From something else.

Winy’s heart beat so hard she feared the jars on the pantry shelves trembled with her. Her cheeks burned like coals.

She said nothing.

And he... smiled.

Subtle irony. Elegant.

Overwhelmingly seductive.

—Don’t pick up Mey-Rin’s habits —he murmured, releasing her from his spell—. If she gets distracted and makes countless mistakes, I don’t want to imagine you doing the same.

She straightened herself. Her hands were sweating.

—Not at all, sir —she replied, nervously smoothing her apron—. I apologize. I’ll make sure to stay on pace.

—I should hope so.

And before leaving, he added:

—Don’t forget that the body gets tired, even if the spirit doesn’t want to. —quoting Gwendoline’s own words—. Make sure you take proper breaks.

She remained there a while longer, lost in a warm delirium rising from her belly. It was as if the sleeping serpent at the base of her spine had awakened, bringing with it the stirring of her desires. Crawling up to her chest.

Minutes later, Bard, Finny, and Mey-Rin entered, carrying sacks and baskets.

—Winy? —asked Finny.

—What’s wrong?! —Mey-Rin dropped her herbs—. Are you feeling ill?

—N-no... just... the a-air... —she mumbled, still trembling.

Just then, one of Snake’s serpents slid up to her and curled around her wrist.

Snake appeared in the doorway. His low voice repeated what the animal had whispered:

—You shouldn’t feel ashamed. Use it to get better, not to mess up. Lancelot said that.

Winy looked at him. He said no more.

She held the reptile in both hands and gently kissed its tiny head.

—Thank you —she whispered.

That night, she wrote.

A lot.

Tears fell onto the pages.

She felt so fragile under those warm sensations in her belly. Her breasts blushed, her cheeks turned soft and flushed. But she dabbed a damp cloth on her neck and pulled herself together. That wasn’t like her.

Those thoughts...

And how her flesh reacts to ideas.

—Enough, enough. —she said, as she tap her forhead, calming her own ravishing visions.

So if she wanted to extinguish that spark, she had to stop reliving it.

And the next morning, she rose with more resolve than ever.

Not out of shame.

Not out of duty.

Out of love.

That reptile, with such simple words, had nailed something she needed to remember.

Gwendoline adored her life, she was happy being an excellent maid. The life of service ignited her, gave her purpose. Seeing the others smile, knowing their spirits were at ease because someone was taking care of everything. There was no greater joy.

So making mistakes, getting distracted, or getting lost in her feelings felt like a cardinal sin. However, the wounds from her past had wrapped her tender heart in layers of duty, punctuality, and discipline. And those layers were beginning to weigh on her.

If she didn’t learn to channel those repressed emotions, one day they might cause a serious mistake. And most likely, she wouldn’t forgive herself.

That albino serpent’s advice had been perfect.

She had to keep loving her work, her colleagues, her young master. And she’d prove it, transforming those bodily surges into motivation to keep scrubbing floors and chopping potatoes.

Alchemy of the body.

Alchemy of the soul.

A silent kind of love.

Diligent. Hidden in linen napkins and to-do lists. A love that didn’t interfere, that didn’t demand, that only wanted to see the other pleased.

A love she could match with her sacred duties and the tenderness of her heart. A love that sought only to see the other fulfilled, complete.

Winy didn’t need to express it with poetry or grand gestures, unlike her dear sister, who wasn’t afraid to show affection. For Gwendoline, it was enough to pour her love into a well-brewed cup of tea, the scent of fresh flowers on the hallways, properly sorted mail.

And if that eased the butler’s burden even a little, then she’d gladly return to her habits and hurry to stay, at the very least, half a step ahead of Mr. Michaelis.

—I must keep working as I’ve always done. Just as flawlessly as he...

She’d never tell him. Never.

It would only be a burden to the butler, and inappropriate besides.

But it would be a silent declaration.

Every polished mirror, a knowing glance.

Every gleaming dish, her smile for him.

Every shining stair, a dance for him.

Every flower on the table, a bouquet in his honor.

Everything she did had always been done with love. Now, she’d do it with a touch of romance. And without realizing it, that tiny spark would become noticeable.

If a spark isn’t put out in time, it will catch flame, won’t it?

I saw a black heron

Battling with a river

That's how it falls in love

Your heart with mine

I saw a black heron

Battling with a river

That's how it falls in love

That's how it falls in love

Your heart with mine

Your heart with mine

Chapter Text

As was usually the case with strategic and elaborate plans, the idea came from Ciel.

—A private reception, —he said in that calculating tone of his—. A small event in honor of Elizabeth. Something discreet... yet flawless.

Sebastian nodded, though internally, the word "discreet" became a maze of details: endless guest lists, chandeliers, bows, ribbons, flowers, liquors, lighting. And the most challenging of all: employees coordination.

His duty was not to question.

It was to execute.

And this time, he would have invaluable help.

—Miss Leigh, —he called that afternoon, stopping in the main hallway.

She turned, notebook in hand, straightening as if an invisible string had pulled her upright.

—Oh, Mr. Michaelis, —she smiled—. Yes?

—We’re organizing an event for Miss Midford, —the butler said, with an air of weary formality—. The young master demands perfection, as usual. Starting tomorrow, you’ll oversee the preparations with me. You’ll be my second-in-command.

Winy’s heart burst with joy, though she masked it with a composed expression of enthusiasm.

—Oh, that’s right! —she murmured, both surprised and honored—. Lady Elizabeth’s birthday is next week. Count on me, Mr. Michaelis. It will be a splendid event.

—I’ll be satisfied if everything goes according to plan.

That phrase marked a shift in the tone of their usual formal conversations. For Winy, it felt as though he wasn’t just placing his trust in her—he was granting her the privilege of seeing his true thoughts. That celebration meant a huge load of extra tasks for the butler.

And she couldn’t hide her concern for him.

—Don’t worry, you’ll see—it’ll be a successful celebration. Unforgettable, and for all the right reasons.

Sebastian looked at her with that enigmatic glint that sometimes escaped his professional mask. He felt a bit sorry for such a simple soul but admired her convictions—simple as well, but worthy.

—I don’t worry, Miss Leigh. —he said, smiling in a noticeably warm manner.

And thus, the mission began.

In the days that followed, the mansion turned into a symphony led by two perfectionists: the impeccable butler and his devoted assistant, bound by duty to fulfill the young master's orders.

With meticulous dedication, Winy oversaw every delivery of fabric and decorations, chose flowers to suit Lady Midford’s tastes, checked the shine of each chandelier, adjusted picture frames, and monitored the room temperatures. She led rehearsals with the kitchen staff, sampled each selected wine, and arranged the banquet layout with such precision that even Sebastian couldn’t hide his admiration.

—The desserts should go on the table near the garden, —she suggested one morning—. Lady Midford always steps outside for air between dessert and the dance.

Sebastian looked at her, clearly pleased.

—Excellent observation.

And Winy glowed under the praise.

Each night, she climbed to her room exhausted yet radiant, like someone who had lived a perfect day.

With reverence, she removed her uniform, tending to it like a sacred relic. After her nightly ritual, she looked at herself in the mirror with a smile. She still trembled recalling Sebastian’s approving responses to her precise reports.

—The tablecloths are spotless, sir.

—The wines have arrived and are verified.

—The orchestra has confirmed rehearsal.

—Snake’s reptiles will be secured during the event.

He always answered briefly, but each "excellent" and "perfect" felt like an invisible caress to her devoted soul.

That night, her words flowed into her journal:

"I've never felt more useful.

All thanks to his trust.

There is no greater joy than being valuable to the one I love.

And if I cannot have his gaze, his soul, or his affection, his voice and his praise will be my greatest satisfaction.

My fulfilment: his beautiful smile of approval.”

She blew out the candle with serene exhaustion.

Never had rest felt so sweet.

Chapter Text

The chandeliers flickered like suspended stars. The curtains had been freshly pressed, the tableware gleamed, and a sweet jasmine scent floated through the hallways. The reception in honour of Lady Elizabeth Midford had just begun.

Sebastian oversaw the entrance, standing beside the Earl as usual. Ciel Phantomhive, impeccable in his midnight blue tailcoat, greeted each guest with solemn courtesy. Winy, meanwhile, moved like the gears of a clock. She orchestrated the waiter’s steps, the guest list, and the wine on the trays, all in silent precision.

No missteps. Only flawless luxury.

And then, the foyer lit up with a golden presence.

The young woman ran straight into Ciel’s arms, leaving a trail of perfume and enthusiasm behind her. The Earl, who might have shown reluctance in any other setting, didn’t take his eyes off her and allowed himself a subtle gesture of tenderness as he touched her gloved hand.

Winy, in the background, smiled to herself. There was something charming about seeing them together. And though she couldn’t pause to admire the scene, a warm feeling spurred her to keep working with even more vigour.

Minutes later, while coordinating the servers carrying trays of mint lemonade and French champagne, a sharp voice stopped her.

—Gwendoline!

Winy turned.

—Lady Elizabeth.

They looked at each other with laughing surprise, as if no time had passed since their days at the Bridgerton estate. Elizabeth crossed the ballroom and they embraced like old friends, though social hierarchy tried to wedge itself between them.

—I can’t believe it! I thought you were still with the Bridgertons.

—Lady Victoria had to leave with her family, and thanks to your honourable mother, I was sent to the Phantomhive manor. Who would’ve thought I’d end up serving in your honour, dear Lady. —Winy replied with a smile so bright that even the chandeliers seemed to shine a little more.

—Oh, my Winnie Beth, —Lizzy said, turning to take Paula’s arm—. Look, Paula! It’s Winy!

—Miss Leigh, what a delightful surprise, —Paula said, greeting her with a charming hug.

Winy laughed, hiding her emotion behind her hands.

—Such fond memories this brings, —said Gwendoline—. To think I used to care for little Honora and George. My, Lady Elizabeth, you remind me of those two little ones. And the brilliance of those memories only grows with your presence. That dress suits you perfectly.

—Do you like it? —Lizzy exclaimed, twirling.

—You look like *la fille du soleil*, —Winy added—. How lucky the young master is. You should go to him and light up the evening. Tonight would be a good night to steal him a kiss, don’t you think?

Lizzy covered her mouth, blushing.

—Winy!

—Just teasing, —Winy whispered, giving her a playful wink—. The young master is quite serious and reserved. But still, you should get a smile out of him now and then.

Lizzy’s eyes widened, and after a nervous laugh, she glanced sideways at the Earl.

—I’ll think about it… —she said breathlessly, red as an apple—. Though the embarrassment might kill me.

—Trust me, my Lady, —Winy murmured with a deep sigh, her eyes scanning the crowd for the butler’s silhouette—. If you can do it, don’t let the chance slip by.

Just then, Mey-Rin emerged from the crowd, slightly out of breath.

—Miss Leigh, could you come for a moment?

Winy turned with professional poise, bowing gently to Lizzy.

—Enjoy your evening, my lady.

And with one last smile, she walked away with determined steps.

As she disappeared down the corridor, Lady Elizabeth kept her eyes fixed on her fiancé. Winy’s comment lingered in her chest like a bubble, light, bright, and dangerously tempting.

And so, the night had only just begun.

Chapter Text

Winy held the tablecloth between her fingers as one of the musicians explained what had happened.

The ballet company would not be arriving. Instead, a group of traditional dancers and musicians from northern India had been sent by mistake. Worse still, one of the dancers had been injured in the carriage.

Winy wanted to die.

Sebastian couldn’t know.

Not because he wouldn’t notice, but because he mustn’t. Everything was going so well, and this could ruin it all.

What would the butler say about such a mistake?

What would he think of her?

How on earth could she fix it?

Winy swallowed hard and smiled as if everything were under control, even though inside she was a storm. Mey-Rin noticed her anxiety, but Winy gently took her arm and whispered:

—Change of plans.

The guests were already beginning to head to the grand hall. In one hour, dessert would be served, and then the so-called final performance.

Winy ran. Not with her feet, but in her mind.

She rearranged the musicians. Gave instructions to the servants. Had them bring cushions from the reading room and scatter rose petals along the edge of the stage. She covered the ballet scenery with fabrics and used the decorations the musicians had brought.

Her plan was simple: if fate had sent her wild birds from the Ganges instead of swans from the lake, she would make sure to outshine the swans.

In the kitchen, Sebastian entered just as she was checking the final course of the service. Her breathing was steady, but a drop of sweat ran down her brow. Her distress was sharp, but she couldn’t afford to lose her composure.

—Everything in order? —he asked in a soft yet probing voice.

Winy looked up.

—Everything is… going according to plan, sir.

Sebastian stepped closer, pulled out a white linen handkerchief, and with a surprisingly gentle gesture, wiped the sweat from the busy maid’s brow.

—You’re doing an exceptional job. Just as we planned. The master is pleased with everything. Only tonight’s performance remains, and after the dance, it will all be over.

That broke her.

Not because of the sweetness. But because of the guilt. He was praising her, using his handkerchief to wipe her brow, and she couldn’t enjoy it. Disaster was looming.

—Thank you. —she smlied, but her usual tender lips were nervous. —Excuse me, I must go check on the desserts.

And she walked away without looking back.

He watched her go. Silently. Sensing something odd.

Winy made a decision.

The crimson-red saree hung on the screen beside the instruments, and when she touched it, a shiver ran through her. The memories. The weight of the bangles, the bells on her ankles, the golden ornaments. Each detail swept her into the depths of who she once was.

And there was no other way but to take care of the situation herself. Both metaphorically and literally.

For a few seconds, she ceased to be Gwendoline Leigh. And once again became Rājkumārī Eshani Prakasha Sharma.

She adjusted the fabric with the precision of one born to be dressed for thrones. Fastened the clasps. Placed the jewel on her forehead. And sang a soft verse, just to remember.

—All right, I hope you’re familiar with this classic from our lands, —said the young maid, dressed in the saree and looking like a royal maiden—. I’ll lead the singing and dancing, —she said to the musicians—, the rest will do the chorus, and we’ll use the traditional Ghoomar dance.

The musicians nodded. The other dancers, though confused, sensed her resolve and followed her without question.

The lights of the grand hall dimmed.

Sebastian glanced at his watch. Ciel looked up, expecting the start of the ballet.

The curtain rose.

Nothing on that stage resembled “Swan Lake.”

The dancers were kneeling on red cushions. They wore dazzling saris, golden bangles, and floating veils. The musicians played exotic string instruments, and a sitar hummed like a midnight river.

Sebastian blinked. Ciel slowly turned his head toward him.

—What the hell is this?

Sebastian didn’t reply.

Because just then, the music began.

Instead of swans, a stage covered in red petals and oil lamps. The dancers, seated on the wooden platform, raised their arms slowly like lotus flowers blooming at dawn. The flute played a long, sustained note. The bangles chim. After the musical intro and a graceful series of movements, the unexpected happened.

Gwendoline began to sang.

—Nazar jo teri laagi main deewani ho gayi…

When your eyes met mine, I lost my mind.

Her voice, pure and ethereal, floated among the chandeliers. It wasn’t just a song. It was an invocation. Her tone was sweet but deep, it reverberated through the entire hall. The words weren’t understood by the audience, but her gestures spoke louder than any language.

She sang with her soul, and her body danced with passionate precision.

—Deewani haan deewani, deewani ho gayi

Crazy, yes, crazy. I lost my mind.

Her movements were sharp, seductive. Her hands painted romance, her eyes told tales of longing, her veil danced with her like a living flame. There was no clumsiness, no hesitation. Only the perfect harmony of a woman who knew she was in love, and allowed herself, for the first time, to show it.

With passionate candor, she mesmerized everyone present.

She had to draw upon the fire of her passion, the duty born of love that guided her, and the yearning for his approving gaze and words of praise.

A wild bird from the Ganges, outshining the grace of the swan.

—Zakham aisa tune lagaya…Deewani, deewani, deewani, deewani ho gayi

You wounded me like that…Crazy, yes, crazy. I lost my mind.

Sebastian did not look away.

—Marham aisa tune lagaya…Ruhaani, ruhaani, ruhaani, ruhaani ho gayi

You healed me like that…Spiritual, spiritual. I became spiritual.

Not even as Ciel leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper:

—This wasn’t in the plan.

The butler barely responded.

—No. But it’s surpassed all expectations. —He nodded toward Lady Elizabeth, whose face showed utter surprise and awe.

The barefoot dancing, the jingle of bangles, the red, the gold, the shimmer of the costumes, combined with the dancer’s expressions, wrapped the audience in a hypnotic trance.

All except the butler.

Who smiled, pleased by the extraordinary way Miss Leigh had stepped into the spotlight without hesitation.

—Bas jhoom jhoom jhoom jhoom jaata hai dil…Paakeza hasti hain teri, tu noorani hai

My heart sways and sways… Your existence is pure, and you shine with light.

And then, at the climax, Winy spun.

Once, twice, three… forty times.

Her bare feet tapped the wood with perfect rhythm. Her skirt twirled in crimson spirals. The chorus picked up the melody as she spun, as though the world spun with her. Not even the 32 fouettés of Swan Lake’s solo matched the astonishment of her turns in that heavy dress.

—Ek tu hi khayaalon mein utra hai

Only you drift into my thoughts.

As the melody ended, Winy knelt before Lady Elizabeth, bowing gracefully, and offered the white flower from her hair.

—For you, my lady, —she said with a trembling smile.

Lizzy, speechless, took the flower, and just then, Winy’s eyes met his.

Sebastian.

His face serene, unmoved. But his eyes, there was a light she hadn’t seen before. As if he saw her with a mix of disdain and sorrow, a wounding gaze. Delightful gazae. And yet, she dared to smile faintly, confused.

Applause burst like fireworks.

Winy stepped back, bowed with the group, and slipped behind the curtain. She walked to a corner, sat on the floor, and held her heart in both hands. She didn’t know if it beat from the dance, from the confession she had just sang, or from the butler’s strange look.

The musicians congratulated her, but she barely heard them. Her soul floated somewhere between duty fulfilled and a secret unveiled.

Behind that dance, melody and emotion had fused. Hoping the passion of her performance would take the guests by surprise, she forgot that she too would be swept up in her own enchantment, voicing in her mother tongue the longing in her heart for that enigmatic butler.

It was then that Sebastian appeared backstage.

—Lady Elizabeth has requested your presence, —he said in his usual tone.

Winy swallowed hard, still barefoot, still dressed, still trembling inside. She stood quickly.

—I’ll go at once, —she whispered.

Sebastian said nothing more. He simply thanked the musicians with a polite nod. But as he passed her, he laid a hand on her shoulder, gently stopping her.

—I was going to ask for an explanation, but I think it’s clear what happened, —the butler said—. Still, I appreciate that you managed to salvage the situation with such an unexpected performance. As you can see, Lady Elizabeth is thrilled, and therefore, the master is pleased.

She nodded without meeting his gaze. Her face burned like a stick of incense.

—So this is what you meant by handling particular unexpected situations. —he said, referring to how she had described herself when she first entered the manor. —That was neatly done, Miss Leigh.

She let a hiden sighed.

She pleased him.

In the main hall, Lady Elizabeth clung to her brother’s arm, the young Edward Midford.

—You have to dance with her! She was incredible! Please, brother, please…

Winy arrived with her head bowed, still nervous about the butler’s words. Seeing her, Edward exhaled through his nose, slightly awkward, yet courteous.

—Would you grant me the honour of a dance, Miss…?

—Gwendoline Leigh, my lord, —she said, with a perfect curtsy.

—Oh, from the Leighs of Tottenham?

Though she looked like a princess from an Eastern fairytale, her bearing was that of an exemplary maid.

—No, Your Grace. Forgive the confusion, I am merely one of the maids in the service of Master Phantomhive.

—Well, you still carry yourself like a noblewoman.

And yet, when the music began and all eyes turned to her…

Winy danced as though she were one of them, a maiden from distant lands.

As Edward led her in the rhythm of the music, Lizzy beamed with joy, thrilled to see her dear friend shining so splendidly in that golden crimson dress.

Chapter Text

The music had faded.

The clock struck the first chime of the new day as the last carriages departed. Outside, the cold air of the gardens brushed against the grass flattened by wheels. Lady Elizabeth slept, her head resting on her maid’s shoulder, lulled by the Midford carriage’s gentle sway, taking with her the laughter, the cheer, and the celebration.

The musicians packed up their instruments, whispering their admiration for the unexpected evening. The troupe of dancers bowed in farewell, grateful for the hot tea Winy had arranged for them.

Back in her black uniform, hair neatly pinned in her usual bun, she handed back the costume and accessories of the injured dancer. She did so in silence, the knot in her chest still present from that last look she had exchanged with Sebastian.

—Thank you for letting me borrow it, —she said softly.

—It was an honour to see it on you, my Lady, —the dancer replied before climbing into the carriage.

The next few hours were mechanical.

Tables were cleared, the stage dismantled, dishes returned to the kitchen. Bard and Finny, after ensuring everything was in order in the gardens and storerooms, retired to bed with clumsy yawns.

—And you, Winy? —Mey-Rin asked, rubbing her eyes.

—Go to sleep, dear. Just the sweeping left. I’ll do it quickly.

Mey-Rin hesitated but knew that maternal, insistent tone too well to argue.

And so silence and peace returned to the mansion.

Inside Phantomhive Manor, the echo of applause still lingered in the walls, though truly, it was only the sound of Winy’s broom across the grand hall floor.

—It’s finally over. A week of work for a single day, —she thought quietly—. Everything went well.

She stood alone in the grand hall. Just her broom, the last glimmers of glitter on the floor, and a pale moon shining through the windows.

In her mind, the scenes replayed, despite her love for the stillness of early morning. The melody of the song she had danced to, the Ghoomar trumpets, the songs from her childhood. The voices of the palace women, the beat of the drums, the jingle of her anklets.

Her aching body swayed to the music that was no longer there, but which glowed in her memory like the moon.

She hummed. The low heels of her polished shoes barely tapped the floor. She held the broom like a sacred torch. Allowed herself a few steps, light, almost imaginary. A sway of her hips, a bow of her shoulders.

Winy danced with the broom.

—Agg lavan majboori nu… —she whispered, recalling another song. —Aan jaan di pasoori nu.

I set fire to helplessness… To the edge of life.

She spun once.

Closed her eyes.

Eshani was hard to ignore when the music crept up her ankles.

—Aa chalein le ke tujhe… —she sang softly. —Hai jahaan silsilay… Tu hai wahi, hai teri kami… Bana de, saaja de, panah de hume.

Let's go, I'll take you with me.

The world has its patterns.

You are there, yet I feel your absence.

Create, adorn, shelter us.

But this time, she wasn’t in a palace. She was in Phantomhive Manor. Her new home.

Then a soft melody pulled her from her trance.

Applause.

The broom trembled in her hands.

—Dances simply won’t leave you, —said a voice from the hallway.

The Butler.

Leaning against the doorframe, still in his immaculate tailcoat, arms crossed, gaze relaxed.

Winy, breathless, lowered her eyes, fingers tightening around the broom handle.

—My apologies, sir. I didn’t mean to…

—No need to apologise. —Sebastian stepped forward. Then another step—. I was making sure the halls were in order. But once again, you beat me to it.

Winy swallowed hard. Her cheeks burned, hands sweating, though the room was cold.

—It’s nothing. I couldn’t sleep without tidying up a bit.

He stepped closer, his footsteps echoing off the walls.

—It was quite the surprise seeing you so elegantly dressed, and even more so, witnessing your artistic talents. —he smiled—. What other secrets are you hiding, Miss Leigh?

She chuckled nervously, stepping back.

—I just got carried away. The rhythm’s still in my body. A silly thing, really.

He watched her a moment longer in silence.

Then he bent down, picked up a forgotten petal, one that had fallen during the dance, and gently took her right hand, placing the petal in her palm.

—Sometimes, —he said—, it’s the silly things that reveal the truth of the soul.

Winy didn’t know what to say.

Sebastian gave her a slightly bolder look. Almost imperceptible.

—Rest, Miss Leigh. Tomorrow’s another workday. And we wouldn’t want someone so diligent to lose her rhythm, would we?

She nodded quickly, lips pressed tight.

He turned to go, then added:

—Ah… And thank you for saving the evening. It was flawless.

Winy remained standing, heart pounding, one phrase spinning in her mind.

“It’s the silly things that reveal the truth of the soul.”

She gazed at the petal in her palm—and though her cheeks were already warm, she pressed it gently to her chest, suddenly aware that the butler—her dear Mr. Michaelis—had taken her hand.

Then, in a quiet burst of courage,

She kissed the petal and, still holding it, lifted her hand in the direction of the hallway he had disappeared into, now cloaked in shadow.

—I'm so glad... I made you proud, Mr. Michaelis.

Chapter Text

The days passed in a blur.

The parlour was polished. The flowers removed. The bedsheets changed.

Everything returned to its routine.

Everything, except her.

Gwendoline Leigh no longer slept the same.

Since that night, the dreams had begun.

They weren’t nightmares, but they were far from innocent.

Some stirred her awake with a restless tremble between her legs.

Others made her open her eyes with a soft laugh, as if a joke had been whispered to her.

And more than once, she woke with a sigh on her lips, so delicate it hardly seemed her own.

What was certain was that everything changed during the day as well. She moved more slowly. Yawned often. Sometimes stood by the window, seeing nothing at all. Her usually bright gaze had become heavier, as if trapped in another realm.

Earl Phantomhive, ever observant, noticed the change.

—Miss Leigh, —he said one morning as she delivered her report—. Lady Elizabeth’s birthday was a success. Not only in the eyes of the nobility, but mine as well. And I owe that in great part to you.

Winy bowed.

—Thank you, my lord.

—However... —he added, his tone lowering slightly—. Your expression tells me the celebration took its toll. You seem exhausted.

She hesitated.

—It’s been a couple of restless nights, my lord. Nothing I can’t manage.

Ciel studied her for a few seconds.

—Perhaps. But even the most reliable pieces require maintenance. Take whatever time you need, Miss Leigh. A well-deserved rest. —And with a gesture of his hand, he ended the conversation.

Winy nodded with gratitude. But she didn’t leave.

Because duty, like her, never sleeps.

She returned to the hallways. To sweeping.

That’s when he appeared.

Sebastian approached from the opposite wing, immaculate, gloved, with a flawless stride.

He saw her leaning over the broom.

Yawning, like a flower refusing to wilt.

Without a word, he gently took the broom from her hands.

She blinked, confused.

—Sir… I

—That’s an order, —he interrupted, his voice neutral, composure intact—. Go to sleep, Miss Leigh. You look utterly exhausted.

Winy wanted to protest, but the yawn betrayed her again.

So she only nodded.

And walked down the corridor…

…until she collapsed into bed.

And dreamed.

But not like before. She rarely remembered her dreams, and now that she caught glimpses of them, they unsettled her, especially the fatigue and disoriented state she woke up in each morning. It even began to affect her morning meditations.

—It was a shadow. A voice. —she mused while brushing her hair to start the day—. A touch that... —a chill ran down her spine—. Oh, Durga, chase these dark spirits away. Parvati, let only peaceful dreams visit me in rest.

She dreamed she was dancing alone. Until a figure took her by the waist.

Tall. Dark. Warm and strangely gentle. She couldn’t recall his features, but the sensation of being held, like velvet, remained. A night shadow, yet beautiful enough to reveal the stars on a clear sky.

—Why do you dream of me? —the figure asked in her mind. He seemed to smile.

Her body, weightless and vaporous, floated beneath endless curtains and a floor like crystal.

—I can’t help it, —Winy whispered, without voice, without mouth, without body—. I like dancing with you.

She jolted awake, eyes fluttering open as dawn broke.

Her hands were clasped on her chest.

And her legs…

Trembling again.

Dripping.

Chapter Text

That night, she awoke once again, after the dream...

She sat up slowly, still disoriented.

Her nightgown clung to her skin, damp with sweat.

Her thighs throbbed with cramps, and when she checked between her legs, there was an unusual dampness.

—This is too much... I'm not like this, I'm not like this, —she repeated in her mind, shaking her head—. This isn't me, how is it possible that...?

Then fragments of the dream returned, wrapped in the warmth of that shadow. Surrounded by twilight, she had delighted in those dreamlike caresses.

—No, I reject this. I'm not like that. I'm not a vulgar woman. My chastity is mine, no one else’s.

She opened her journal and, with handwriting more trembling than usual, began to write her distress, but halfway through, she paused.

—I know —she thought again—. This isn’t how I wanted to tell my sister, but I’ll have to. She’ll know how to help me.

The next day, Sebastian continued his tasks as usual. The rest of the staff carried on in their respective areas.

—Miss Leigh, —said Sebastian.

Winy was beside Mr. Tanaka, pouring tea for the elder butler.

—Good morning, Mr. Michaelis. Would you care for some tea?

But he politely declined.

—The young master requires these letters to be sent. Please deliver them to the postman as soon as he arrives at noon.

—Of course, no problem.

And when she brushed his hand taking the silver tray, a chill rushed up to her chest. She nearly dropped it but quickly composed herself.

—You seem a bit run down, —the butler remarked.

She simply sighed.

—Just a rough patch of sleep, nothing to worry about.

—I see. Try not to stress yourself too much. Everything is well at the manor; the tasks are up to date. —He stepped closer, removed one of his gloves, and placed a hand on her forehead—. No fever or signs of illness, but still, I recommend you not to overexert yourself.

That touch made her sigh softly. It caught her off guard, something in those occasional gestures of his left her heart racing, and lately, made her tremble with a strange warmth rising from deep within.

—Yes, I’ll try.

But she couldn’t shake the fact. He had removed his glove solely to touch her.

By afternoon, she reported to the butler that the letters had been delivered, though she didn’t mention that she had sent one herself.

That night, Winy dreamed again.

This time, there was no music. No dancing. No polished floors.

Only a long hallway, carpeted in red. And at the end, him.

His back turned. Waiting.

She walked toward him. Her bare footsteps made no sound.

When she was close enough, he turned his face.

—Why do you dream of me? —the voice repeated, without looking at her.

This time, she gave no answer. She simply embraced him.

Her movements were slow, yet she longed for that warmth, that night sky and the feeling of being held by a velvet cloak.

But then she was enveloped by that darkness.

The warmth burned.

The velvet turned sharp.

She felt hunger, a deep, ravenous hunger.

She felt fear, but her arms refused to let go of that shadow.

And once again, she awoke.

The candle in her room was still lit. She sat on her bed, praying, immersed in her supplications for protection, rosary beads entwined in her fingers.

Until a pair of knocks sounded at her door, snapping her back to the waking world.

—Miss Leigh?

It was the butler.

She quickly wiped her tears with the sleeve of her nightgown and stood.

—Yes, Mr. Michaelis?

—May I come in?

—Please do.

Upon entering, the butler carried a tray with a teapot, a cup, and a bit of warm milk.

—Forgive the interruption. I hope I’m not intruding. I brought you some lavender milk tea. I figured you might be awake.

—Thank you, —she said, taking the tray but not yet serving herself.

—Allow me to serve it. —he paused, watching the steam curl upward like sacred smoke. —Still battling bad spirits?

She sat on the bed, accepting the cup of lavender milk tea from the still-uniformed butler.

Winy smiled at the first sip. Milk with a floral lavender note and a pinch of honey.

—It’s been a long time since I struggled with nightmares. I don’t usually remember my dreams, but lately, they’ve been relentless.

The butler remained standing, watching her.

—I’m sorry to hear that. That’s why I brought the tea, hoping it would offer you some relief.

She tucked stray curls behind her ears. Usually, she tied her hair with satin ribbons and covered it with a matching bonnet to prevent friction damage. But after such exhausting nights, she had let her untamed curls go free.

—Thank you very much, Mr. Michaelis. You have no idea how helpful this is.

She lifted her tired gaze and smiled at him.

The sight of him lifted her weary spirit, the familiar, endearing face, so gentle yet occasionally bold. So considerate, and caring. To her, he was simply a divine comfort.

—I hadn’t noticed how thick your hair is, —the butler said. —Your natural curls are hardly visible when you wear your bun.

—Hmm. —taking a long sip—. My hair’s difficult to manage. I love my curls, but I usually leave only my fringe and a couple of strands out. Still, by the end of the day, a few curls always escape my will.

He nodded.

He seemed to study her with intense scrutiny. As if undressing her with his eyes.

—If you don’t mind, —he said, sitting beside her—, would you share a bit about your visions? Putting dreams into words can help uncover their meanings.

Her heart skipped at his nearness. The fresh scent of tea lingering on his chest, the way he looked at her, the soft gesture, the kindness and mesured in his manner.

—That’s what my sister says, —she replied, yawning—. She’s the expert on that. She dreams every day and remembers each one as if it were an entire lifetime. —she smiled—. I didn’t mention it, but I wrote her a letter about all this. I’m sure she’ll know what to do.

Sebastian listened, calm and attentive.

—You don’t talk much about your family. I recall you mentioned your sister on your first day here.

—She’s quite the character. If she’s not in England, she’s in China, or some corner of Europe, or off to the New World for months. —she sighed—. She’s often gone, but that’s fine. It’s what she always wanted. And if not for that adventurous spirit, I wouldn’t be who I am today.

—You mean you share that spirit too?

She nodded.

—I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I love exploring the world in a different way. I’m passionate about serving.

—That devotion to order and cleanliness is rare. It’s a true calling.

A cup of sweet tea and a kind word from the butler could cure just about anything for her.

—That motivates me even more to keep improving. There’s nothing better than a home in perfect condition, both house and family.

He offered a faint smile.

But deep down...

—What a simple woman, —he thought to himself—. Your way of thinking is admirable. No wonder the young master approved of her staying with us.

—Thanks, I'll try to do my best.

The tea began to take effect. Her eyes started to close.

—You should get some rest, Mr. Michaelis.

—Remember, I don’t need much sleep.

She nodded.

—Why don’t you tell me a bit about your dreams?

—Oh no, —that startled her awake a little—. I feel like speaking them aloud would make them more real. —shaking her head—. I wish I could fall into a deep sleep, but I wake up knowing that shadow was prowling inside me again.

Sebastian’s gaze sharpened.

—What do you mean by inside you? Do you dream of shadows?

—Not shadows: a shadow. —she extended her arms, the prayer beads still tied around her wrist—. I feel this presence deep within my soul. It’s a beautiful shadow, like the night sk, perfect for stargazing. At first, it feels good, warm, its touch like velvet.

He crossed one leg over the other and turned toward her, listening more intently.

—Up to that point, it’s peaceful. The surroundings feel like a fabric shop, hazy, with crystal floors. We dance. It feels like a calm evening. The music is distant, like an echo...

—Doesn’t sound like such a terrible shadow, —he said with a graceful smile.

—The problem is... at some point, the shadow turns on me. I start feeling a terrible emptiness in my stomach, like I’m starving. I feel like I’m being chased, or that I’m running away. I get so scared, and my sight goes dark. I can’t see, but I can feel. And then...

Then she remembered the worst part.

She blushed and looked away, gently setting the empty cup on the tray.

—What happens after?

—I’d rather not say.

Then he removed his left glove, slid his hand along her shoulder, brushing her curls aside, and rested his hand on her untouched neck.

She froze.

—No fever, that would be troublesome.

And when he pulled his hand away, she furrowed her brows.

—Sr, may I ask you something?

—Go ahead.

Without looking at him, she asked:

—May I see your hand?

He extended his palm, naked. And nervously, hesitantly, she held his long, warm hand. Sliding her fingers along it, she tried to read what those strange hands might say.

—I’m not very good at it. My sister tried to teach me... but I don’t recall her ever mentioning a Z. Yours is quite prominent.

He withdrew his hand.

—What did you see?

—Hmm, not much. Honestly, I was just curious. I don’t really know how to read palms.

He stood and picked up the tray.

—Maybe you can ask your sister for tips in your next letter.

—Yes, —rising to her feet—. I will. Thank you again for the tea, Mr. Michaelis. I truly appreciate it.

—My pleasure. I hope you sleep better tonight.

When she was alone again, she sighed deeply, placing her hand over her neck, right where he had touched her.

—His touch... —she thought.

It felt familiar...like the velvet in her dreams.

—No, —she smiled—. I must be imagining things. If I dreamed of Mr. Michaelis, why would I see him as a shadow? He is the very embodiment of brightness; perfection isn’t cloaked in darkness, it shines with light!

She pulled back the covers, and as she did, something flew out.

—His glove!

She picked it up and quickly dusted it off, but instead of returning it.

—His...glove...

Temptation took over her.

That thin, insignificat piece of white fabric was just that, a common an ussually forgotten glove.

But in her eyes...Oh her beaming eyes.

—I have desired... —she thought, feeling ashamed yet dearing. —his hands on mine. His careful touch upon my palm...

she slid her fingers over the fine fabric.

—Holding my...

She stretched the glove over her hand, measuring the length of his fingers against her own.

—My hand...

Her breath caught.

She looked, touched, and admired the soft fibres of the glove, intertwining her fingers with its cotton ones.

Her hands moved with a deep, aching spirit.

And when she slipped her hand inside, and it hung loosely, she clenched from within, releasing a stifled sigh.

—Oh my~

She covered her mouth, but caught herself touchingher lips with that glove.

She inhaled the glove’s scent, lavender and warm milk.

—Mine...oh mine...his hand is all mine to cherish. —she opned her eyes and it semeed clear, like a sudden realization.

She knew these weren’t nightmares.

They were the shadow of her own desire.

She was dancing with the pleasure of thinking about the butler.

Or at least, that’s what she concluded that night—before blowing out the candle and falling asleep.

With the glove still in her hands.

Bendito es el amor, bendito sea

Bendito es el amor, bendito sea

Oh, imagen adorada del ensueño

Deja que con mi canto tu alma sepa

Cómo yo te adoro con empeño

Ay, bendito es el amor, bendito sea

[Tus ojitos (Vals de la Guardia Vieja)-Natalia Lafourcade, Los Macorinos] Translate to English.

Your little eyes, which I gaze upon with longing

Your little eyes, which I gaze upon with longing

I cherish them, adore them with devotion

They bear the pallor of my suffering

And the sweet gaze of a dream

Ah, the sweet gaze of a dream

That’s why they always enchant me

They captivate the depths of my soul

They make me cry in sorrow when they weep

And fill me with love when they look at me

Ah, they fill me with love when they look at me

Blessed is love, blessed be

Blessed is love, blessed be

Oh, beloved image of a dream

Let my song reveal to your soul

How deeply I adore you with devotion

Ah, blessed is love, blessed be

That’s why they always enchant me

They captivate the depths of my soul

They make me cry in sorrow when they weep

And fill me with love when they look at me

Ah, they fill me with love when they look at me

Chapter Text

The butler of the Phantomhive household was, as always, punctual. For Sebastian Michaelis, time was more a matter of courtesy than necessity. He did not sleep, did not rest, did not grow weary, but he observed. And during that past week, there was a presence that intrigued him.

Miss Leigh.

Outwardly, everything was in perfect order. The young maid rose before anyone else, began her day with the precision of a Swiss clock: cleaning the parlours, managing supplies, coordinating meals, and showing special care in following the butler’s direct instructions. She missed no detail, not a speck of dust, not a misaligned piece of silverware.

But Sebastian noticed the invisible. Not the uneven steps or the occasional yawn, those were natural for humans, but rather the aura of restrained intensity. As if something within her burned quietly, barely held back by willpower.

He knew.

He knew she hadn’t returned the glove.

He’d known from the first night. He had left it there deliberately, without a word, watching how she, trembling and tearful, picked it up as if it were a sacred relic. He could have asked for it back at dawn, with his usual gentleness.

But he didn’t.

Because deep down, in his own way, Sebastian relished it. The turmoil, the uncertainty, and the delicate dance she performed between pride and longing.

The lust of rightful virgin.

It was a wicked game, one he savoured as a quiet indulgence, a welcome distraction from his usual duties to the young master. The demon found pleasure in her easy nature and that persistent shadow of self-guilt.

During breakfast, Miss Leigh served with unwavering precision. Her hair perfectly pinned, not a single curl out of place; her uniform flawlessly pressed; her skin radiant, as always. Yet something was different in her expression.

Peace.

A melancholy serenity he rarely saw in humans, so often troubled by their own thoughts. As though she had made peace with something.

And that “something” was him. Or the dream-shadow he stirred within her.

She had dreamed of him. He didn’t need confirmation. He knew by the way she avoided him in the corridors, and how she now left notes with requests on the dining table rather than handing them to him directly. But he also knew by the way she watched him when she thought he wasn’t looking.

Her desire was silent, and her restraint admirable.

A refined soul, trying not to fall into selfishness, even as her heart already burned.

And he was a demon, by the heavens! he knew when a soul invoked him. Especially in the astral realm of dreams.

—She serves me like no other. —he commented to the young Earl one afternoon as he helped him into his coat.

—I can tell. You mention her efficiency constantly, —Ciel replied with a slight, ironic smile. —Though I wonder, what would you do if Miss Leigh developed feelings toward you she could no longer control?

Sebastian barely blinked. That was how Ciel amused himself, by teasing him now and then.

—Nothing, —he answered. —It is in human nature to lose their hearts so easily. Fortunately, I have nothing to lose.

Ciel let out a rough sigh and said nothing more. They both knew it was the truth. The only thing the butler truly cared about was the well-being of the young Earl, nothing more, yet nothing less.

—Indeed, a beast like you has no emotions other than to satisfy itself.

That night, while reviewing the household accounts and preparing the weekly report, he looked out toward the gardens. From his window, he saw the maid’s silhouette bent over the fountain, letting something float away.

Sebastian didn’t need to get closer to see what it was: a dried petal.

Probably the same one she had picked up after her dance. The one he had placed in Gwendoline’s hand.

He closed the account book, unhurried, and smiled.

—Humans are fragile creatures. But some possess a special glow when they fall into their own madness.

Chapter Text

The pendulum clock had just passed eight when Winy stopped in front of the kitchen door. Her fingers caressed the fine cotton of the white glove, neatly folded. She had smoothed it more than ten times, as if trying to erase the memories it held.

Her dreams, her sighs, the warmth of restrained desire had rested on that piece of cloth. And the resolution of her own spirit.

It was time to return it.

After nights of introspection, where silence weighed more than duty, she had decided to face what had to be faced: her feelings. Without embellishment. Without denial. As the woman she had chosen to be.

She waited for Sebastian to finish his round through the hall, overseeing the last of the servants. And when she saw him approaching with steady, unchanging steps, as if gravity held no sway over him, she stepped forward.

—Mr. Michaelis, may I speak with you, when it suits you?

The butler stopped, inclined his head slightly with that signature courtesy of his, and replied:

—Of course. —glancing at his watch—. Come with me to the kitchen.

Once there, under the soft light of the lamps and with the distant sound of crockery being arranged, Winy gathered her courage. She held the glove in both hands, still hidden in the pocket of her apron.

—I wish to apologise for not returning this sooner. —Her eyes locked onto his, and though her voice was soft, it didn’t tremble—. I kept it. Not out of negligence, but because… it brought me comfort. On my most restless nights, it gave me immense peace.

Sebastian observed her in silence. There was something amusing in the act of confessing such a guilt so elegantly veiled.

—I… deeply admire the way you serve. It’s… more than perfection, it’s devotion. Thinking of you, —she paused, revealing her own weakness for him— inspired me to collect myself, to carry on with grace. I told myself: if he can do it without fail… then I must too.

She then extended the glove.

Sebastian gave the faintest smile, barely there.

—Imitation… —said the butler, slowly removing his other glove to reveal his pale hand— is the sincerest form of flattery.

And as he extended that bare hand toward her, his thoughts added mercilessly to himself:

—…that mediocrity can offer to greatness. Humans truly have an enchanting way of sweetening what is naturally sour. How funny...

But he let his eyes betray nothing. He was the one playing the role, the one in control. Never the other way around.

Winy took the original glove with both hands. As if it were an intimate ritual, she fitted each finger carefully, aligned each seam, adjusted every part precisely on that perfect hand on that wrist. And in doing so, her fingers brushed his palm, and that warmth.

That impossible humanity.

She felt it throughout her.

It wasn’t fantasy. It wasn’t imagination.

Her body recognised it. Her heart did too.

She was in love.

Ay de mi llorona, llorona, llorona de un campo lirio

Ay de mi llorona, llorona, llorona de un campo lirio

El que no sabe de amores llorona

No sabe lo que es martirio

El que no sabe de amores llorona

No sabe lo que es delirio

There was no doubt.

But she didn’t feel like a debutante faced with the mechanical gallantry of a suitor, nor like a bored housewife smitten by a young gardener.

It was a love with no hope and no aim, but deep, silent… and utterly devotion.

—Thank you, again. —Winy whispered, not daring to lift her gaze.

—Thank you, Miss Leigh. —Sebastian replied, his voice low and eloquent.

She entertained him.

Then he slid his newly gloved hand just close enough to brush Winy’s cheek, tucking a curly strand behind her ear.

Everyone calls me "El Negro," weeping woman

Dark, but affectionate

Everyone calls me "El Negro," weeping woman

Dark, but affectionate

I'm like a green chili, weeping woman

Spicy, but delightful

I'm like a green chili, weeping woman

Spicy, but delightful

And in that instant, a voice cut through the air like a whip:

—Eshani.

The voice was firm, sharp. Familiar.

Winy turned, stunned.

—Sari?

In the kitchen doorway, standing like a spectre, was Laidenin Herson. But she was no longer the romantic artist or magical dreamer she remembered.

Far from the measured alchemist the butler had once kissed, powerless against his twisted charms.

She was a fierce figure dressed in violet silk, her eyes ablaze with barely contained fury.

Si porque te quiero, quieres llorona, quieres que te quiera más

Si ya te he dado la vida llorona, ¿qué más quieres?, ¿quieres más?

—Don’t touch her, filthy creature of the dark. —she said, each word pronounced like a lioness’s roar—. Don’t you dare lay a single claw on my sister’s pure soul, or I’ll have to break my promise.

The silence turned abyssal. The butler’s face remained calm, but his eyes…

Ah~

His eyes burned like live embers.

—So you’re Miss Leigh’s sister —he said in a flawless tone—. Lady Herson. What an unexpected surprise.

But his aura crackled like a storm held back.

Just then, Tanaka entered the kitchen, bowing deeply.

—Sebastian, Prince Soma is here. He awaits in the vestibule.

Laidenin and Winy locked eyes, as if an invisible thread had snapped under the pressure. And in unison, they spoke the same name:

—Asman Kadar?

Chapter Text

The clock struck four. An improper hour for unannounced visitors, and yet, there they were: Prince Soma Asman Kadar, with his unshakable enthusiasm, and Lady Laidenin Herson, better known in certain circles as the Queen’s alchemist.

Ciel Phantomhive drank tea, though he did not savour it. He observed. He weighed.

They were gathered in one of the smaller parlours, a room adorned with light wood, white curtains, and a couple of tapestries that spoke more of past wars than of ornamental grace. Sebastian served with mechanical precision, wasting not a second during the silences or in the turns of the sugar spoon.

—And that’s how the jasmine flower fell into the soup! —Soma laughed with his head thrown back, waving his hands as he recounted yet another colourful anecdote—. That was Eshani… or well, she goes by Gwendoline now. Such a lively girl! She even threw an oil lamp at me once when I reminded her she was supposed to marry me!

Ciel looked at him over his teacup. The name Gwendoline echoed in his mind.

Eshani. Gwendoline, A princess?

—Are you referring to the maid? —he asked with his signature frosty calm—. Miss Leigh?

—Of course! She’s my cousin! Well, sort of. Sarasvati, —he paused. —well, Laidenin and she are daughters of the same royal bloodline. Sarasvati was the eldest, Eshani the youngest. They both ran away!

Ciel turned his gaze to Laidenin, who was already watching him. Not with arrogance, but with a mix of dignity and honesty.

But Laidenin gripped her teacup, overwhelmed by her cousin’s sheer tactlessness yet unable to scold him, not after bursting so discourteously into the young Earl’s mansion.

—I beg your pardon if courtesy becomes inquisitiveness, Lady Herson —said the Earl, setting his teacup down with a soft clink—. As you know, my position demands that I be exceedingly cautious. And this, what you’re telling me, is not something I expected to hear. Not even my butler warned me.

Sebastian, unperturbed, poured a second cup for Laidenin.

—It was not my place, milord. —he replied with perfect composure—. I merely respect the wishes of those who present themselves as they wish to be known.

Ciel did not press further. But his eyes said enough. The butler knew.

—Then it’s true? —he asked bluntly—. You, Lady Herson, are Princess Sarasvati?

—I was. —Laidenin replied with a melancholic smile—. But titles weigh less than truth. I chose knowledge. Books. The freedom to think. To be the master of my life. My brothers rule the throne, and as for us women... we are treated differently. I chose a path other than the one assigned to me at birth.

—And your sister —added the Earl, shrewdly—. Did she also choose freedom?

It was then that Soma, with his well-timed clumsiness, uttered the fatal question:

—Yes, why did Eshani choose to become a maid? I never understood that! You’re the Queen’s alchemist! But Eshani decided to clean staircases?

Silence cut through the room.

Laidenin shot Soma a scathing look, wishing he’d bite his tongue.

Sebastian merely set the teapot back on the tray, his expression unchanged.

Lady Herson held the Earl’s gaze. She didn’t speak right away. She took a sip of tea, closed her eyes, and then simply said:

—My sister always believed that service was a form of love. That tending to others with grace, with artistry, was her way of being free. She was passionate about cleanliness. She didn’t want to be admired for her lineage. She wanted to be useful without having to be the wife in a... —and this time she stressed it—. an unwanted marriage.

Ciel nodded, though inwardly he seethed. His mind spun with possibilities, evaluated dangers, and most of all: recognised the beauty in the unexpected. A princess, as a servant? In his own home?

And why hadn’t Sebastian noticed?

—Interesting. —he finally said—. Though, it leaves me with many questions. Like, for instance, why have two such powerful women chosen my mansion to hide from the world?

Sebastian finally lifted his gaze and spoke.

—Perhaps they are not hiding, my lord. Perhaps it was a curious coincidence.

Sebastian looked at Lady Herson, expecting her line to come.

—There are no coincidences.

The butler straightened.

—I hoped you would say that, my lady.

The Earl eyed him with suspicion. But also, with a faint smile.

—How convenient.

Soma, oblivious, helped himself to more sugar.

—Oh, and you should see Eshani dance! It’s like watching the goddess Radha herself!

Ciel swallowed hard. That same performance. That same woman who swept the corridors every morning and scribbled menus with mathematical perfection.

A princess.

Rājkumārī Eshani Prakasha Sharma.

—Soma, please stop using that name. —Laidenin snapped—. Why do you think we never told you when we left?

And the butler, that cunning demon, had his suspicions, but chose not to dig further. There wasn’t enough reason to question such an impeccable record.

Ciel smiled to himself.

—We’ll have to take very good care of our maid, don’t you think, Sebastian?

—Of course, my lord—replied the butler, with that voice that gave no hint whether he meant it sincerely... or as a threat.

Chapter Text

The tea began to cool.

Ever since Laidenin heard the name “Eshani” spoken by Soma, her pulse hadn’t settled. Her eyes, though composed, concealed a storm. Her heart beat as if she had run from Calcutta to London. Earl Phantomhive remained unmoved, and his butler, that devilishly unreadable creature, stood in the corner of the room, spine straight, expression calm, eyes half-closed.

—He has no right. —Laidenin thought, though she wasn’t sure to whom she referred: the young earl, the demon who served him, or herself. Especially with that promise echoing in her conscience.

—Damn you Zarant. —she said on her mind.

The name echoed in her head like a sickness. To say it aloud would break the promise she had made.

But her sister.

Her sweet sister.

Laidenin looked down at her tea. Its reflection revealed a woman who had sacrificed everything for independence, for freedom, for herself. And her sister? Why had life brought her here?

—Why did she have to fall in love with that demon? —she thought, sipping the last of her tea.

—Earl. —Agni intervened gently, watching her from the other side of the room. Laidenin looked up—. Allow me to say something in Miss Sharma’s defense. —referring to Eshani. —Before I was Agni, butler to Prince Soma, I was Arshad, a nobleman’s son, anointed to serve the gods in a life of penance I did not choose.

Soma, surprised, stopped stirring his sugar and looked at him. He rarely spoke of his past.

—I know who the Sharmas are. Even before meeting your cousin, Miss… Herson. —he hesitated, still confused by the new name of Princess Sarasvati Sharma. —Your family is legendary. The women are revered as embodiments of the divine. But sometimes, adoration isn’t freedom, it’s a prison draped in incense and gold.

Laidenin lowered her face, her hand trembling slightly. Tears welled up, but didn’t fall.

—I was rescued by my master. He gave me a new name, a new purpose. —Agni continued with a warm smile—. I have yet to meet Miss Leigh. But I do know what it feels like to be judged for abandoning expectations, and to be satisfied for having done so.

Laidenin stood. She approached Agni slowly, and with reverence, kissed his hands. Agni tried to stop her, but she did it with conviction.

—Of all my cousin’s reckless decisions, —Laidenin said with a smile— choosing you as his butler is, without a doubt, one of his wisest.

Soma smiled like a child about to cry.

—Thank you, cousin! I always knew Agni was the best thing that ever happened to me!

Ciel remained unmoved.

He placed the cup back on its plate with surgical calm. His tone was dry, sharp as a diplomatic blade.

—All this is charming, —he said sarcastically— but returning to the matter at hand, with all due respect for everyone’s choices: Miss Leigh remains part of my servants. She will continue to be so as long as she fulfills her duties, or until I deem her services unnecessary. As with everything in this house. —he paused. —I am relieved to know a bit more about my personnel.

Laidenin looked up at him, but Ciel did not waver. This was his house. His word was law.

—If you wish to stay a while longer, feel free. Do excuse me, I have matters to attend to. —With that, he rose, took his cane, and headed for the door.

Before he crossed it, Laidenin spoke, almost in a whisper:

—Your Excellency, might I… speak with her?

The young earl turned his head slightly. His one visible eye assessed the request.

—Sebastian. Accompany Lady Herson to her sister’s quarters.

—Of course, my lord. —the butler replied with a bow.

The demon walked toward Laidenin and, with a formal gesture, invited her to proceed. She followed without a word.

Walking through the hallways, she felt every step like a death sentence for the butler. Her footsteps echoed with poise, but inside she was a blaze of rage and resentment. She walked with royal composure, though inside she longed to behead the butler beside her.

Sebastian, always three steps ahead, moved with his signature impeccable posture. The sound of his shoes on marble struck like a metronome. Between them, silence weighed heavy—until he broke it with his usual knife-hidden-in-courtesy tone:

—I appreciate your discretion, Lady Herson. Few could resist the temptation of using such a well-timed ace.

Laidenin didn’t reply immediately. She stopped walking and met his gaze with dark eyes.

—You could have any woman in the world, demon… why did you have to choose my sister?

Sebastian turned with feline grace, a barely-there smile curling his lips. He bowed with his usual respect.

—Oh, but I’m afraid there’s a misunderstanding. —he paused—. I did not “choose” your sister, as you imply. I have only ever been the butler of this house. If anyone became captivated by my… diabolical charms, it was Miss Leigh.

—Your kind always lies. —Laidenin replied coldly—. She wrote to me about dreams. Dreams where a shadow devoured her. Where her chastity was defiled. Are you going to tell me it wasn’t you, filthy incubus?

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. The red glow in his eyes flared briefly, as if flattered.

—Your deductions remain as refined as your talents, my lady. However… it wasn’t me. Not this time. —he paused, savoring the tension—. Ask her yourself. You’ll find those dreams were born from Miss Leigh’s repressed desires.

Laidenin resumed walking, her jaw clenched, her silence screaming a curse she wouldn’t utter. The butler continued:

—What’s curious is that, even without my involvement, your sister managed to reconstruct me quite accurately in those dreams. Her depiction was… remarkable. As if she glimpsed my true essence with her eyes closed.

Laidenin stopped just as they reached the door.

—Leave her alone. —she said without looking at him—. Stop toying with her, and don’t you dare bother her again. This is your last warning.

—You’ve warned me before —Sebastian interrupted with a melancholy smile—. But fear not. In this little theatre we call life, my only role is to serve the young master as a simple butler. Nothing more.

And though the demon walked with the neutrality of one who feels nothing.

She did feel. She felt her sister slipping through her fingers like water.

Laidenin looked at him. For the first time, without burning rage but power.

—If you hurt her, Zarant, no power or pact will save you from me.

He smiled.

So human, so demonic.

—I’ll take your warning to heart.

At that moment, a faint sob sounded behind the door.

They both turned toward it.

Laidenin’s heart clenched. Her sister, her sweet Eshani, was crying. She knew it even without seeing her face. She felt it in her bones, like a nail driven into her chest. Without another second, she pushed open the door and entered.

There she was, Gwendoline Leigh, perfectly groomed, her uniform as neat as ever. But the tears had smeared her makeup, her eyelids red. Clutched to her face was the handkerchief with the initials H.B. Honora Bridgerton.

Seeing her like that sent a shiver through Laidenin.

—Ma’Shani… —Laidenin whispered tenderly, forgetting the butler completely—. I’m here.

From the doorway, the demon gave one final bow.

—I’ll leave you.

And without another word, Sebastian vanished into the shadows, leaving the two sisters bathed in the grey light of that overcast day.

Chapter Text

Tears were still rolling down Winy’s cheeks when Laidenin embraced her. Her hug was firm, maternal, a soothing, comforting caress, just like their mother used to give them when they were little.

—None of this was your fault, Ma'Shani —she whispered—. How could you have known? You’ve always been so diligent, and your heart… your heart is as pure as spring water.

Eshani pressed her lips together, swallowing hard. Her fingers trembled around the handkerchief, and for a moment, the praise shattered against a wall of pain.

—I… I tried, Sari. I swear I did. I tried to be strong, to keep to my principles. But all of this. —she paused, choking on a deep sob—. Lord Barón, do you remember him? The young man who courted me, who wanted to marry me… —her voice broke—. I loved him, and still, I turned him down because… I wanted to experience life before giving it fully to someone. He promised to wait for me, but I didn’t want to be selfish. I wasn’t going to rob him of his happiness.

Tears came again.

—He got married. He has a beautiful family. And still… he kept writing to me. He asked me to come serve at his home. But I couldn’t. If I went… the flame between us would reignite. And I wouldn’t know how to choose between lover and master. I couldn’t serve either. And it’s happening again…again...

Laidenin listened in silence. She too remembered her own story: Malik, the young stable hand with almond eyes. Her first kiss, her first secret. Her own heart had been shattered, just like her sister’s.

—I’m afraid, Sari… afraid of my own heart. —Winy confessed with raw honesty—. It’s all happening again!

—No, Ma’Shani. Don’t believe that. —Laidenin said, her voice trembling as she held her tighter—. Your heart is a light so pure it can only be compared to divine mercy. Don’t curse it. It’s your greatest virtue.

Eshani looked up. Her red eyes were filled with truth.

—But, Mr. Michaelis…

The sentence hung in the air. Laidenin finished it sternly:

—Your heart was fragile, but you mustn’t be ashamed.

—I intended to keep these feelings locked away. I made that decision. I was going to be eternally discreet. My duty is here. I even made peace with my soul… calmed my dreams. But that man.

—I know —said Laidenin, holding herself back from correcting her—. I warned you about those beings. The ones who drain the souls of the living. As dark as a moonless night. But there was no way you could see his true face, what are the odds of encountering one of them in the flesh, especially in that kind of disguise. Don’t blame yourself for that.

—I didn’t believe you —Winy admitted, her voice still shaking—. I thought they were just stories, nightmares. I thought you were just more sensitive to those things… but now…

Laidenin wiped her cheeks.

—How could you have known? —she said with anguish—. You’ve always had a weakness for men like you: neat, diligent. As perfect as your polished shoes.

Both smiled, sharing the weight of sorrow with the warmth of sisterly complicity.

—What do I do, Sari? I like working here. I love this home. The young master, my fellow servants… and also…

—The butler… —Laidenin interrupted helplessly.

Winy lowered her gaze. The answer was written in her silence.

—They have no feelings, Ma’Shani. They are masks. Performers. You fell in love with the mask, not with the essence. You don’t know what’s underneath. You only see the man, the butler, the demon playing those roles.

—But… what if I asked him?

—No! —Laidenin raised her voice—. They’re masters of treachery. They feed on souls. You can’t bargain with something that won’t show its true face.

She was helpless.

Hopeless.

Her heart broken upon a fact she was unaware.

She would never guessed the perfect, caring, and bright butler would be a creature of desguises, lies, devour.

She was so deeply troubled, not because the one she loved was an inhuman being, but because she was still willing to entrust her heart to him.

—Don’t you have anything in your satchel that could rip this feeling from me?

Laidenin swallowed.

Powerlessness was painful, even more so when you knew yourself capable of anything. But in matters like this…

—I can trick your mind, but not your heart. —she paused—. I could try something, but it wouldn’t last. It would be like putting a bandage on a broken bone.

Silence.

—Ma’Shani, you’ll have to find a way to… disenchant yourself.

Then Winy spoke with a calmness that seemed born of deeper understanding.

—You always said that everything returns to Brahma, even the darkest things. That all flows back to perfect eternity…

Laidenin nodded solemnly.

—And what if this heart of mine… can change him?

Laidenin sighed. Her soul ached.

—No, Ma’Shani. Creatures like him…

—But you always say we live in a world of possibilities! —she argued firmly.

—I do, but…

—You do! You create your own reality., I've seen you performed the imposible. You could be queen if you wanted. Why couldn’t I change things too?

Laidenin went silent. It was a complicated question.

—You can. —she finally said—. But it won’t be easy. Wanting won’t be enough. You’ll have to live it as if it’s already true. Shift your perception. Create an inner world where it has already happened.

—And you can’t help me?

—It’s not in my heart to support something that involves a creature like him. They say they hunger, but all they do is drain life in their path…never to be full.

Winy lowered her gaze.

—Then I’ll try by myself.

—Wait —Laidenin said quickly—. First, what is your intention? What do you want to happen? Without a clear aim, nothing will manifest.

Winy pondered, her mind filled with the image of Sebastian, those honey crimson eyes, the soft command in his voice, the flawless precision of his every gesture… and that lingering warmth beneath his gloves. Yet, she reminded herself, all of it was a performance, a carefully crafted illusion.

That explained the inhuman precision but still.

She longed for him, but…

Which part did she truly yearn?

—I don’t know —she admitted—. I just know I want my love… to mean something. To have hope.

—Hope for what?

Two knocks sounded at the door.

They both turned.

Sebastian entered, impeccable, with a silver tray carrying two steaming cups of jasmine and rose tea.

As if the shame was to her, she looked away, hiding behind her sister’s shoulder.

—Forgive the interruption —he said with a bow—. I thought perhaps you might enjoy something to soothe the conversation.

Laidenin glanced at him sideways. He met her gaze with a fury that would scorch anyone. Meanwhile, Winy dared not even look at the shadow of his shoes.

Hearing his measured, calm voice now brought torturous pain. When had his tender presence shifted from soothing her nightmares to shattering her heart into infinite pieces??

—Thank you, —said Winy, still with a sob in her breath. As if searching for the words, or the strength, to even speak to him.

Not because she was disappointed on him, but because...

—Leave us. —said Laidenin. —You've done enough. Take that away...

—No, —said Winy.

Ever the polite and caring woman. She stood up, cover her damp eyes and untidy face from him. He took the silver trait, he finger damp from her tears, staining the silver.

And with a deep troublesome sighed, she colected the shattered peiece of herlsef. She laid the trait on the little night table beside her bed and replid.

—Thanks... Mr... —she hesitated, her voice quivering. Tears began to fall again, and she couldn’t hold the tray, not even her own words.

She brought her hands to her face.

She couldn’t finish her sentence.

—Ma'Shani... —Laidenin stood and held her sister in a tender embrace.

She turned her back to the butler.

—Go. Leave us...

Gwendoline wanted to see him again and ask if it was true. She wanted to hear it from his own lips, hoping, just maybe, that he would say the opposite. But the pain in her heart was enough to tell her the truth.

He simply nodded.

—My apologies. —he bowed, closing the door behind him.

But had he truly meant it, or was it simply the butler speaking?

As he left, his eyes glowed like embers in the dark. The door closed. And the silence left behind a trail of perfume, steam, and a heavy dilemma for the two sisters.

—Hmm, —thought the butler. —I must begin the preparations for dinner.

Chapter Text

Silver clouds drifted slowly over the Phantomhive mansion as Prince Soma’s carriage waited in front of the main gate. The air smelled of damp earth, as if the night were waiting for something else to be revealed before closing completely.

Laidenin Herson descended the stairs accompanied by her cousin, who, as usual, would not stop talking.

—What a spectacular night! Ah, Ciel! Are you sure you want me to leave?

Agni, as always, simply smiled humbly, listening to his prince and his fondness for the young Earl.

Ciel, standing beside Sebastian, brought a hand to the bridge of his nose with a resigned expression.

—I’m quite sure your schedule is busy enough to avoid unnecessary distractions, Prince Soma, —said the young Earl, choosing his words carefully to remain courteous—. As for you, Lady Herson, —he added, turning to Laidenin— I shall be sure to keep our ties in mind, especially if future opportunities arise.

Laidenin didn’t miss the implication. She nodded with a small bow, knowing that such an “opportunity” would be more of a favour than a true invitation.

—It will be an honour, Earl Phantomhive. I will do my best to rise to the occasion and not disappoint you.

Soma then took his cousin’s hand naturally.

—What a shame, I really wanted to stay the night and have breakfast together. Will you spend the night with me, cousin? I have so much to tell you about my plans to open a school in Jaipur. Besides, it’s been years since we last saw each other. What’s become of your life?

Laidenin let out a soft laugh, one of the few truly honest ones that day.

—Alright, cousin. But only if you promise to stop being so intrusive and reckless.

—I’ll try.

Ciel scoffed and looked away as Soma, pleased with himself, climbed into the carriage.

Agni gave one last bow to Sebastian.

—You haven’t changed, Sebastian. Though I suppose I shouldn’t expect any less of you.

—It is always a pleasure to serve the young master —Sebastian replied, returning the bow with natural elegance.

Laidenin paused for a moment on the staircase. Her gaze rose to the night sky, then to the face of her sister, both crying and smiling. And finally, it settled on the butler.

The voice in her mind was soft, barely a whisper, but clear. It did not speak only with words; it spoke with the weight of someone who knows what it means to love, to truly love:

—I know the only one who can command you is the Earl. But… Zarant, I’ll say this one more time: do not dare to harm my sister’s soul or heart.

For a second, just an instant, the butler’s face ceased to be a mask. A twitch in his brow, almost imperceptible, broke the balance of his expression. Zarant was a forbidden name, but he clearly heard Miss Herson’s mental voice.

Still, he smiled again. Serene. Dangerously polite.

—We look forward to seeing you again, Lady Herson. Though, I would suggest giving notice next time.

Laidenin gave the slightest nod. The message was received, and so was her warning.

The carriage departed with the clatter of hooves against the cobblestones, slowly disappearing between the trees. From the upstairs window, Winy watched her sister fade into the distance, taking with her the words that still burned in her chest.

And below, in the shadow of the threshold, Sebastian turned slowly, with an indelible smile on his lips.

Chapter Text

The clock struck 11:12 at night.

In the office of Earl Phantomhive, the air smelled of parchment, melted wax, and a hint of irritation.

—This is a disaster, —exclaimed Ciel, crossing one leg over the other in frustration. He rested his temple against his right fist and let out a sigh—. First the party, then the business with Miss Leigh, and now this unexpected family visit. Who else is going to tell me that one of my employees used to live in a palace?

—I could make a list if you wish, my Lord, —Sebastian replied with his usual even tone, not looking up from the documents he was reviewing—. But it’s not particularly long. And so far, none have served as diligently as Miss Leigh.

Ciel looked at him suspiciously.

—So you knew?

—I suspected, —the butler corrected—. But I chose not to act until it became relevant. What a person once was doesn’t necessarily define who they are now. Miss Leigh has proven exemplary in her duties, and that was more than enough based on the needs of the moment.

—That’s not enough for me, —Ciel grumbled, straightening in his chair—. It irritates me that this information was kept from me. You said you were in charge of the servants.

—And I still am, —Sebastian said calmly as he closed the folder and placed it on the oak desk, perfectly aligned with the inkwell—. If you wish to dismiss her, I can make the arrangements.

—I didn’t say that.

Sebastian smiled slightly.

—My Lord, —continued the butler, his voice serene—. Miss Leigh has shown a particularly valuable trait: foresight. During the preparations for Lady Elizabeth’s birthday, she anticipated logistical errors, kept morale high among the personnel, and corrected a catastrophic mistake without disrupting the event’s structure.

—And that makes up for her past? Her sister? The possible implications? —Ciel asked, crossing his arms.

—That’s precisely what makes her more useful, —Sebastian took a few steps forward, standing tall and elegant as always—. Her connection with Lady Herson could become a secure line of communication with Her Majesty. You, more than anyone, know how dangerous the usual channels are. Having access to a link that doesn’t depend on the palace is… strategically valuable.

Ciel frowned, thoughtful. He played with the blue ring on his finger.

—And what if her sister manipulates her? Or worse, what if she’s pretending?

—Young master, —Sebastian tilted his head just slightly, in that graceful way he used when about to correct someone—. No one trying to deceive would serve with the devotion Miss Leigh has shown. Her efficiency is consistent, her demeanor modest, and her cleanliness… impeccable. Miss Leigh’s motives are purely in your favor and in the interest of devoted service.

Then he smiled, thinking to himself:

—And her burning desires and inner conflicts toward me, but I know I tend to have that effect on certain humans…

The earl narrowed his eyes. There was a slight provocation in that statement.

—And you don’t think her presence disrupts the dynamic of this house?

—My Lord, with all due respect: if anything, her presence has improved it.

Ciel took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he looked toward the window. The night was silent, and the garden trees swayed gently beneath the crescent moon.

—I don’t have time for drama, —he murmured.

—Then don’t have any, —Sebastian smiled with that stoic expression that implied everything was under control, even the things beyond human control.

—It’s only because I know you well. Otherwise, I’d think you care more about her than anyone else outside of me.

Sebastian paused briefly, just long enough to seem natural.

—Indeed, my Lord, —placing his right hand over his chest and bowing slightly—. You and your interests are my only priority.

Ciel remained thoughtful.

—Very well. Let her stay. And keep Lady Herson within reach. If anything gets out of hand, you’ll know what to do.

—Always, my Lord.

Sebastian gave a measured bow and stepped toward the door. Before leaving, he added:

—And if I may offer a suggestion: keep Miss Herson in your good graces, so it doesn’t seem like you’re using her when you suddenly need her assistance.

The door closed softly behind him.

And Ciel, alone in his office, murmured to himself:

—I’ll keep that in mind.

Chapter Text

Dawn filtered through the tall stained-glass windows of the Phantomhive mansion with immaculate delicacy, bathing the corridors in golden light. Winy walked alone, her hair perfectly pinned up, her steps light, her gaze focused. The trays were aligned, the silverware gleamed, and the freshly polished marble reflected her image like a ghostly mirror.

Everything was in its place. Everything… seemed in its place.

But between each fulfilled duty, across every gleaming surface, her mind returned to her last conversation with her sister.

—Don’t forget this, Ma'Shani, —Laidenin had said, gently stroking her finely combed hair—. “May the Creator’s light be your shield, may discernment guide your decisions, and may your soul never be offered without truth or will.”

Winy had closed her eyes as if each syllable of that blessing were a petal falling upon her brow.

—You always know what to say… —she whispered before embracing her.

But the sweet moment fractured when Laidenin took her hands and looked at her with severity.

—Winy, listen carefully. That creature… that being… may seem docile and devoted, but he is incredibly dangerous. Demons don’t limit themselves to devouring souls through contracts. They also delight in tangling hearts, confusing, manipulating emotions, they consume desires as if they were sweets. And don’t even get me started on temptation. Lust is one of their favourite weapons.

Winy lowered her gaze, but held her composure.

—I have no interest in matters of marriage, or in pleasure and flesh, —she replied firmly.

—Pleasure isn’t exclusive to a partner, —Laidenin declared—. It can appear as a whisper on your skin, a glint in your eye, a flutter in your stomach. It’s subtle, but biting. If you ever feel something like that for that —she paused, restraining her anger— butler, channel it. Redirect it. I ask you as your sister. Don’t let his false charms weaken you, don’t let him drain your energy.

—I will, —Winy answered confidently—. I’ve more than enough work. Organizing the cellar, reviewing the winter inventories, restoring the embroidered tablecloths. My tasks will be my outlet.

Laidenin embraced her tightly one last time.

—I’ll write more often. I don’t want you bottling up your feelings anymore. I want to know how you truly are.

—I promise to tell you everything, to keep you updated, —Winy whispered, this time holding back tears.

Back at the mansion, Winy was adjusting the glassware in the cabinet. Her reflection returned a serene, nearly unreadable gaze. But her fingers paused a moment on the crystal. Beneath her skirt, she felt the soft brush of the handkerchief Honora had given her. She kept it with her, hidden, like a talisman, a reminder.

Then, with a barely audible sigh, she murmured:

—May the Creator’s light be my shield…

And she kept working. Thinking of her sister, and how deeply she loved her.

Because yes. That was her way of loving.

And also, of resisting.

Chapter Text

Winy walked through the east wing corridor with her usual composure: light steps, straight back, flawless bun. To her eyes, everything seemed unchanged. The stained glass casting light on the embroidered carpet, the echo of well-trained silence from the staff, the flowers precisely trimmed by Finny. Everything as it should be.

But inside her chest, the air weighed like lead.

He’s not human.

It was a phrase she tried not to repeat, but it thrummed like a low note in every corner of her mind. Sebastian Michaelis was not just a butler. He never had been. Those gentle gestures, his refined voice, his immaculate hands, they weren’t the product of noble lineage or Viennese training. They were the perfect varnish over a hollow, mythological creature woven from shadows and infernal fire.

And now she knew it.

Not through confessions or tangible evidence, but from whispers in the corridors of her intuition. From dreams burning with images too vivid. From the way he knew, as if he could read the rhythm of her heart or measure the temperature of her thoughts.

Laidenin had been right.

But even so…

It wasn’t enough to change what she still felt.

She had tried to see the demon behind the disguise. Had tried to recall the prayers of her childhood, the mantras of protection, the symbols of the stone deities. But every time Sebastian entered the kitchen or passed her in the hallways, Winy made a titanic effort to remember he was a dark being, not just a butler who made her sigh tenderly.

But it was impossible.

It was impossible not to feel butterflies when, after checking the completed tasks, he said:

—Excellent work, Miss Leigh. As always.

It was impossible not to feel the burning weight of his gaze, even when he said nothing. Even if all he did was adjust the glove she had returned to him days ago.

But the most terrifying thing wasn’t his perfection.

The most terrifying thing was that he never stopped being perfect.

Not a complaint. Not a yawn. Not a single crack in his facade. Not a wrinkle in his suit.

And Winy was beginning to accept that such immaculate perfection was nothing more than a mirage.

—How can you love something that has no soul? —she wondered in silence while polishing the dining room candelabras.

And yet, she did.

She loved him.

Not with the lightness of a girl with a crush, but with the solemnity of someone who has worked alongside fire and, knowing she might burn, chooses to step closer.

—But… what if that fire doesn’t seek to warm? What if it only seeks to consume?

That was the fear clouding her nights now.

The perfect creature hadn’t revealed himself to her. He hadn’t offered her a pact, made any promises, or tempted her beyond the involuntary. It wasn’t like in the stories, where the devil seduces with honeyed words. Sebastian did nothing to provoke her.

He simply existed.

Efficient. Unchanging. Perfect.

And she felt small. Infinitely distant from him. Too human.

In the solitude of the cellar, while organizing the pantry, Winy looked up to the vaulted ceiling and thought like a prayer to the temple of her heart:

—Is it a sin to fall in love with a shadow?

And the echo gave no reply.

Only the scent of black tea, and the sound of birds in the gardens.

There was nothing she could do to stop what she felt.

But at least, she had stopped lying to herself.

Chapter Text

It rained.

The roof of the Phantomhive mansion was blanketed with a constant murmur.

In the servant’s room where Winy slept, the warmth of the lamp barely chased away the cold dragged in by the storm.

She had spent weeks in self-imposed resignation. And yet, not a single night passed without her waking up with the urge to rise, cross the hallway, and speak to him.

To ask for the truth. Just one truth.

But she didn’t. Because she was afraid. Afraid that, if she asked, he would answer.

In the gloom of her room, with the folds of her nightgown neatly gathered over her legs, Winy sat by the window. The rain traced down the glass like tears from a sky that also seemed torn between staying and leaving.

One thought kept repeating in her mind:

—Humans wear masks too. And yet, through all those layers, our essence always leaks through, stains our words, tints our walk, our silences, our mistakes. We are masks, yes. But our masks always betray glimpses of our true selves.

Then why would he be any different?

With a trembling sigh, Winy glanced at her nightstand.

She picked up her diary and flipped through several pages until she found the notes she had begun to write.

A sort of map.

The idea had come to her a few days earlier while polishing the glassware in the pantry.

—If I can’t see his true form, then I must track it through his habits, his patterns, his movements. Maybe a demon’s essence can’t always hide.

She had noted:

• His steps leave no trace, but he always walks in a straight line.
• His eyes seem to laugh when the young master makes mistakes.
• He never yawns.
• He never brushes off dust. Strangely, he doesn’t have any.
• He smiles even when being sarcastic.
• Does he avoid mirrors? I haven’t confirmed it.
• When he’s irritated, he doesn’t bother to hide it.
• He’s very friendly with me.

They were details. Fragments. Echoes.

—Could he be more human than demon?

But then she remembered the books.

Her sister Laidenin, with the intent to protect (or scare) her, had sent her illustrated tomes on demonology, relics from Monsignor Miller’s library. Winy had read them by candlelight, and still felt nauseated by the images. Deformed creatures, like mutilated alebrijes, animal hides, mouths that spoke in reverse time.

—Could he be one of those? —she wondered while trying to imagine whether such a being stood on its feet or its hands.

Could that be the price of perfection?

Was a face so terrible forced to wrap itself in apparent humanity?

The thought sent a chill through her. And yet, part of her knew with certainty that if she went blind, she’d still recognize him.

—By his voice.

That deep, tempered, gentle sound.

By his presence, which never touched her yet always breathed near.

By the dances she no longer dreamed, but still felt in her hands upon waking.

Because if darkness had a shape, it must resemble a waltz without a score.

Because if she still sought his true self, it was because she still loved him.

Winy closed the diary. She walked to the bed and slipped under the covers.

—What lies behind his face? If I knew… would I still love him?

The answer never came.

Only the faint echo of distant steps in the mansion, soft as if made of smoke.

[María la Curandera-Natalia Lafourcade]

Heal your pain, my little one, with our sunlight and moonbeams

Heal your pain, my little one, with the sound of the river, waterfall and foam

With the swaying of the sea that comes and goes, let it hold you

Heal yourself, my child, with mint leaves and sweet herbs

Put love in your tea instead of sugar, drink and gaze at the stars

Heal your pain, my little one, with our sunlight and moonbeams

Heal yourself, my little one, with kisses blown by the wind and rain's embraces

Heal yourself, my child, with the most beautiful love

Light the fire, surrender your sorrows

Let them turn to dust and new flowers bloom

Let them turn to dust, let all sorrows turn to dust

Heal your pain, my little one, with the warmth of sun and the cold of moon

Sweeten the morning with the scent of lavender, rosemary, eucalyptus and let peace come

Heal yourself, my little one, with the most beautiful love, trust your intuition

Look at the whole world with that eye you carry on your forehead

Heal yourself, my child, with the most beautiful love

And always remember that you are the medicine

Heal yourself, my child, with the most beautiful love

And always remember that you are the medicine

Chapter Text

Midday duties were proceeding diligently. In the main pantry, where herbs, tea, jars, and imported sweets were organized, Winy was re-labelling the latest order from the Earl. Beside her, Mey-Rin was carefully cleaning the porcelain tableware.

It had been weeks since Miss Midford’s birthday. And though things had returned to routine, routine… didn’t always bring peace.

Both worked in silence, until unmistakable footsteps echoed down the hallway. It was him, alongside the young master.

—Sebastian. —came the firm, sharp voice of the Earl— I want nothing out of place for Lord Wilkson’s visit. Make sure the arrangements are properly overseen.

—Of course, my Lord —Sebastian answered, as if each word had been composed to sheet music.

Winy and Mey-Rin, sensing the proximity, set down what they were doing and stepped toward the threshold, bowing in perfect unison.

—Young master —they both said, with precise formality.

Ciel barely nodded, his mind clearly elsewhere.

But then… Winy did it again.

As the Earl continued walking, Winy briefly lifted her gaze. Not toward the master, but toward the butler. Her eyes weren’t prying or brazen. Just… observant. Far too observant.

Mey-Rin, clumsy in many things, was never blind.

Once the footsteps faded, they returned to their work. But as Winy resumed sorting the jars, she felt her companion’s stare fixed upon her.

—What is it, Mey-Rin?

—You’re eyeing him like dessert. —the maid said with a goofy, mischievous grin.

Winy nearly dropped a jar.

—Mey-Rin, don’t say such things, that’s not appropriate!

—When he walks by with the young master, you don’t even blink. And don’t tell me it’s because you’re admiring his white gloves, you used that excuse two weeks ago.

—I simply admire his elegance. —Winy replied, with the composure of a flower in a storm.

Mey-Rin giggled under her breath.

—Elegance, right. Mr. Sebastian’s got that je ne sais quoi that makes me tremble. Don’t you just want to kiss him?

Winy lowered her eyes, hiding behind a small smile.

—Don’t be ridiculous, Mey-Rin. He is a... —she hesitated. —very decent man.

—But the way you look at him isn’t very decent. —the other teased.

—Silence. —Winy said, her voice sweet but firm— If anyone hears that, they might actually believe I’m that indiscreet.

Mey-Rin saluted exaggeratedly.

—Yes ma’am!

And the topic was dropped, for now.

The following morning, as usual, Sebastian assigned the tasks with surgical precision.

—Bard, fire up the oven and prepare the meats.

—Yes, sir.

—Finny, garden. I don’t want to see a single leaf out of place.

—Yes, sir!

—Mey-Rin, polish the chandeliers and stained glass in the north wing.

—Right away!

—Miss Leigh —he said then, looking at her without visible emotion—, come with me. We’ll prepare the young master’s breakfast.

Winy nodded, suppressing the jolt. She always did.

There were days when Sebastian, fully capable of handling the tasks alone, called her to assist him. To teach her the young master’s preferences, the others assumed. But she knew, or was starting to suspect, that it wasn’t just courtesy.

It was on purpose.

While preparing the tea, he’d ask her to reach for things that were inconveniently placed, forcing her to lean close beside him. When making the steamed eggs, he’d give instructions so meticulous that error seemed inevitable. And yet, she never slipped.

Once, he had her search for a missing shoelace. Winy scoured every laundry basket for nearly an hour. In the end, he appeared, apologizing with feigned guilt.

—My apologies, Miss Leigh. The lace was in my wardrobe drawer. I hope the search didn’t trouble you.

She didn’t complain. She simply lowered her gaze and nodded.

—Don’t worry, Mr. Michaelis. Forgetfulness happens.

—What a masochistic woman, —thought the demon.

And still, he didn’t stop finding new ways to trouble her.

He had read every word of the book Laidenin sent. He opened it while the parcel was still warm from the post. Demonology. Codices, invocations, archetypal forms.

—How adorably earnest of her to try to understand me, —the demon mused with a mocking smile.

Yet he was captivated by those pitiful and vulgar attempts to read him through mediocre human records.

It was easy to destroy a soul. To entangle it, then watch it choke in its own thrashing as it tried to escape the web. Like a spider to a fly. But to see a mere mortal striving so desperately to love him, trying to justify her feeble emotions through knowing him… made him say to himself:

—Utterly exquisite.

Chapter Text

[Pajarito Colibrí – Natalia Lafourcade]

Little hummingbird, don’t be afraid to fly

Today the world wants you to awaken and be happy

Little hummingbird, don’t be afraid to live

For the dark and mysterious night dances just for you

Today the valleys, forests, and mountains want to see you go

Today the paths, seas, and clouds will watch over you

If love has left you sobbing, unable to sleep

Then sing, break your voice, it’s time to depart

The storm from the previous night had left the garden covered in broken petals and mud. Yet inside the Phantomhive mansion, perfection reigned. Every corner had been cleaned, every tablecloth smoothed, every flower replaced. At first glance, everything was under control.

Everything, except her.

Winy had begun her day as usual: reviewing the order ledger, ensuring the dinnerware was spotless, and correcting the tiniest mistakes, ones imperceptible to others but never escaping her notice.

Sebastian was huntig her.

To break her, help her distance her heart from him. To avoid wounding her without meaning to, and in doing so, avoid earning the eternal hatred of her older sister.

He had been doing so for weeks.

The first tactic was proximity.

Once again, he made her work beside him. It wasn’t necessary, of course. No one peeled apples with as much precision as he did. But that day, she was to do it. Under his gaze.

—Thinner, —Sebastian instructed without looking directly—. The skin should be like a translucent veil. Would you have the young master chew peels like a commoner?

—I’ll correct it. —she replied with a flawless smile, even as her fingers trembled slightly.

—I trust you will. —he answered, then stepped a little closer—. I assigned you the task because your hand is almost as steady as mine.

Winy simply nodded, hiding a faint blush behind the bowl.

Strategy failed.

The second tactic was deliberate carelessness.

A few days later, Sebastian placed a tray of glasses near the edge of the dining table, knowing a single misstep would bring it crashing down.

But she caught it.

A glass wobbled, but Winy grabbed it with both hands, steady. Not a single drop spilled.

—It seems you've been trained by swordsmen. —he remarked.

—I just try to take care of everything within my reach, sir. —she replied, meeting his gaze. For the first time in days, in fact.

Strategy failed.

The third was veiled cruelty.

While she was cleaning the grand piano in the hall, Sebastian left a white flower. It was the same type Winy had worn in her hair during the dance.

She saw it, touched it, held it a moment, then tucked it away without a word and continued her work.

Later, he approached while she was polishing the gilded frames in the central corridor.

—Did the flower on the piano seem familiar, Miss Leigh?

—I assumed it was you. —she answered without looking at him. —I appreciate the gesture. Though I don’t like keeping happy memories that, sadly, won’t happen again.

—Are you sure of that?

She replied softly:

—Are you inviting me to dance, Mr. Michaelis?

He didn’t answer.

She did not seem troubled, and that boldness felt strange, coming from the ever discreet and yearning maid.

He merely tilted his head slightly, amused. The plan was to make her feel the weight of her confession, wrapped in song and dance, but that clever reply? He hadn’t seen it coming.

Strategy failed.

And so, Sebastian changed tactics.

He had to be more approachable. More human. He needed to truly provoke her, with small glimpses of what she couldn’t have.

One night, as everyone was retiring, he called her over.

She assumed it was to review the next day’s task list, but upon arriving, she found a tray with two cups of tea.

—I prepared tea for the young master. But I fear I got the proportions wrong. Could you help me decide which one is better?

Winy hesitated.

—Just a sip —he said, voice like silk. —Or do you think I’ve poisoned them?

She agreed. Tried one cup, then the other. Said nothing.

—Well? —he asked.

—Both are perfectly balanced.

—Ah… how frustrating.

—Why do you say that?

—I’m sure I made a mistake. Or perhaps, —he paused—. My mistake was thinking I had made a mistake. And you, Miss Leigh, always seem to find perfection in me.

She remained silent.

—What if I told you I’m not?

She smiled.

—If I may say this, and I hope you won’t be offended —she said with total composure—. You have a very particular way of bragging about your talents, Mr. Michaelis.

That caught him off guard. Again.

—You think you're subtle, but it's obvious you're quite full of yourself.

Sebastian paused. Astonished by her reply, he just stared at her.

—If that’s all, I’ll take my leave. Good night, Mr. Michaelis.

Strategy… totally failed.

Her intensity didn’t wane. It simply grew more cunning, bold, fearless. She even seemed to have gotten used to the game, and now, she was playing too.

That infuriated him.

He was beginning to suspect that not only had she uncovered his intentions, but that she had found a way to trip up his every effort to unsettle her. Striking back in return.

—Well played, Miss Leigh. —he thought.

Chapter Text

And despite the grace with which Miss Leigh returned the butler’s gestures, deep down, she remained the sensitive, simple, and romantic young little lady. Still holding on to the hope of truly knowing him.

The rain struck the windows as if trying to force its way in. Outside, the storm raged across the Phantomhive mansion’s gardens, throwing gusts of wind that made the trees creak and the gas lamps tremble. Inside the tea room, Lady Elizabeth clung to the young Earl as though he were her only anchor against the roaring sky.

—How awful! Ciel, the windows aren’t going to break, right?! —she cried, squeezing him like a ribbon tied too tight.

—Lizzy, please… I can’t breathe. —Ciel sighed, visibly annoyed.

Then Sebastian, standing behind the Earl’s chair, offered a suggestion in a soothing tone:

—Perhaps... a calm melody might ease the nerves. The piano is in tune.

—Do as you wish. —Ciel grumbled, resigned.

The butler bowed and, as if the storm obeyed his motion, the entire room seemed to quiet. The flames of the candelabras flickered, and every gesture, every sound, became suspended in elegance.

Just as Miss Leigh was preparing to leave, having already delivered the room assignment to Lady Elizabeth’s maid, Sebastian approached her with composed steps. His gloved hand rested upon her shoulder with unspeakable softness, and his voice fell like a warm tickle.

——Might I tempt you with some musical accompaniment for the evening?

Winy closed her eyes briefly. It was too intimate a gesture, especially for his choice of words and the tone of them. Almost improper for someone as sensitive and modest as she. But her weary, restless soul longed to savor a little more of that breath.

—If you believe my presence necessary, then I shall stay. —she replied lightly.

He smiled.

He took his seat at the piano. And he didn’t just play: he sang.

Hymne à l’amour.

—I hope this piece soothes the storm. —declared the butler.

The demon’s voice was not human. Or perhaps, it was too hypnotically human.

Rich, deep, laden with a tenderness that could never truly be his, a nostalgia only a master of deceives could replicate so precisely.

Winy, standing beside Miss Paula, felt her heart melt like candle wax.

Tant qu'l'amour innondera mes matins [As long as love floods my mornings ]

Tant qu'mon corps frémira sous tes mains [As long as my body trembles under your hands]

Peu m'importe les problèmes [I don't care about problems]

Mon amour, puisque tu m'aimes [My dear, only because you love me….]

The storm quieted with each verse.

Elizabeth smiled. Ciel sighed, bored.

But Winy…

Winy vanished.

No one noticed her slipping away, except him.

And when the last chord faded and applause mingled with raindrops against the windows, Sebastian rose from the bench only to find the corner where she had stood… empty.

Winy walked briskly down the corridor, head bowed. Her eyes wet. Not from the rain outside, but the one inside.

In the kitchen, Finny was curled in a corner, sniffling, while Mey-Rin and Bard attempted, somewhat awkwardly, to comfort him.

—Don’t be such a crybaby, Finny! Lightning doesn’t strike inside houses. —Bard scolded.

—Honestly! Who cries over a storm? —Mey-Rin added, though her tone was gentler than her words.

Winy approached tenderly, knelt in front of Finny, and took his hands.

—Finny, the storm is over now. Think of this rain as a refreshing gift to your flowers after all these sunny days. —she said, with a smile that healed more than a thousand words.

And then she knew, or rather, confirmed it.

She didn’t just love the butler with that romantic charm. She held love for everyone. In different ways, but always love. To love.

Love for her work, for her calling, for her companions.

For herself.

That night, as she untangled her hair in front of the mirror, she softly hummed the melody of the Hymn of Love. She remembered little Honora Bridgerton singing it sweetly during their afternoon teas.

The rain returned, gentler.

Two soft knocks at the door made her turn.

She covered her shoulders with her robe and approached modestly.

She opened the door.

It was him.

—Good evening, Miss Leigh. —said Sebastian, holding a stack of folded blankets—. The weather has cooled, and I thought you might need a bit of extra warmth.

—Oh, how kind. Thank you very much. —she replied, lowering her gaze.

He waited a moment longer before adding in a slightly inquisitive tone:

—I noticed you weren’t there when the piece ended. Was the melody not to your liking?

Winy pressed her lips together. Her fingers trembled as she took the blankets.

—Not at all —she answered, avoiding his teary gaze though unable to hide her smile. —It’s one of my favorite songs, but… I couldn’t accept that such a profound piece was… acted.

Sebastian tilted his head slightly.

—Acted?

She nodded.

—A song like that must be sung from the heart, from true longing… someone you...terribly miss. Like... —she paused, feeling the ache of her heart gathering on her throat. But she simply let out a deep sigh. —it is to be singed with…heart.

—I see. —he said in a low, almost indulgent voice. —Your sensitivity is remarkable. Next time, I’ll try to deliver that melody with more feeling.

Before turning to leave, he bowed slightly.

—Rest well, Miss Leigh.

She closed the door gently. Rested her forehead against the wood and shut her eyes.

—What I meant was: don’t pretend. If you can’t feel the song, don’t sing it. It would be like disrespecting love… and my longing for your true self. —she murmured.

She was still searching for an answer behind that voice, behind those gloves, behind that kind facade.

And he, on the other side of the door, heard her.

With notable disdain, he walked away, muttering to himself:

—What a simple woman. A song like that only sweetens madness. Now I understand why she defended it, I’d forgotten she too has lost her mind…over me.

Chapter Text

The morning after the storm broke humid, with fogged windows and a fresh breeze slipping in through the cracks. The Phantomhive mansion was quieter than usual, as if the weather had softened every footstep, duty, and even thought.

Winy, wrapped in her immaculate apron, was brushing away breakfast crumbs in the side dining room. The table was already empty, the bowls aligned to perfection, and the tablecloth fluttered with almost ceremonial rhythm. Yet on her lips, a melody hummed without pause.

Soft, barely audible, but steady as a prayer:

Tant qu'l'amour inondera mes matins… [As long as love will flood my mornings...]

She hummed it as if the song were her closest companion in those long silences.

It was a gentle confession. Nostalgia. Vulnerability.

In front of the unlit fireplace, broom resting in her hand, Winy closed her eyes.

Tant qu'mon corps frémira sous tes mains… [As long as my body trembles under your hands...]

The butler’s voice, the way he sang those lines...

When she opened her eyes, a pair of tears had fallen onto the freshly swept rug. Silent. Impossible to deny.

—Does he really not know what love is? —she wondered as her tears fell, stirred by such a melancholic melody.

No matter how much her mind repeated sensible arguments, no matter how loudly her sister’s warnings echoed, no matter how much she had read about infernal hierarchies, deceits, and grotesque beings, her heart kept asking whether a creature truly incapable of love…

…or being loved.

Maybe she was expecting humanity from a being who was simply not human.

She had listened to the entire song.

She had felt every note.

She hadn’t left out of disdain. She had fled because she couldn’t bear to feel so much. She couldn’t allow her face to say everything. For the trembling of her lips to reveal more than her words would ever dare to confess.

There was one truth and one alone:

She loved him.

And though doubt constantly lingered in her sighs, she still longed with all her heart to know him. To see his true form, his identity. To understand his motives, his convictions.

—What sets his soul alight? —she wondered, wiping away her tears with the handkerchief in her pocket. —Could it be as simple as spiritual hunger? Or is it something more elevated? With… purpose?

She loved him.

She loved him because...even as a shadow, even as a creature of the dark, even if he was something monstrous, something in him had touched the most vulnerable and hidden part of her soul.

She remembered the dreams she no longer had.

The ethereal dances.

The shapeless embraces.

The unspoken words.

The velvet warmth that surrounded her… and protected her.

There was something in him, she didn’t know if it was mystery or manipulation.

Now that the dreams had ceased, she missed them. She wanted to embrace that shadow again. Because even if he was a monster. Even if he was heartless...

She longed to understand him.

Not the butler.

Not the perfect image.

Not the loyal servant.

Not the immaculate precision.

But the essence.

The formless him. Or it.

Winy set the broom aside and made her way to the pantry. That morning she would have to peel potatoes. That afternoon, organize the storage. And that night, as she had for many nights now, she would go to bed humming the same song, imagining that perhaps… perhaps he had sung that song while thinking of something, or someone, he truly loved.

If her heart was going to break… at the very least, she wanted to believe it had broken for love, not out of uncertainties.

Chapter Text

The Phantomhive manor had spent weeks steeped in a deceptive calm.

The young Earl had departed on a mission entrusted to him by Her Majesty. And with his departure, activity in the house became woefully quiet.

Winy, as always, carried out her duties with flawless precision. The days passed like threads she strung together one by one with devotion. The dining room remained in order, the cutlery gleamed like mirrors, and the fireplace was always stocked with enough wood.

But the heart…

Ah, the heart lived in a kind of purgatory, where cloudy skies seemed to relive the same day over and over again.

It wasn’t the master’s usual absence that disturbed her peace.

It was the butler’s absence.

In every room, every hallway, every shadow caught at the corner of her eye, Winy hoped to see him. The soft echo of his steps, the voice that always knew what to say, the faint snap of his gloves as they slipped on.

She searched the dim halls and shadowed rooms, hoping he might appear. His gaze. His eloquent smile. His white-gloved hands.

But none of it came.

And with his absence, her desperate soul sought ways to soothe its unrest.

The dreams returned.

The shadow that once filled her with fear came back in a different rhythm. No longer did it devour her, it circled her.

It no longer imposed itself. It danced around her.

She would wake with her skin flushed, as though echoing a caress.

It was then that Winy began to draw.

With a sketchbook she kept hidden beneath her journal and some pencils she bought the last time the merchant came to deliver the manor’s supplies. Each night, before bed, she traced what little she could recall.

A profile.

A silhouette.

A fragment.

Then she started using ink, dripping a few drops into a glass of water. She’d watch the shapes as they expanded, contracted, and fell like a silent sigh.

That was what she saw in her dreams.

At first, she tried to mimic the form, clumsy, trembling lines. But soon, as if each dream refined her hand, she began capturing details.

Stiletto heels.

Eyes like burning coals.

A tight-fitting outfit like a second skin of glossy leather.

Long hair that floated like ink in water.

She didn’t know what, or who, that figure was.

She didn’t know if it was him.

But something in her chest confirmed it each time she sat before the page.

—It’s him. It’s him… whatever it is I’m seeing in these anthropomorphic, somewhat androgynous fragments.

And so, Winy found comfort.

With each stroke, she sought to finally piece the fragments together and glimpse, at least with more certainty, the form. Since his truth and reasons would be a far more complex matter than merely trying to draw his hands.

When the young Earl returned, the manor lit up again.

All the staff gathered at the grand entrance.

Bard stood upright, his hair overly combed.

Mey-Rin, with freshly cleaned glasses.

Finny, smiling like blooming flowers.

And Winy…

Winy wore a smile she tried to conceal behind her composure, but oh...how her eyes sparkled. That, she couldn’t hide in the slightest.

The carriage arrived with precise punctuality. From it descended the young master, dressed in black, elegant and more serious than ever.

Beside him…

Ah…

Beside him walked the butler.

Sebastian Michaelis.

Perfect.

Polished.

Serene.

Just the same as always.

Winy felt the ground shift beneath her for just a moment.

She had spent weeks convinced that time simply wasn’t moving. That she had to resign herself. That she needed to move forward, firm and stoic. That those dreams were just meaningless whispers. That those sketches were nothing more than a pastime, since she had polished the candelabras so often, she’d started to wear them down.

But upon seeing him…

it all came back.

All of it.

Despite being such a monochromatic being, for Winy, seeing him again gave purpose to the sunlight and the perfect blue sky.

Winy lowered her head, greeting him with a bow.

—Welcome back, Your Excellency. —she murmured.

The Earl returned the greeting politely. Sebastian, however, turned for just a second longer than necessary.

Just one extra second.

But it was enough.

Winy returned to her tasks as though nothing had happened. But inwardly, she was already anticipating the moment the butler would descend to prepare the Earl’s tea and ask for the account ledger, along with the report of the months under Mr. Tanaka’s charge.

—Very well —the butler said to the kitchen staff—, I trust the master’s absence hasn’t been an excuse for anyone to slack off in their duties.

Winy couldn’t stop watching him.

His features, the serenity in his eyes, the subtle movements of his hands. How he breathed between sentences. She mentally traced those lines on paper again, as if sketching his eyelid’s profile with her gaze, searching for consistency with the sharp eyes and long lashes.

She tried to focus on the instructions given by the very object of her complete attention.

But heavens...

She could only look at him, not listen to the task assignments.

—Miss Leigh?

She just kept smiling at the collar of his shirt.

—Miss Leigh, are you listening?

—Winy —said Mey-Rin, giving her a light nudge on the arm.

Embarrassed, she blinked a few times and straightened up.

—Forgive me. Yes, I heard you.

—Hmm —he murmured with slight disapproval—. Try not to let your gaze wander into frivolity, Miss Leigh. Distractions are the forerunners of mistakes.

Chapter Text

Night had fallen like damp velvet over the Phantomhive manor. Outside, the wind bent the tops of the trees, and a raven flapped its wings near the stained glass. Everyone slept. Everyone but him.

Sebastian Michaelis moved noiselessly, as if he didn’t walk on the floor but upon the shadows themselves, which acknowledged him as their master. He didn’t need to light any lamps. His vision, like all else in him, was superior.

In front of Miss Leigh’s bedroom door, his steps halted. There were locks, yes, but human locks were mere symbolic gestures to his kind. He ran his fingers over the latch, and it gave way with a soft click.

He entered.

The scent that enveloped him was a faint blend of polished wood, lavender, and the warm sigh of fear. Or was it desire?

He didn’t care.

The room was kept with monastic rigor. Nothing out of place. Not a wrinkle on the bedspread. Not a speck of dust on the shelf.

And yet, he knew she was there. Just as much as everything else in the room that never wavered from its discipline.

On the small writing table, in the right drawer beneath a poorly folded blanket, lay Miss Leigh’s private notebook.

But to his surprise, there was another journal, larger, and scented faintly of charcoal and ink.

Sebastian remained standing. He untied the cords slowly. His incandescent red eyes danced in the absent light as he began to read mercilessly the young maid’s deepest thoughts.

First came the written passages. Most began technically, like a collection of notes likely sent by Laidenin: names, hierarchies, symbols. Summaries from Miss Leigh’s intense research. But as they progressed, they grew personal. Reflections. Questions. And now and then…

"If he showed me his true self, would I dare look?"

"I fear his nature… but I fear even more never dreaming of him again."

"I don’t want to stop loving him. I can’t."

"If he kissed me, would his lips be warm or… would it feel like my soul was leaving my body?"

Sebastian smirked with disdain.

—What a pathetic woman... —he whispered. —Her soul is so graceless compared to what I’m used to, it would anger me to consume her. A being as bland as she wouldn’t even serve as an appetizer.

He turned to the sketches.

That’s when the smile disappeared.

They were drawings. Some clumsy, others disturbingly accurate. They lacked the polish of a professional artist but held something far more powerful: the intuitive precision of the soul. Because there he was.

Him.

Or at least, fragments of his true form.

Hair as dark as spilled ink.

Elongated hands with fine nails.

And eyes, those eyes he barely remembered were his own.

—The Sharma sisters… certainly possess interesting talents, —he muttered, narrowing his eyes.

His fangs peeked out in a mischievous grin.

It was fascinating.

It was entertaining.

And he would not allow it.

He put everything back exactly as he had found it. Not a single page out of order. Not a cord left loose.

But when he exited the room, his gaze had changed.

Serious. Resolved.

Gwendoline Leigh was getting too close. And that was a problem.

He could have sealed her dreams, as his kind do with meddling humans. But no. This time, he chose something else. A simple measure. Elegant… and decidedly effective.

That night, as the clock struck eleven and the shadows deepened, Sebastian entered his room and penned a note in his flawless handwriting:

"Miss Leigh, due to matters related to the young master’s evening service, I require your presence in my chambers tonight. Please do not delay. —S.M."

He left it in her task tray.

And waited.

He had to nip that troublesome weed before it grew further. Turn her devotion into guilt.

—Let’s see how docile and fragile she really is… —he thought, admiring his reflection in the silver tray. —It’ll be quick, won’t take much effort, and it’ll be like killing two birds with one stone. After these months of work, I believe I deserve some… gratification.

The scent of her purity, that rare nectar so coveted in Hell yet so within reach in the human world. So flammable it would evaporate between the sheets. His plan was foolproof; she was so easy to read, he would seal her obsession with a guilty wound that would never heal.

—Ah~ —he murmured, running his tongue slowly over his lips. —The lust of a virgin. There’s no fragrance more delicate than that.

And still, deep down in his mind, the idea thrilled him. She would be no different than any other human, so easy to bend.

Chapter Text

The night was rainy, heavy, a storm contained within a woman’s chest.

Winy had received the butler’s note with trembling hands.

She showed up. Punctual. Neat. Determined.

Sebastian observed her with that same distant and elegant air as always. He motioned for her to enter with a subtle gesture, a barely visible bow.

—Miss Leigh, —he said, closing the door behind her with a silent click. —Do you know why you've been called?

She remained silent.

—No, but I think it's regarding tomorrow duties. —she replied, standing tall though her gaze remained fixed on the floor, avoiding him.

—I’ve noticed your persistent desire to know me, —he paused—. To unmask me. You're seeking something that is rarely granted to begins of your…kind.

Winy clenched her hands. It wasn't about household matters.

—I see you've finally uncovered me, —the young woman admitted, her heart pounding—. Yes, I acknowledge that my heart has betrayed me.

He smiled.

—I know. And I believe you've been hiding it for far longer than I can imagine.

The butler moved closer, fluid, almost feline.

—Indeed. —she answered, tightening her hands.

—And I imagine you know what it is you’re looking for, correct?

The butler’s fingers adjusted his gloves ever so slightly.

She was tense, her eyes fixed to the floor. Yet her emotions trembled beneath the closeness of his voice, and the intoxicating scent of a perfume she’d never perceived from him before.

—There’s no need to worry, —he murmured, removing both gloves. Knowing how that play with the gloves excited her. —I can relieve your burdens. And I do hope this doesn’t trouble you.

He took her hand, sliding it across the back of his own. Showing the sign of his contract.

—This is merely a formality between the young master and me. Nothing that should concern you.

Then he gently took her hand and began unbuttoning the cuffs of her uniform.

She simply stood still.

—Don’t be afraid. I assure you I’ll be gentle. By the end of our evening, your heartache will be extinguished like the flame of a candle, —he murmured, nearly brushing her cheek as he loosened his tie. —This will be our little secret. Just one night, and your affliction will vanish. Trust me, Gwendoline.

That was the final straw.

He had never addressed her as such. Not by her name.

—No. —she said firmly.

He stopped at once. The moment Winy’s hands rested against the butler’s chest, gently pushing him away.

—No? —he repeated with a calm smile. —As I said, I’ll be especially careful…

—Mr. Michaelis, allow me to be honest with you.

The butler stepped back, standing tall.

Winy let out a deep breath, exhaling the temptations that had pulled her so strongly.

She raised her eyes and, with unwavering composure, responded:

—By now, nothing is hidden from you. And I can’t keep this obnoxious play, pretending I’m not well aware. I want you to know…—she paused, still feeling a trace of fear and shame—. I want to see you. The real you.

He furrowed his brow slightly. She continued.

—I want to see the demon behind the butler’s mask, your true self. —she declared, without faltering. —Even if it’s only a glimpse. I need to decide whether to keep carrying these…feelings I have for you or end this torment entirely. I want to see the real you and let my heart choose whether to…hope or to finally let go.

Sebastian stared at her, a mocking smile playing on his lips.

—I see, —he replied calmly.

He granted her a degree of credit for her audacity.

And then, something lit up in his mind: perhaps, if she saw his true form, her soul would flee from her body. That would surely cure her lovesickness once and for all.

It was a dangerous proposal, but he didn’t want to frighten her to death.

Still, a pleasurable night seemed like the better choice.

—I must take care not to overdo it. A sudden death here in the manor would be terribly inconvenient. The young master would have quite a mess to manage, not to mention Miss Laidenin asking about her sister’s silence, and ultimately, it would rich on me. —he thought more to himself than to her. —Very well. I’ll give her what she asks. A glimpse.

He stepped back a few paces.

—Are you certain of what you’re asking? —he said, straightening his posture. —My appearance is nothing like what you might imagine or expect. My mere form has twisted minds and shattered wills…

—Yes, —she replied, aware and sure of it. —I’m certain.

Sebastian smiled. His fangs gleamed at the candlelight beside the bed.

—Very well, Miss Leigh. Remember, I did warn you.

Approaching from the side of lust and desire was quickly torn apart. This woman had a straight will on not having her chastity taken by a fleeting moment of weakness. But it was strange; she was willing to lose her sanity over a mere whim about what she thought she could bear or love. But it didn't matter, as long as the demon had what he wanted: to get rid of that stubborn maid, he'd please her on her way.

Behind his back, a shadow stirred.

The candle’s flame flickered.

The temperature in the room dropped instantly.

Gwendoline’s breath turned to mist.

Chapter Text

And so, the dim light in the room was extinguished, plunging it into an eerie twilight. The butler ran his hand over his face, revealing a sight worthy of a midnight terror.

A human face, yet not. A grin stretched unnaturally to the edges of the jaw, fanged and mocking. Sharp eyes framed by long, almost feminine lashes. Elongated ears. Hair flowing like ink spilled in water. That gaze alone was a blaze, desire, terror, power. Confusing. A direct glimpse into the horrors of Hell.

And while the face alone could freeze the soul, even more was revealed in the shadows.

His body displayed a towering set of horns, twisted like dried elm. Clawed hands, an androgynous figure, high heels, and a gaping hollow at the center of his belly.

Scales protruded from his cheekbones like deformed teeth breaking through impossible flesh. His skull bore edges like blades. Features too twisted, shifting, dreadful. And that smile, an eternal mockery, pure desdein, blasphemy through grin.

His gaze was dominant, possessive, despotic.

It wasn’t even the form that terrified, but the attitude seeping from the darkness: mockery, and a deafening laugh. The sensation of being trapped, corner against something lurking within the ribs. The fear of survival at its peak.

It was agonizing without actually having the body to bleed.

And the butler, or rather, the demon, reveling in his imperial form, entertained by the sight of the maid, paralyzed in awe.

—Cat got your tongue… Eshani?

Arrogant. He addressed her with casual cruelty, declaring in a single phrase that she meant nothing.

And then…

The demon’s grin faded.

She smiled. Timidly. Though her entire body trembled from the primal instinct to survive.

Her hands stretched over her belly as nausea crawled up her throat, but she refused to surrender to that instinct. She wanted to be brave. Prove to herself she could bear his true form.

Her voice was barely a breath of life.

She was nothing compared to the terrible majesty of that being. And yet…

She was delighted by his sight.

—You're just as I dreamed you…

—Hmm?

—...beautiful.

The demon frowned. The shadows around him thickened, sharpened. His voice, furious, rose with a growl:

—¡Lia…

But before he could finish, the gazelle stepped into the lion’s maw.

She embraced him.

Her body ached with adrenaline. Every muscle screamed at her to run. Her heart pounded with escape.

Flee for your life!

But her delicate trembling hands rested like a white butterfly against his heavy back. Her head of curls, now one with the shadows, pressed against that cold chest. And her own belly felt the hollow in his.

She breath in.

Said nothing.

And closed her eyes. Feeling a deep, ethereal satisfaction. He was a shadow

The shadow from her dreams.

She could finally see him.

Fully.

And he…

He could do nothing against that boldness of her.

Chapter Text

Silence fell like a bucket of cold water.

Sebastian did not move. He didn’t speak.

His smile faded.

His face, abominable, forged to break human wills, contracted in an unfamiliar gesture: bewilderment.

—What did you say?

She took a deep breath.

As if saying it had freed something inside her.

And as if it were the most vulgar, ordinary phrase, she repeated it.

—You. Are. Beautiful.

He began to feel a soft warmth radiating from his abdomen. So delicate it felt as though it might vanish if he moved a single inch. He only lowered his heavy gaze and met, through the haze and disdain, the delicate figure of that woman.

Daring.

So gentle.

He could smell the adrenaline pouring from her brow, and still, she didn’t let go.

In fact, he could feel her thin fingers gently stroking the shadow of his skin.

Sebastian stared in utter silence. For a moment, not even the demon knew what to say.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t run. She didn’t cry. She didn’t even faint or claw at her eyes.

She simply looked at him. And chose not to close her eyes. In fact, she chose to embrace him.

The hideous, depraved, and horrendous him. Or rather…it.

In an instant, the room’s warmth returned, the rain resumed its patter against the window, and the candle’s soft glow lit the young maid’s closed eyelids.

She opened her eyes, barely aware that now she stood a few steps from the door. Facing the butler. Who, as if nothing had happened, was calmly putting his gloves back on.

She staggered slightly, her body struggling to adjust to the sudden shift.

—Interesting, —said the butler, smoothing out a few strands of hair.

But his voice was different. The usual, tempered, calm voice. The butler had returned.

Winy lowered her gaze. Her legs trembled, but she stayed upright. She tried to understand how, in less than a second, she had returned to her place. She felt dizzy.

He approached quickly, and with graceful ease, steadied her by the waist. She barely leaned against the wall.

—Breathe, miss Leigh, —the butler ordered, theatrically kind and back to his usual tone. —You’ve been holding your breath for several minutes.

She looked at her hands and saw they were quite pale, almost purple. Signs of prolonged hypoxia. She quickly drew in a large breath.

She straightened up again. Her curly hair brushed her cheeks, and as she reached for her head, she noticed her cap was missing. Her hair had spilled out like flour from a torn sack.

—Oh, goodness —she said, looking for the cap on the floor.

That greatly irritated the butler.

—She’s worried about her hair and cap? What a careless woman, —he thought, letting out a deep sigh.

Seeing the cap by the foot of her bed, he stooped down, picked it up, and with a few gentle shakes, handed it to her.

—Well then, Miss Leigh, —the butler said, casual and slightly smug—. Are you satisfied?

She took the cap and, realizing it was pointless to put it back on, simply tucked it into the pocket of her apron and, with a single motion, swept her curls behind her shoulders.

—Yes, thank you very much. —she replied with a smile.

Sebastian, with the faintest twitch of his left eyebrow, looked at her, puzzled.

—Just a thank you? Humans don't thank horrors. Well, not her kind of human. Maybe she is enduring it rather than screaming and crying. I'll give her a couple of hours, just to let the impression of me sink in…—he thought and then said. —Apparently, I failed to meet your expectations.

He was speaking again like a butler. His gestures, his words, all part of that performance.

But she no longer saw the butler.

She smiled sweetly.

—To be honest, —she said, standing straight, feet together, hands folded over her apron. Still breathing deeply. Hands shaking. —I thought your form would be more abstract. Or perhaps extravagant.

She was at peace now. Having seen the true face of that specter, everything was clear.

—I see… —murmured the butler.

—I believe this matter is settled, —she concluded, opening the door. —Is there anything else we must attend to?

Sebastian watched her, still incredulous at her astonishing calm. She was defying the truths of her body, sweat rolling down her cheeks and her heart beating at its peak. And still, her demeanor was calm.

—No. —he said, no more slight smiles. Just a straight serious expression. —You may go, Miss Leigh.

He stepped to the threshold of his room, unable to take his eyes off her.

Her adrenaline still coursed through his blood.

But his breathing was steady.

What was going through the mind of that woman?

Is she performing her own charade?

As she put on her nightgown and tied the satin bonnet around her head, she thought:

—What an arrogant…being, —she mused, smiling—. But nothing I can’t handle.

She laid down in bed, rubbing her feet until they warmed up, and then blew out the candle. Staring at the ceiling, she kept smiling, hiding her telltale expression of a girl in love beneath the soft covers.

—His kind of beauty is certainly exotic, like a broken sculpture or art ahead of its time, —she thought, rubbing her hands to chase away the cold, recalling the touch of the demon’s skin—. That makes up for his egotistic demeanor. After all, that’s what I wanted to see, his form, and now, his truth, —she smiled. —and he is truly hideous, never thought that a simple gaze at…something would cause me nausea. —she sighed. —I hate vomiting, but I had to swallow that reflex, or else I wouldn't have satisfied my curiosity. —and she grinned. —Ah~ that creature... something tells me that I'm still quite far from truly knowing him, but today I climbed a couple of steps... I like that type of gentleman: arrogant, proud, and overflowing with confidence.

She closed her eyes, recalling that dark, elusive sensation.

—Ah~ —she sighed, hiding her little girl grin. —I love cockiness in a man, so attractive and annoying. That's my guilty weakness...

Chapter Text

—Oh, Mr. Tanaka —said Winy as she approached him. —Please, can you include this in the outgoing mail.

The elder butler nodded.

—Thank you very much.

She handed him a medium-sized package containing the books her sister had sent her, along with a letter.

Tanaka walked down the corridor toward the east wing, where the mailman would soon arrive.

—Good morning, Mr. Tanaka —said the butler—. Allow me to take that. The young master asked me to send out additional correspondence.

Tanaka nodded and, without objection, handed over the package and other letters.

Sebastian smiled and headed in the opposite direction.

He quickly unwrapped the Gwendoline’s package and found it was all the books Laidenin had sent to her sister.

—So they’re no longer needed... —murmured the demon—. Let’s see what you’ve reported to Lady Herson.

He opened the letter with precise care and, unfolding it, read:

Thank you for the books, Sari. They were very helpful.

Everything’s going well here, The weather’s been a bit harsh, but nothing that a couple of blankets and hot tea can’t fix.

I’ll keep this letter brief, I’d rather gather more stories for my next one.

By the way, I’ve been sleeping very well. No more nightmares, thanks the gods.

Oh, I almost forgot. How are things with Mr. Ludwin? When will you send me a photo of him? I’d love to meet him.

And regarding Mr. Michaelis, since you always ask…

At that point, Sebastian read more attentively.

Everything remains in order.

—With love, G.L.

Sebastian put the letter back in the envelope and rewrapped the package of books. Confused and somewhat disappointed, he wondered why she had suddenly become so short of words.

—In her other letters she described in detail how I stirred the cream for the master's desserts. She watched and deduced my thoughts as if she truly knew them —he thought. —What a strange woman.

—Miss Herson! —cried the housekeeper—. You’ve received a letter from your sister.

Laidenin was in her parlour, teaching Mr. Ludwin how to play French billiards.

—You’ll aim here, with a left-hand spin. Right at the edge of the red ball, so it hits the cushion and then strikes the yellow one.

—Got it —said the green-eyed young man, adjusting his glasses as he leaned forward.

—Oh, thank you, Rosemary —said Laidenin, taking the package.

Then came the sound of cue against red ball.

—I did it! Did you see that?

Laidenin sat at a side table, unwrapping the parcel.

—Sorry, my love. Look, —she said, lifting the books—. my little sister wrote to me.

He walked over, leaning on the cue.

—Those are the books you sent her.

—Yes, and she says she no longer needs them. —she added, reading the letter —Could you bring me that candle?

The young man picked it up from the opposite table and brought it to her.

—In your last letter, you told her the butler was prying into her correspondence —he remarked.

—And she didn’t hesitate to follow my advice —Laidenin explained, and as she passed the flame over the letter, she noticed dark traces, the demonic essence of that butler—. I told her to write as usual so he wouldn’t notice, but to send me anything important tucked inside books. But it looks like we won’t need that method anymore. See? She sent the rest.

The young man smiled and placed the books on the side table.

—I’m glad she was clever on listening to your advice, at least one of them. Though I wonder if she’s still in love with that… annoying creature.

Laidenin smiled.

—I hope the charm has worn off. One should never trust those beings. They’re terribly seductive and deceitful.

Ludwin stepped closer, cupping her chin and stealing a deep kiss. Laidenin blushed under his defiant gaze.

—Don’t mention that demon and the word “seductive” in the same sentence —he muttered—. It reminds me that creature once kissed your sweet lips.

She tugged on his shirt and kissed him again.

—Don’t be so cruel to him, mon petit mort. Had it not been for his intervention, I might never have discovered your name, my lovely Christopher.

He crossed his arms and grumbled.

—You would’ve gotten it by other means. Now I have to kiss you dozens of times a day just to erase the memory of that infernal butler from your lips.

She smiled.

—You better. I still remember the texture of his tongue.

That made the young man bristle. As he moved toward her again, she lifted her foot, resting it against his stomach to keep him at bay.

—I’m kidding, my love. Don’t be jealous of someone like that. Now let me read what my sister truly has to say.

Laidenin opened the smallest book, and within its pages, she found the other letters. She passed them through the flame, no shadow or darkness remained. Then she opened them. Ludwin sat beside her to read them together.

That morning, Laidenin rose before sunrise, as usual.

She stepped into the garden wearing her usual sari, her movements were more expansive than usual.

Her ankles more extended.

Her hands caressed the still-starry night.

Her neck turned with sublime grace.

Every sigh carried off by the wind.

And smiled.

Upon returning to her room, shivering, she quickly wrapped herself in blankets.

She inhaled deeply.

And smiled.

After brushing soft rose shadow across her eyelids and letting the natural light kiss her cheeks, she paused. With a knowing look, she blended her lip balm with a touch of shadow to make her lips shine with a light red glow.

And smiled.

When everyone stood lined in the hallway, Sebastian, as usual, assigned tasks. Each of them received theirs, ending with Winy, to whom he asked to check the kitchen inventory, noting what was needed and what should be thrown out.

She nodded, as usual. Everyone went off to their duties.

But Sebastian lingered a moment longer, having noticed that she smiled at him.

It was an unusual smile.

She had already walked off with Mey-Rin, but turned back for a second, catching the butler looking at her with a certain severity.

A hint of irritated confusion.

He stopped too.

Winy, with her back straight, feet together, hands folded in front of her apron.

And smiled at him.

Again. Like before, like she always do. But still, why she keeps that tender gesture over him?

Last night sight of his form wasn’t enough to tear that stubborn gentleness aside?

Mey-Rin moved ahead, cleaning her glasses. The others entered the kitchen.

—You have a lovely gaze, Mr. Michaelis —said the young maid. —Crimson suits you marvelously.

She bowed and stepped into the kitchen.

Sebastian…

The demon.

No, the butler…no, no. Sebastian the butler demon.

The demon butler. Mr...butler. Sebastian Demon...

HE.

He…

Or perhaps…it?

The thing is…well, something made him skip a breath. And he didn't had to, actually.

He checked his pocket watch and went off to prepare the young master's morning tea.

Perhaps he didn’t notice. He notice.

Perhaps he chose to ignore it. He couldn't.

He avoided it on purpose. He did not avoid it.

Definitely ignored it, yes, that was it.

No doubt, it was foolishness. What nerve!

What audacity!

How dare she say such a thing!

No shame at all!

What an indecent woman!

What on earth did she just say?

How dare she—

And then, without realizing it, the handle of the teapot snapped under his gloved fingers, sending the pot crashing onto the already prepared tray and spilling tea onto the floor.

Everyone in the kitchen turned.

—Ha! —said Bard, hoisting a sack of flour—. Never seen you break a teapot before, Sebastian.

—Ho. Ho. Ho. —murmured Mr. Tanaka, sipping his green tea.

Sebastian simply let out a sigh. And before he could reach for a towel…

—Allow me. —said Winy, picking up the tray and placing a towel over the table. —Accidents happen to anyone, don’t worry.

But this time, watching her from the corner of his eye as she soaked up the tea and wrung the cloth into the sink, he couldn’t reply as he once might have.

Because this time...

He was worried.

—What an… irritating woman.

Chapter Text

Since that night, everything seemed the same... but it wasn't.

The butler remained as usual: he prepared tea with millimetric precision, smoothed the sheets with inhuman skill, and his walk was just as elegant and flawless. No one in the manor would have noticed, except perhaps a particularly sharp mind or a pair of overly sensitive eyes. Because the truth was that, beneath the polished surface of his composure, something had begun to fray, quietly, steadily, like a thread being tugged loose from the seam of who he was.

Winy's presence bothered him.

Not her voice, as soft as spring rain, nor her serene pace, nor even her subtle scent of incense or those gentle smiles.

It was her devotion that irritated him.

He was deeply annoyed by the way she still offered him sweet gestures, without fear, without a shadow of doubt. That courteous flirtation got under his skin. Every time she offered him a kind word, a gentle compliment, or simply looked at him with tenderness, Sebastian felt an archaic and violent impulse boil in his chest, as if the soul, one he supposedly didn’t have, was seething with fury.

Because she... should not have endured him.

He, who for centuries had raised and destroyed kingdoms with a mere glance, who could reduce armies to dust with a single word, had now encountered an unthinkable obstacle: a woman. And yes, it is known, even in the depths of hell, that a woman can be the worst of devils. But she, that obsessive and impossibly pure woman, redefined the notion of "female wickedness" far beyond his expectations. Especially through her unwavering ways and convictions. Her kind of love was something else entirely: pure, selfless, and foolishly hopeful.

A creature who had chosen not to flee from him, but to embrace, literally, the depravities of his very existence, with care and tender delight. He couldn't understand how, or why.

The worst part wasn’t the obsenity of her twisted delight on him. It was how, between every curt reply, every carefully masked expression of disdain... he searched for her.

He was under a spell of hatred against her, of disdain, and and of an utterly consuming desire...

of her.

He looked for her in the hallways, hoped to hear her laugh in the kitchen, recognized the faint sound of her footsteps in the south wing. How her feather duster swept away dust in the library, the squeak of the cloth against the glass, and her sighs of exhaustion.

And when she wasn’t in some rarely visited corner fixing something no one had noticed, he felt a subtle unease.

A restless tension coursed through him, as if he was... afraid. But that was impossible. He did not entertain the concept of fear. He did not feel it. He was fear incarnate. And fear itself, fears nothing.

Right?

—Supper is ready, Miss Leigh, —he said one morning, placing the dish in front of her with uncalled-for roughness.

—Oh, thank you, Mr. Michaelis, —Winy replied with her usual smile.

The young woman looked up, and as their eyes met, something flickered. A spark. A sting.

The demon turned his gaze away immediately. Pretended to inspect the tablecloth. Pretended he hadn’t seen that infuriating gleam in her greenish-honey eyes.

She notice how he simply did not grin or smile in that cocky way of his.

—Is something bothering you this morning, Mr. Michaelis? —Winy inquired gently.

He didn’t respond. Not to her.

—Everyone, finish up and return to your duties.

And with that, he turned on his heel and exited the room, leaving behind only the heavy scent of black tea and a silence thick enough to swallow her questions.

Winy watched him go in silence.

—Why did you ask him that? —said Meyrin.

—I noticed he seemed… unsettled.

—Well, yesterday I accidentally spilled ashes on the young master's clothes while they were drying. Maybe he noticed that…

—And I used the wrong pesticide on the roses.

Winy sighed and looked at them both.

—I rewashed the young master's clothes and changed the pesticide yesterday, so it couldn't have been either of those things. 

—Who knows —said Meyrin, taking her plate to the sink. —He's simply a mystery to all of us.

—Ho. Ho. Ho 

And then Meyrin looked at her, a bit slyly.

—Maybe you're paying too much attention to him...

—Of course not. —Winy replied, though she could barely disguise how much attention she was actually giving him.

She didn’t understand what she had done wrong. All she wanted was to thank him, to admire him as she always had, and above all, to understand him.

—As a demon... praise inflate their egos, right? Why would he find me bothersome if all I wish is to... understand him? And my compliments are always truth, not only to his efficency but...to his...obscure nature

But within the resentful being of Lord Zarant, what grew most was a bitter blend of revulsion and burning hatred toward her.

He hated himself for lowering his sublime guard for a mere mortal. Not even his actual plaything, Ciel Phantomhive, had dared to act so boldly toward him. But that dreadful woman... she had decided to remain fixed upon him. And that was beyond intolerable.

Had the nobles of hell found out, they would have died laughing, for earning the hatred of a demon is considered a badge of honour. And if word had spread that Lord Zarant bore such hatred toward a mere woman, the royal courts of Hell would have mocked him without mercy.

Hatred means attention. It means the demon can't think of nothing else. They breathe, feed, and kill with one purpose: to destroy the object of that hatred.

And in hell, that is weakness.

Because piercing a demon’s confidence and nonchalance is almost like striking them down, it wounds their pride. And pride is one of the greatest vices of all demons.

When hatred consumes a demon’s existence, the next inevitable consequence is something far more dangerous: attraction.

And let us not speak of the most dreadful curse of all, a curse that had driven even the highest hierarchies of Hell to the edge of oblivion, leading them to shatter their own existence. 

Love.

Ugh...how awfully corny that sounds

Chapter Text

Rain fell softly against the stained glass of the study. The drops traced delicate, almost timid lines, distorting the garden landscape beyond.

—The Viscount of Druitt will host another event. He claims it will be a private circle of nobles with artistic inclinations, —the Earl remarked, flipping through a report with clear disinterest. —We’ll need to send someone to monitor those "inclinations"

—I shall handle it personally, —Sebastian replied in his usual measured tone, while serving the tea with precision.

Ciel nodded and took the report without looking at it. Then, lifting his eyes for just a moment, he let out a sigh.

—What else needs reviewing?

—The Duke von Heiligen. He wishes to invite the young Earl to an autumn dinner at his estate in Berkshire. I suppose he’d also like to see if his granddaughter is still available for marriage.

Ciel frowned with disdain.

—Let him dream. Besides, my engagement is well known among the nobility.

Sebastian smiled.

—The Duke is rarely up to date on London’s elite.

—In any case, I doubt we’ll attend.

Silence returned to the study, broken only by the gentle crackling of the fireplace.

Then, just as the butler was about to leave to begin preparations for dinner, he paused beside the desk and asked, with a calmness unusually calculated:

—My lord. When you saw me for the first time… did you feel fear?

Ciel, still scanning the documents, raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

—Fear? —he repeated. —No. I was more terrified of dying trapped in that filthy place. The closest thing I felt was… revulsion, or maybe a severe headache.

Sebastian watched him in silence. The answer didn’t surprise him, but the tone brought him a strange comfort. A familiar echo, someone to whom he could confirm such a concern without truly revealing it.

The Earl then looked at him directly.

—What brings that on? You don’t ask questions on a whim.

The demon smiled slowly.

—Oh, just a passing fancy, milord.

—I doubt it, —said Ciel, elegantly crossing a leg. —But I suppose I won’t insist. Only you know what might earn you such…doubts.

Sebastian gave a slight bow.

—I was merely reflecting on how admirable souls like yours are. Willing to sacrifice their most valuable possession, even what they love most, for their own goals. Without flinching. Without sentimentality. You offered your life and quickly forgot your twin brother lying dead beside you. —His eyes gleamed with that ancient demonic flame. —And thanks to that resolve to live and conquer, you stand here today. As I do by your side.

Ciel did not respond, but his gaze said it all: he remembered perfectly, and felt no remorse.

Sebastian turned away.

—That kind of spirit… I find it stimulating, —he murmured. —The beauty of a selfish decision.

—Who knows why you're thinking about that, —the Earl replied. —Don't tell me you've found a soul as stimulating as mine.

He smiled.

—Not at all. And if I had, it would be highly improper of me to serve two masters. As I said, I prefer peculiar souls, like yours. Besides, I can only belong to one at a time… —he paused. —For now, of course.

Ciel simply watched him. He doubted him, depended on the sincerity or trickery of that creature. The only law binding the demon to his word was his own, and in that, Ciel could only mistrust.

—Hm, —the Count murmured. —Stop those foolish thoughts and get on with dinner. I'm already feeling hungry.

—Of course, my lord. —he bowed.

As the butler left the study, his expression changed.

There was no smile.

—Miss Leigh, —he thought. —She would do the opposite. She would give her own life before offering up that of an innocent. She would die abandoning every selfish conviction, and the worst part is, she would die happy.

That kind of bravery twisted his insides.

It was, in his nature, repulsive.

—Her desires in life are human but, unbearably dull. Hatred, lust, obsession, madness... those are the true seasonings of the soul, the elements that grant flavour.

And yet...

He thought helplessly repulsed.

—Why does she insist on attributing to me a nature worthy of admiration? she is not the kind of being I take pleasure in praising; she is too... light and righteous. —he wondered as his steps disappeared into the carpeted hallway. —Why does her soul not step back?

He inhaled, returning to a composed expression.

—Perhaps… —he muttered to himself, —she needs to see a little more of ME.

His fangs flashed for an instant as he stopped before the window. Outside, the rain was falling harder.

And something deep within him burned harder.

Chapter Text

Interior of Château de Mirabeau: Countess Mirabeau’s chamber.

The Countess’s long nails theatrically tore at the buttons of her blouse. A sigh escaped her throat.

—You know exactly how to touch, Monsieur Michaelis. I like that in a man.

Sebastian remained silent. His jacket hung perfectly folded over the edge of a chair. His white shirt, slightly open, revealed just a glimpse of his immaculate chest. He stepped forward, eyes narrowed, measuring each movement as though part of a seductive dance.

His hands glided expertly over the woman's thighs, slowly moving up the satin fabric. Every caress was designed to induce pleasure. Every touch, a flawless imitation of what mortals expected from a devoted lover.

The Earl of Phantomhive had been summoned to investigate a series of opioid smuggling operations linked to a famous French fashion house. The prime suspects were the Mirabeaus of Le Havre. The mission was to identify the supplier of the smuggling routes and report them to Her Majesty. A seemingly simple task that might have taken a couple of months, if it weren’t for the fact that dealing with the French, especially those tied to the court of Versailles, required a particular… finesse.

Countess Mirabeau was known for her stern character; she spoke little, but her presence in court was unmistakable. However, as a widow and heir to the fortune of the late Count Mirabeau, she indulged in carnal vanities. Her weakness: servants. And Sebastian, as the Earl’s loyal butler, had been dispatched to extract the necessary information by whatever means proved most effective.

The Countess lay back on the bed, arms open as if demanding worship.

—Allons… don’t make me wait.

He obeyed.

But something felt off.

The warmth of another’s skin stirred nothing in him, not even the usual disdain. While it wasn’t his custom to resort to such methods, if they were necessary, he didn’t mind.

And yet something about this feverish encounter felt… different.

Empty.

Pretend.

That unease kept his mind distracted, wondering why he was even thinking, when in other instances, even he could surrender to the intoxication of another’s lust.

Why not now?

He gently pressed the Countess’s stomach with one hand, making her arch and gasp.

—Ah~ si habile. I adore when a servant’s desire has the privilege of indulging in the flesh of our class.

But as she murmured, dismissing that hollow remark, he kept thinking. The more attention he gave to his thoughts, the more they revealed the root of his discomfort, and to some extent, his stiffness.

—If she was Miss Leigh, she wouldn’t fake those sighs. Her reactions would be utterly nervous… and shy.

He frowned. His jaw tightened.

—Something the matter, monsieur? —the woman asked, stroking his cheek.

—Miss Leigh? —he thought in disgust. —No, madame, —he replied with a perfect smile. —Shall I untie your corset laces?

She smirked.

—Just cut them. Rip them off. I don’t care.

And as commanded, he not only tore through the satin cords but kissed her, bit her neck, and slid his expert hands beneath her gauzy skirts.

Seduction.

Pleasure.

Lust.

Familiar scents. Common, even vulgar, coming from a creature who, despite her regal bearing, reeked of other men’s sweat.

The Countess displayed a refined and impenetrable character, but in truth, her legs were easily parted.

As he buried his face in her perfumed blonde hair, the scent hit him like a slap. That glaring gold, those artificial strands.

—Nothing like the refined scent of soap and sandalwood from…

Unwittingly, he gripped her waist too tightly, making her giggle.

—Oh~ you’re bold, monsieur.

The image of Winy’s hair.

Black. The color of his existence.

Tight curls, like a coiled soul, tangled in the hollowness of his undying hunger.

That night he brought her tea, pretending benevolence, offering to listen to her nightmares. Her black mane, wild curls somehow always tamed and crowned by that dainty maid’s cap. Were all spread over her shoulders.

—She’s probably thinking of me. —the butler thought, as he bit the Countess’s breasts. —There’s no other explanation.

But no, she wasn’t thinking of him. Not in that moment.

The image of Gwendoline surfaced unbidden.

Or perhaps it rose from the deepest corner of his own desire.

While the Countess rode his body like a savage steed, he kept his gaze cold. She writhed like a salted escargot. While his hands stayed firmly on her hips.

And for a second, a blink. Another thought.

A whisper of her voice.

You’re just as I dreamed you…

…beautiful.

Gwendoline.

And that look of awe and tenderness appeared before him, dressed in red and gold. The veil over her braided hair, her eyes rimmed with kohl, her hands adorned with tinkling bracelets. She looked at him, evoking a dance of pure passion. Her heart trembled like a petal poised to fall into a river.

She looked at him like one who yearns for the beloved, longing only for his hands to graze her cheeks. Her eyes, brimming with so much fire and care, carried his name in every trembling sigh she exhaled.

—Ah~! Petit mort! —cried the Countess, her body twitching, a river flooding the sheets.

As he felt his waist dampen, his thoughts drowned him once again.

—Winy would probably curl into herself and muffle her moans. So ashamed of the pleasure she had never expericence before.

His whole body tensed, and not because of the woman atop him.

—Winy?! —he flinched. —Why do I keep thinking of that woman? —burning anger barely hidden in his gaze.

The Countess collapsed, panting, praising him with hollow words.

—Tu es un dieu, a god on earth, —she clung to his neck, as she speak. —Le Marquis de Sade was my partner, once. But we’ve since parted ways. The fabrics may still carry my name, but the tailoring… it no longer suits my taste...

He didn’t reply. He just listened, eyes distant, feeling her breath on his neck.

—Thank you, madame.

He rose.

Began dressing in silence.

The mission was complete: he’d obtained the information needed for the investigation. Just as planned, he would report to the Earl the next morning.

—Have a pleasant night.

As he walked down the hall, lit with Versailles-style golden fixtures...

It happened.

Without warning.

Like a point-blank shot.

THE UNTHINKABLE!

A blow.

A sudden jab.

A brutal, deafening wound.

—What...

His chest clenched on itself, like a cramping muscle, every fiber spasming in agony.

The demon dropped to his knees.

Just as tales of vampires said: like a stake through the heart.

Sebastian clutched his contract-sealed hand to his chest, pressing hard, willing the pain to stop. He struggled to silence the cramp, so much so that the lanterns in the corridor dimmed.

But as his fingers sank into the flesh of his human guise...

He felt it.

—Impossible.

A pulse.

A heartbeat.

Brief, but… there.

And then...

A gush of dark, thick blood escaped his mouth. Vomited violently.

The already crimson carpet darkened further, stained with a viscous, tar-like purple.

—What… what’s happening to me?

His mind overflowed with ideas, explanations, shapes and theories seeking within him, within his formless, shapeless essence, the source of a rupture threatening to burst from his wicked self.

He paused to examine the substance, a strange cold sweat dripping from his brow, his mouth watering. The shadows, his most faithful subjects, quivered at the sight of their master, subdued like a pitiful beast.

And he felt it again.

A pulse.

A beat.

One      ﮩ٨ـ     after                                    ﮩ٨ـ                        ﮩ٨ـ                          ﮩ٨ـ                           ﮩ٨ـ                                 another.

And yes, that thing was not there.

He drove his hand into his chest. His gloves soaked as he pierce his rib cage, snapping bones, attempting to reach what should never exist. Tearing through his human guise and suit.

He plunged in, ripping tissue, nerves, veins, chunks of his lungs. He looked at his bloodied hand.

Opened it.

Nothing.

He had no heart or shape of such ways.

He inhaled deeply. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Remained on the floor a few more seconds. Then, in a single motion, stood upright. With a subtle flick, the carpet returned to its original state, silencing the crime it had witnessed.

—It was only a hallucination, —he claimed nonchalantly, brushing off his uniform until it regained its immaculate state. —Though peculiar, I must admit. I don’t recall this happening before. Or perhaps I simply forgot.

His posture, proud pace, and dignified presence masked well what was unraveling in his chaotic insides. Sebastian, or the demon wearing the butler’s mask, feared that whatever had just brought him to his knees… might happen again. Or worse, might tear him apart from within.

As he left the château under the shadow of cypress trees, he muttered:

—These kinds of distractions could have cost me dearly. —He shook his hands. —I won’t let this delay our plans with the young master.

But he said it with the fear of someone who knew that perhaps… his true concern still lingered.

Lurking.

Beating.

BEASTING...

And that it might, in fact, be himself.

f

a

l

l

i

n

g

d

o

w

n

.

.

.

the thought...

of her.

Chapter Text

Rain still dripped softly against the large hall’s stained-glass windows. It was the usual hour. The servants lined up along the central corridor, awaiting the butler's instructions. Everything proceeded with the punctuality and order characteristic of the household.

The young master had returned. France was now in the past, and the mission had been carried out with impeccable precision. At the Phantomhive manor, everything resumed its usual rhythm.

Sebastian crossed the threshold with his perfect composure. Not a crease out of place. The same elegant pace as always.

Everyone gave the customary bow. And he, with his hands clasped behind his back, passed in front of them with his usual meticulous inspection.

—Bardroy, reorganize the packages from the new shipment we received from London. Finnian, you’ll be in charge of the greenhouses this week. Mey-rin, help Finnian with his tasks.

And then came her turn.

Gwendoline Leigh, upright as always, standing beside Meyrin. Her expression serene. Her posture delicate, yet firm. And as had become usual, there was that unwavering light in her eyes. A constant warmth. A devotion that hadn’t diminished in the slightest.

He glanced at her sideways. With unscrupulous precision.

She held his gaze. Her hands, clasped in front of her apron, were fidgeting slightly. A barely perceptible gesture, but one he, with his sharp observation, noticed clearly. It was that nervous movement she made when she restrained herself, when her heart wished to speak but her lips decided to remain silent.

And there it was, like a damned reminder. That yearning in her gaze.

Gwendoline was still purely and madly in love...with him.

She still admired him. Loved him. With not a single word wasted, without the slightest impropriety. With a modesty and discretion that he longed to tear from her just to stop seeing her so confident.

That...

...was beginning to attract him.

In his own way, of course.

Sebastian, with his upright posture and measured gestures. Temptation behind the butler’s unchanging facade.

He desired her.

—Miss Leigh —he said at last, in a neutral tone—, check the Earl Grey tea stock. The young master expects guests this week and prefers that particular blend.

—Yes, sir —she replied clearly.

—That woman boasts that I live off appearances and masks, but she wears one too, —he thought. —Does she think I don’t notice? Surely behind those shy gestures and sweetened smiles hides a maiden eager for the pleasures of the flesh.

That was one of the most relevant traits of a demon. They always believed they were right. A demon judges and sentences, never questions or bothers to verify. He saw in her his own hunger, famishing, maybe desire to devour. Though this particular demon had a remarkable capacity for resilience, so a certain kind of innate patience was to be expected. Perhaps it was the insatiable hunger for the seasoned soul of the young Earl, or maybe he simply preferred to savour his prey with patience.

Drooling over a plate about to be served.

Winy lowered her head humbly and withdrew alongside Meyrin.

Sebastian remained standing a moment longer, before continuing his inspection.

She still loved him.

And he...

...he no longer wanted her to stop.

Midnight unfolded silently like a veil of dark blue silk. The clouds sighed, barely visible beneath the pale moonlight. In the manor’s back garden, where the grass was short and damp with dew, a figure walked with steady yet relaxed steps.

The butler.

Sebastian walked with a basket under his arm. His freshly laundered uniform hung with immaculate order. He carefully spread it over the metal clothesline beside the apricot tree. The breeze barely stirred it.

He sighed. He had been performing the same tasks, doing everything as a human would: by hand. He had rebuilt the manor with a snap of his demonic fingers, yet... he still had to do the laundry the ordinary way.

Boring.

Yet somehow, those tasteless routines of his charade had proven oddly entertaining.

The fabric still dripped slightly, but by the time the sun rose, it would be cold dry.

Just then, lifting his gaze, he noticed something that stole from him a gesture only known to those of his kind: a wicked smile.

Next to his uniform, on the far end of the clothesline, hung Miss Leigh’s garments: her work dress, the embroidered apron, a pair of caps, her cotton stockings, and…

—Compared to the ladies of noble families, you are notably more modest when it comes to feminine attire —he murmured, not without a touch of fascination, sliding his fingers across those intimate fabrics. —*Some lace and transparency over your thighs wouldn’t stain your purity. *

He found a midnight toy to indulge in, not the fabrics, but the thought. The idea of her, dressed like a courtesan or a streetwalker. Her skin bathed in candlelight, scented with cheap perfume, and a painted black dot accenting the corner of her lips. Red feathers atop her head, her dark curls cascading down to frame her bosom.

—Lust is a fine wine that would be served deliciously upon your breasts, Miss Leigh.

The contrast between the out-loud voice of the butler and the internal voice of the demon amused him. Like two creatures inhabiting the same body. Except it was the same actor playing two roles.

Who he was, and who he pretended to be.

And in either act, Gwendoline challenged them both.

He passed his gloved fingertips over the cool fabric of the dress. Delicately, he lowered his hand to the waistline, just where the dress cinched with modest pleats. Her lower belly, the centre of fertility and femininity.

—Where, in ladies, hidden between their legs, lies the budding rose —he murmured. —An olive I adore to bite and pop.

He then buried his face in that garment, a symbolic fabric of chastity and modesty.

He closed his eyes.

He didn’t perceive soap. Nor starch. Nor cloth.

Only an invisible yet undeniable trace: the virginal fragrance of the young woman.

Milk blossom.

Shyness and innocence.

For a moment, he delighted in imagining her wearing the garments of her homeland. A long skirt clinging to her hips, a golden waist bead string over her bare belly, and a short blouse that did more to shape her breasts than cover them. Her hair loose, shoulders shimmering. Bare feet, painted red, adorned with anklets.

He imagined her like those royal courtesans, goddesses of seduction and pleasure.

The demon sighed, and his fangs grazed his own lip.

—Ah~ I'm never tire of this, —he thought, as if spoken with a deep, velvety voice. —And to think that in the crimsom brothels of my sweet home, the streets hide such delights. How I miss it.

Referring, of course, to the red-light district of hell. The human world was not so different from that place, even in appearance, it resembled aristocratic areas.

His claws traced the dark fabric at the waist, fully intending to possess. To tear. Without thinking, his sharp nails extended, ethereal like ink in water. Piercing the threads until they tore.

—Like a debauched courtesan… —he growled, undressing the helpless young woman in his mind. —A woman who no longer sold her body out of need, but from the maddening addiction to beign posses, to lie back and lose herself. Libidinous… fevered.

He, the depraved demon, revelled in degradation and the forbidden allure. It was perfectly befitting of his true nature.

The wind shifted.

The breeze brought with it an aroma like that of the dress.

But this one was warm. Chaste. Soft. Of a slow pace.

Beyond the hedges outlining the garden, in a small hollow, a figure lay on the grass. Unbothered, her hair spilled over the lawn like curled tinder, ebony wood. The wind carried her sighs, made out of pure intentions and love.

Her...

And without a second thought, he made his way toward that open corner of the garden.

—How timely, —he thought, flashing a slick smile, his tongue slipping across his upper lip.

To him, the image taking shape in his twisted mind was corupted by the virginal scent of that woman. So different from what he was used to, so challenging and against everything he considered delightful.

And that made it thrilling. Defiant.

For a being who took pride in defying his own nature, she was no other but the unnatural loathing he despised having over a mere human. That repulsive...undeniable attraction.

She didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even move.

She only slowly turned her face as soon as she heard those light steps approaching.

—What are you doing out here, Miss Leigh?

Sebastian’s voice sounded through the night like a cold breeze against the warmth rising from Winy’s breath.

—Mr. Michaelis! —she replied, with a wide smile yet shy as he found her stargazing.

Perfect solitude until he arrived.

The demon approached. Winy was wrapped in a light wool blanket. She didn’t rise, for she felt perfectly cradled by the grass.

—I’m taking a moon bath —she replied, gazing back at the starry sky—. My sister wrote to me, she said these nights are good for cleansing the body and renewing the spirit during the full moon.

The moon reflected in her pupils, giving them a milky glow.

The demon raised an eyebrow but didn’t bother to look up in the moon’s blaze. He knew it well, unchanged over millennia. Nothing new beneath its pale hues.

The wind tousled his hair like that of a beast positioning itself upwind so the prey wouldn’t catch its scent.

—Don’t tell me you’re naked beneath that blanket.

She barely turned her head, wearing a playful expression.

—Don’t say such things, they’re improper of you. Of course I’m not naked. Moon baths aren’t necessarily taken in the nude.

He tilted his smile, malicious once more. Poisoned with the heat of desire.

—And what do you believe is proper of me?

She didn’t look at him, but the moon.

—Elegance. Composure. Absolute control. Virtus of a faultless butler like you —she said softly—. But sometimes I think it’s also in your nature to observe what no one sees. Small things. Details. Otherwise, the young master wouldn’t be so satisfied with your efficiency.

The demon knelt beside her, resting one knee on the grass. Shadows seemed to bow around him.

—Small things —he repeated, as if the words brought him closer to her lips—. They say the devil is in the details.

She laughed.

—You don’t speak much of it, but I’m sure you enjoy hinting that you… —she looked sideways— What is it you say? —She paused—. Ah, yes. You consider yourself a devilishly good butler. —she smiled, emphasizing that last description. — Oh no, I'm mistaken. You always say: I'm just one hell of a butler. —chukling.

And he smiled, amused that she found it funny rather than frightening.

—As I once told you, Mr. Michaelis: you are very arrogant, always bragging about your superhuman skill whenever you get the chance. —She laughed tenderly. —It really must be a cruel joke on all of us, so fragile compared to you...

He felt strangely flattered. He loved that wordplay and how commoners were left stupefied by his great feats. Making the young master look like a king, and himself, like an exceptional butler.

—You speak with great confidence, Miss Leigh. —he replied. —If I didn’t know you, I’d believe you feared neither God nor the devil.

—I do have fears. —she looked at him. —But the one thing I fear the most is not loving with all I am. To be untrue to my heart, whatever path it tells me to follow.

—Ugh, there she goes again with the love foolishness. —he thought. —Humans really speak of it as if it were something so common...

He leaned forward.

—You seem to know me very well, Miss Leigh. I must admit, more than my usual contractors. —His eyes glowed crimson, and a new gleam appeared too.

Pink.

She sat up, her hair gathering like seafoam, as she looked at him, a sigh caught between her astonishment and her lips.

—Was I wrong? —asked the demon.

She gave him a sweet look, tilting her head, resting it on her knees.

—Your eyes… —she murmured—. You have a pair of beautiful moons. —she smiled. —So proper of you...

He said nothing.

Held his expression firm.

His eyes flashed like blood moons, Winy’s favourite.

—Beautiful. —he repeted, his demanour serious. —You said it again. Allow me to show you just how mistaken you are.

Then, without warning, the demon leaned over her. Like a feline, his hands slid around her waist, gripping her tightly. And stealing a kiss, he tore away the linen covering her. Her warm breasts were left exposed beneath the moonlight, and without hesitation, he seized those voluptuous mounds with his claws, then ripped down her—

—Mr. Michaelis? —Winy asked, noticing his mouth sligtly open. As if he was about to say something. But only cold breath smoke on the air. —Do I have a bug on my hair?

His gaze, still flaring, has burning her alive.

The wind blew again. Winy’s hair stirred, and feeling that chill, she wrapped herself once more in the blanket and stood.

—It's freezing. —she said as he cover her head. —We should go back. Since I’m awake, I’ll start getting ready.

And he awoke from his daydream.

Sebastian or, rather the lecherous demon felt dizzy. Between the ravenous vision of his lust and the calm outside himself, he disassociated. Lost all sense of self, and as if absent in his own house, remained still, but within, he was already making her his.

—Seems the moon has affected you too —said Winy, noticing how he placed his hand over his eyes, as if to hide the flames in his gaze—. I’ll leave you to take your own full moon bath.

He looked at her bare feet and, letting out a sigh, scolded himself for falling so easily under a spell she hadn’t even intended to cast.

—What a way to lose my head, —he told himself. —I’m beginning to resemble a human.

Chapter Text

As the week drew to a close, Winy was busy washing the dishes while Meyrin and Bard stepped out into the garden to help Finny collect the dry leaves left scattered by the end of summer. Winter was approaching, bringing with it the December festivities, such as Christmas and the New Year. Although still weeks away, it was already time to begin preparations.

Sebastian was finishing the young master's dessert before continuing the list of winter outfits for the personnel, he now had to include a new name.

While thinking about calling the tailor, he looked up. And as he sharpened his gaze, he noticed three elongated slits at Winy’s back, just above the ties of her apron. Almost as if a cat had been playing on her dress.

He stood up, the chair making a soft sound. Winy didn’t hear it, the running water as she scrubbed the sink kept her from noticing.

The demon walked until he was behind her, then slipped his fingers into the slits in her dress, touching the white undershirt beneath. Hoping that perhaps the white peeking through might be her bare skin.

—What are you doing? —said Winy, feeling a sudden shiver run down her spine, making her jump.

—Your dress is torn.

She tried to look and saw the butler’s fingers sunk into her dress.

Touching her back.

—Goodness! —she exclaimed, flustered, drying her hands quickly—. I didn’t realize. Thank heavens it was you who noticed and not the young master.

He withdrew his hands as soon as she took a couple of steps back.

—I’ll go change.

But he interrupted her, gently placing his hand on her belly, instantly stopping her.

The first brush of his fingers against her back had caught her off guard, leaving her no time to process the fleeting caress. But this second contact, firmer, his whole palm resting on her, sent a shiver up her spine. Like a warm jolt that climbed and set her cheeks ablaze.

—Wait, allow me to fix it for you.

The butler pulled a small handkerchief from one of the inner pockets of his coat, which held a needle and thread.

—Oh, how clever —said Winy, trying to hide the fact that her voice was starting to tremble—. I-I think I’ll take that idea from you.

He took a nearby stool, sat down, and without asking, simply placed his hands on her waist, pulling her toward him.

She remained silent, though secretly she had expected that usual gesture of courtesy: for him to ask permission before touching her. However, that unusual firmness, that almost imperceptible way of imposing his will, unsettled her. And yet, she couldn’t resist; her body, inexplicably, was drawn to the warmth radiating from those gloved hands encircling her waist.

—Don’t move —said the butler—. Otherwise, I might prick you by accident.

Winy straightened her back and folded her hands over each other in one of the apron’s pockets.

—I’m sure your usual precision would prevent you from making such a simple mistake.

He smiled.

—You once told me that anyone can make mistakes.

And she replied cleverly:

—Except you, Mr. Michaelis.

The butler’s eyes lit up and an arrogant smile appeared on his measured face.

Without realizing it, she was fueling his desire.

—Come a little closer —instructed the butler, placing his hand once again on the young woman’s belly.

Only a couple of breaths apart.

And temptation just a touch away.

She could barely contain her heart, the heat radiating from her body, blood rushing to her face. She felt utterly vulnerable being so close to him, so weak.

As he finished the last tear, he paused.

He inhaled deeply, the warmth of her skin, the scent that lingered beyond the fabric. The chastity hidden beneath those garments. The milk blossom fragrance of her purity. The thirst to drink from her until pleasure spilled from his mouth.

He.

dropped.

the.

needle.

—

I

—

I

— ˎˊ˗

Falling on the stone floor.

A silent thin sound. And...

In one violent motion, he gripped the fabric on her back and tore her clothes without hesitation.

She scream aloud and ask in fear:

—What are you doing?!

She tried to pull away, but he had already trapped her, his hands slithering like serpents, touching her skin, roaming her curves until they grasped her breasts.

Rising to his feet, he ripped the cap from her head and with a swift motion, undid the ribbon tying her hair, letting it fall loose.

—Stop! Stay away!

But he was already aflame, burning.

The kitchen doors closed, the curtains dropped their folds, and that kitchen dimmed in twilight and sexual delirium.

Once again, he drew near. He seized her arms, pinning them behind her, then held her jaw and kissed her so lasciviously she couldn't breath. Tears streamed down her cheeks and her desperate cries only ignited him more.

—Help! Someone, please!

But the demon simply stepped back to turn her around and slammed her against the table, completely at his mercy. And as if his entire being compelled him, by some primal impulse, he finished tearing her—

—The tea is ready —said Winy upon hearing the kettle’s whistle sharpen—. Do you want me to take it off the stove?

But he continued closing that tear.

Sewing.

Sewing.

Sewing.

—Mr. Michaelis?

She turned to look at him and once again, his coal-like eyes were fixed on the needle and thread. But again—

—There’s a hint of pink... —thought the young woman.

Then Bard, Finny, and Meyrin entered. Visibly exhausted and with a few dry leaves on their shoes. Even Snake looked worn out, so much so he collapsed on a bench near the door, wiping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.

—What a tiring day! —exclaimed Finny, dropping into a chair.

—The leaves just won’t stop falling —said Meyrin, adjusting her glasses—. We barely finish one side, and the other’s already covered.

—Bah! —snorted Bard, pulling out a cigarette—. Just because last time I used fire to get rid of that heap of junk it took us almost three hours to put out the fire.

—Please don’t mention the explosives! —pleaded Finny—. Last time you nearly destroyed the whole garden.

—I need a vacation —muttered Meyrin, eyeing the kettle.

—We’ll have plenty of time to rest once the snow starts falling and we spend most of the day indoors —added Bard, exhaling a puff of smoke—. Or clearing the front path.

Winy looked again at the butler, who was now just smoothing the fabric. The tears were already closed.

—Wow —said the young woman, sliding her fingers over her lower back—. I can’t even tell where those holes were. Maybe a cat was playing with my clothes while they were drying.

She turned around, feeling how the movement had sharply pulled the butler’s hands away. When Winy was about to apologize, she realized the butler had a distant look, his expression aggressive. His brow was furrowed and a strange, ragged breath escaped his slightly parted mouth; his fangs seemed more prominent.

—Sebastian, that kettle’s been whistling for over two minutes —said Bard, annoyed by the sound.

—I’ll get it —said Mey, getting up from her seat.

—Mr. Michaelis? —Winy murmured, worried to see him unresponsive.

He didn’t react.

He was gone.

Somewhere between his growls and Winy's desperation.

Then, in an incredibly bold move, she placed her hands on his shoulders and shook him.

She dare to touch him.

And still hesitating in the final moment, she called him.

—Sebastian.

He looked up, like a beast on the prowl.

—Your eyes —she murmured, worried, quickly pulling her hands away from him. Relieve he finally reacted.

—My eyes? —he said, coming back to himself.

She took one of the silver trays nearby, and mimicking a mirror, held it in front of him. Seeing his reflection, he stood up, covering his gaze with his right hand.

—It’s boiling! —said Meyrin as she brought the kettle to the table, setting a cloth beneath it.

Winy watched him, it wasn’t like him to behave that way.

—As if he was losing control —she thought, concerned.

—Don’t burn yourself! —exclaimed Finny as Mey’s glasses fogged up.

Then Sebastian let out a sigh and shook his hands. Ignoring Winy completely, he turned to Mey.

—Thank you, Mey. Leave the kettle there. I’ll finish serving the tea for the young master.

Then Winy heard Lancelot, Snake’s albino serpent, hiss sharply at the butler.

—What’s wrong with your snake? —said Bard.

—The butler... —and then Snake looked at the serpent, unsure whether he should speak or not.

Chapter Text

The candle flame flickered angry in the butler’s private quarters. Outside, the end of autumn howled with winds that battered the windows like hungry beasts, a sign that winter was near. The embers cast a reddish glow on Sebastian’s eyes, as if something inside him stirred, something he knew name and shape. Something cursed to even speak.

Unread reports and an antique clock striking midnight lay atop his small desk. And yet, the butler could not concentrate on any of his usual duties. It wasn’t the chores of the day, nor the pending tasks, not even the pleas of the young master.

It was her.

Gwendoline Leigh.

Her voice, her persistent glances, her serene smile, the delicacy of her hands as she handled the chandeliers, the sound of her measured steps through the corridor. The boldness with which she flattered him, flirted with him. Everything. Everything that shouldn’t matter was drilling into his mind.

Absurd as it was, the feeling drew him disturbingly close to humanity.

He gripped the edge of the table tightly. The fibers of his gloves twisted and creaked.

—This is nonsense —he told himself reproachfully. —She’s just a mortal. Since when has such a simple creature been able to unsettle me like this? It only proves I’ve gone soft. —he sighed. —I’ve spent too long in this form, and now I’m starting to feel human. —he smirked. —But it is this very form that has made so many fall at my feet. All so alike.

But it wasn’t true. None of the others had ever looked at him the way she did or held brave conviction over him. Not like hers of love and devotion.

—This cannot continue —he thought, as if reciting an order to himself—. I’ll deal with it the usual way. As if following a command from the young master. As only I know how.

The sensual desire was nothing new. But the anxiety was. That damn anxiety that wouldn’t dissolve with a mere snap of his fingers or drown beneath scorn and ridicule. That anxiety that made him slip up, confuse teacups, repeat gestures, and have waking visions, like dreaming. And all because of that woman.

He unbuttoned his jacket slowly, as if preparing his uniform for a sacred ritual. He looked into the mirror and saw his reflection with pride. Delirious. Perfect.

But he did not see the black-haired, seductive butler.

He saw himself.

Formless. Shapeless. A mass of something unnameable. Powerful. Without limits. Immense. Sublime. Incomparable.

Tailored by and for sin.

Against all nature.

No human could resist his call. And now that he had decided to embrace desire and drink from the same cup alongside dear Winy, all the more so.

—She won’t be any different. Humans are simple. Even those with “unbreakable” spirits shatter like thin branches. —he sighed, relieved. —I just need to taste her. Satisfy her desire. Then everything will return to normal.

His smile returned to its usual state: elegant, restrained, devastating.

He straightened the ends of his shirt sleeve, took a deep breath, and left the room. He walked down the corridor with firm, confident steps. The plan was simple: knock on her door, politely request entry, and present himself with brutal honesty. Use his finest charms to pluck, petal by petal, the basest desires of Gwendoline.

For they existed, love is also lust.

Only he and the longing of young Gwendoline for his devilish charms.

Because if she truly loved him, she would give in. And if she didn’t... then...

—...the guilt born of her unleashed desire would eclipse whatever so-called love she believes she feels for me. She would realize it is only carnal longing.

Or at least, that’s what he wanted to believe.

Because love is not just a feeling.

Not just a desire.

Not even a choice.

It just...is.

It simply is.

Let us not forget that demons are so self-centered they believe only in their own truths. What they declare as fact is nothing more than their own reasoning, echoed back through the tunnel of their own view of things. No voice outside their own is ever trusted. And, to a certain extent, it’s a way of seeing the worlds, though twisted and dim.

Silence loomed over the manor. The clocks no longer marked the hours; the entire house seemed to slumber under the warmth of the last autumn embers.

The candle in Miss Leigh’s room still burned. She gently passed a wooden comb through her damp curls, softly reciting an old prayer learned from her mother, while the faint scent of sandalwood filled the room with a peace that only she knew how to hold.

The incense she had lit gave a final sigh.

And then: three knocks at the door.

Dry.

Deliberate.

Recognizable.

She did not react immediately.

—Mr. Michaelis?

—May I come in?

The voice was firm, tempered by a deeper tone than usual. Neither urgent nor overly polite. It was the prelude to a precisely measured request.

Winy approached the door, adjusting her nightgown. Her steps were soft, but her heart fluttered slightly. She opened cautiously, just enough to find him standing there, imposing as always, but without his usual formal posture. Or his jacket. Or his vest.

—Is something wrong? —she asked cautiously, as seeing him without his coat seemed a grave offense to his immaculate bearing.

He looked at her, shamelessly. Her damp hair, her nightgown, and the outline of her body beneath the fabric that covered her. There was something in his calm expression, like when a cat seems docile and in a second its claws sharpen to strike.

It was strategy wrapped in calm. He entered her room without further explanation, and she could only step back as curiosity and fear slowly took hold of her.

—Why is he looking so down? —he thought worried.

The mask. The Act of a fine performer.

—I’ve come to ask you something, Miss Leigh. —he declared—. A simple request, unrelated to our daily duties.

Winy frowned slightly. What could he ask that wasn’t about checking the silverware or sweeping the stairs? What did he mean by “unrelated”?

—I’m listening.

He lowered his head, as if rehearsing humility, and his voice softened, like a plea.

—I’ve come to offer you what I am. —he said, still looking down, as if truly ashamed. —My body. Tonight. No conditions. No commitments. No souls involved. If you wish, you may take me in this form, or even ask me to take the form of someone you once loved, a first love… perhaps.

He lifted his gaze, and his sorrowful expression seemed capable of melting anyone’s heart.

—And if that’s not the case, allow me to please you…

He stepped closer, as if his very presence might make her faint.

But she stood firm.

Winy did not move.

Her face first went pale and then flushed a red as deep as the velvet armchair in the library.

Sebastian thought she was utterly flustered by the proposal, the color in her cheeks betraying her desire. And knowing Winy was a modest woman, he figured he should tread her more gently.

But above all...

He was utterly delighted. He was right. Nobody could resist him. Not even her, so righteous, yet burning for him.

—Trust me, Miss Leigh. I assur...

—Are you in your right mind, Mr. Michaelis? —she said with a seriousness that shattered the mood.

She wasn’t red from embarrassment.

She was furious.

He said nothing. Only look at her perplexed.

The Mask.

Fall from his face.

—I don’t mean to offend you. I desire you, Miss Lei...

—You came to my door with such shamelessness expecting th-that… that I would give in out of pity?

Sebastian stared at her, unblinking.

—It is not pity I expect from you, Miss Leigh. It’s compassion. You are compassionate. You… understand. I merely seek solace in the only woman I deem worthy of me.

She narrowed her eyes, studying him.

—How dare you. —she said, crossing her arms—. My chastity is not traded for pity or hollow flattery.

Disconcerted, he maintained his composure. Stubborn women were his specialty, but when he tried to touch her cheek, she simply turned her head away. Enraged.

—You never act without purpose —she said firmly—. Perhaps you think my affections for you are enough for me to surrender without protest. You probably believe you've read me like an open book. And you thought, "if she truly loves me, she’ll yield easily." If that was your logic, let me tell you, you thought me a fool.

Sebastian opened his mouth to speak, but Winy raised her hand.

—Don’t misunderstand me. I desire you too —and that sentence struck like lightning through calm—. I’ve dreamed of it. I’ve imagined your hands so many times that even I found myself too daring. It would be a lie to deny it.

The demon’s eyes widened with a glimmer of victory. There was hope.

—But —she continued—, I do not want one night. I don’t want a wild night of pleasure disguised as solace. I do not want you like a beast in heat.

Her voice was now tempered by radiant sincerity.

She paused.

She had spoken aloud. Too much.

Perhaps it was anger that made her do so, but now she felt ashamed. That sudden outburst had revealed desires she had meant to keep hidden. And now, she couldn’t lift her gaze to meet his.

Devil or not...

The longing she felt for him went far beyond flesh and sweat tangled in sheets.

—Then how do you want me, Miss Leigh?

He was still in seduction mode. Even his voice changed when he addressed her.

—You really don’t understand? —she replied.

—Help me understand. —taking another step.

But she had to step back.

If anger had made her reveal that silent truth, her yearning for him, for his touch, even after he had shown himself as the egotistical, arrogant beast of the shadows. She...

She...

Gwendoline still clung to that hope that...he was worth it.

—I long for your...eternity.

He furrowed his brow. That was a concept as abstract as himself.

—Does she want to live forever? —he wondered.

She took a deep breath, as if to calm the trembling in her hands. Her cheeks ceased burning with anger and began to lose their color.

She took a deep breath, as if to calm the trembling in her hands. Her cheeks ceased burning with anger and began to lose their color.

—I still don’t fully understand it, but... I find your nature fascinating. The way you wear the human mask... —she looked at him, afraid and nervous. That did make her feel shame. —It’s as if you enjoy humanity...

That took him by surprise.

—I can only imagine how it is to see the world through your eyes.

Because in a way, it was true.

—I want to understand your reasons, why human lives attract you, what you see in us who are so... hard to define. What pleases you, what distresses you, what makes you... smile. Truly smile. —she paused. —I’m not interested in satisfying a desire that will turn to dust by morning. The body doesn’t matter to me without the soul. The soul is sacred. You must know that better than anyone.

Sebastian clenched his teeth.

The blow had struck true.

He didn’t know whether to feel deep respect for that woman in her nightclothes or utter terror. How had she figured him out? Was it that easy?

But he had forgotten something very important.

She had keen eyes.

—Then you don’t love me?

She shook her head gently.

—Not in the way you’re asking. Not ever under those terms.

But he was stubborn. Even in confusion, desire was there to him.

—Then how? —he asked as he furrowed his brow.

All that incomprehensible chit-chat was getting on his worn-out nerves.

She shook her head again and, lowering her hands to the center of her chest, felt the pounding of her own heart.

—I see you still don’t understand... —she took a step forward and looked him in the eyes. —I don’t want you as something I could possess. I… simply… give love to you. I love you. I… offer you this… what I am.

He didn’t understand.

What is she trying to say?

How could that woman love?

All humans, in love, give in to the flesh.

She was clearly in love, so why resist?

—It's so simple, why does she have to make it all complicated. Just spread your legs for me and that's it!

Then he remembered.

—Right, she is no commoner. —he thought.

She was the one who, instead of fleeing from his true form, embraced him and called him beautiful. She had defied everything he had known about humanity for centuries.

—This woman sees the world upside down. I can't expect the obvious from her; she is unpredictable. —he smirked. —Even in her simplest ways, she leaves me wondering what the next unexpected turn will be... I like her love game.

And then she added:

—If your soul is worn out and seek for rest, you may sleep here. With me.

She hurried and, folding the sheets, prepared a small space on that little matress.

—My bed is small, but I can stay at the edge. I offer you my pillow. I’ll manage with a folded blanket.

He was bewildered.

—Sleep? Beside you? —and he smiled, crossing his arms. —Do you expect me not to touch you if I lie right next to you?

—I do. —she replied, holding the blanket now turn into a soft square. —I’m giving you that trust. I won’t touch your body. I don’t expect you to touch mine. Just lie down, if you need to. And I’ll watch over your rest.

Sebastian stared at her, his frown showing horror. Half stunned, half mocking, he couldn’t understand the nature of such incoherence.

—Miss Leigh, you’re tempting me with that offer.

She had finished fixing her new pillow and returned to him.

—I already told you. —looking him in the eye. —I trust you.

The demon fell silent. Inside, something clawed at him.

—This woman has no brain, —he thought. —She says she’s chaste and pure, yet this “sleep beside me” offer is an obvious insinuation. How dare she say she trusts me? Does she has no sense of doubt? If she’s the type who feigns temperance but hands out trust so easily, I wonder if she’s truly as virginal as she seems. —and he smile in mockery. —My young contractor is so much wiser, he doesn't trust me, even if our terms says I must not lie to him.

And yet.

—I assure you my sheets are clean. I change them every week. —she added as it was a mere formality to clarify.

—I don’t doubt the purity of your bed, Miss Leigh.

She was cracking his foundation.

—She still knows I’m not just a butler... right? —he thought, uneasily.

He bowed slowly and stepped back.

—I apologize for troubling you.

He gave up.

He was the concept of confusion itself. But he didn’t truly know what it felt like to be confused.

—Goodnight, Miss Leigh.

He closed the door softly, and she stared as he left without a word. Just as he arrive, he was gone.

She exhaled deeply, relieved, clutching her chest as if to calm her racing heart. She was blushing, flustered, nervous… but mentally at peace.

She had guarded her temple without shutting her heart. It saddened her that he, Sebastian, the demon, found it so difficult to accept such a simple gesture of affection.

—I wonder... in all his years of existence, has he ever known what love is beyond all its twisted or aberrant forms, beyond flesh, bones, and self-centered humans? —she sighed wistfully. —Has anyone ever loved him beyond his appearance?

But Sebastian…

No, my apologize.

𝔏𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℨ𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔱.

With deep rage, he walked back to his room, clawing at his chest until he tore the shirt and the pale skin beneath. Something inside him pulsed, and it wasn’t what he wanted.

—Again?!

That pounding that burst from within. Yet he kept his step proud and firm, though life poured dark from his mouth.

—Fuck me…

The night seemed endless.

Sebastian remained in his room for a long while. He had stripped off his vest, his tie, even his shirt. The window was open, letting in the chill of approaching winter. His skin did not shiver, but his mind... did.

Gwendoline’s offer kept echoing in his memory.

“If your soul is worn out and seek for rest, you may sleep here. With me.”

“I’m giving you that trust.”

“I love you. I… offer you this… what I am.”

—How can she say something so senseless?

Those phrases wounded his pride more than anything. She hadn’t rejected him with fear, nor with hypocritical morals. She rejected him with tenderness. With trust.

—If she had at least shown some anger toward me, slapped me perhaps. —he thought. —It would've made up for all the confusion she left me with…

And that left him defenseless.

He tried to quench his unrest through other means. He went to the private bathroom in the east wing, removed his gloves, leaned against the marble wall, and satisfied himself in fury.

In rage.

He did it quickly, as if still ashamed to admit she had bested him.

And when he climaxed, it wasn’t liberating.

He looked at his dripping hand, and clutching that whitish fluid, he growled.

Because the image returned, his mouth coughed black blood. His own blood.

His form slipped between his teeth.

And that heartbeat.

—Why did I do it this way? —he straigtned. —I am not human male.

But when looking at his reflex on the mirror, he saw a man, flustered and sweat falin down his forhead.

—I'm getting comfortable with this disguise…

He take a look at the redish bulge between his legs, and smirk.

—Would she get frightened at your sight, my dear friend.

Gwendoline blew out the candle and settled at the edge of her bed. Her pillow was the folded blanket, leaving half the bed empty.

She trusted.

She had hope.

In him.

And she was right.

He walked down the alley. Barefoot. Clinging to the pride he had left. The butler remained hanging in uniform in his room. The one who marched on was the demon.

The Archduke carrying his wounded pride.

Unannounced.

He turned the knob slowly and entered.

She was sleeping on her side, lying on the left side of the mattress. Her nightgown covered her completely. The extra folded blanket was by her side, like a small improvised pillow.

The main pillow awaited him.

He didn’t say a word.

Just approached. Pulled back the sheets. Lay down, careful not to make the mattress creak.

Rage pooled at his feet.

He didn’t touch her. Didn’t dare.

But he closed his eyes, his human ones, as the others remained open.

Listening to her soft heartbeat.

Her breathing, caught between her hands and the blanket.

The blood flowing down her back.

The brush of her curls against the satin bonnet.

And he just lay there, half his body exposed because the blanket was too short for his back. He stayed listening to her. He felt her warmth, slowly taking over his cold breath. And when he least expected it...

—Sleep well, Mr. Michaelis.

He said nothing.

But he opened his eyes, the human ones, and looked at her, until he lost awareness of his surroundings. His body ceased to feel heavy.

He hadn’t felt this much greed in a long time, not since the young Earl’s soul danced daily before him, as a piece of meat ready to be served. Now she too had joined that hunger to possess, that silly dance of the Earl alongside Gwendoline Leigh.

And he was the only fool.

—But I hate her more. —he thought.

Morning came, with the exact silence that only the arrival of winter can impose. The sky was gray, covered in dense clouds. Inside the manor, the tea began to boil as usual.

Sebastian rose before she did.

He had left the room without a sound, without even glancing at her one last time. He closed the door with the same care, not to wake her.

When Gwendoline Leigh woke, she found not a single wrinkle in the sheets beside her.

Anyone would say no one had slept there.

But her pillow had the faintest indentation. Her chest felt a soft pressure, as if the absence itself bore weight. But she rose with a smile of complicity. She combed her curls and prepared for the day. She had slept well. Very well.

During breakfast, everything went as usual… except for one detail:

Sebastian, impeccable in his pressed uniform, served Miss Leigh’s tea personally. And as he placed the cup, he paused briefly. He didn’t look at her, but said softly:

—Thank you for your warmth, Miss Leigh.

And walked away.

As if nothing happened.

Meyrin, tidying the silverware behind her, raised an eyebrow.

—What did he mean by that?

—By what?

—Sebastian… did he thank you for the tea?

Winy just smiled and shook her head gently, her homeland gesture sneak though that funny way of moving her head, pretending not to know.

—I think he slept well, that’s all.

—Aha! —Meyrin eyed her suspiciously—. You’re hiding something.

But just then, Sebastian reappeared with the tray for the young master, and Meyrin’s interrogation was suspended between new chores and calls for attention.

That afternoon, the tailor arrived.

With winter’s arrival, it was customary to check uniforms and make adjustments according to the new fabrics. As always, Sebastian had planned to oversee the process personally.

Especially in Miss Leigh’s case.

But he didn’t.

When Winy went to the reception room to be measured, the butler was already in another wing of the manor, attending to the young master.

The tailor, a bit put off by Sebastian’s absence, did her work with the help of Finny and Bard.

—So, —said Miss Hopkins. —you are the new maid.

—Yes, I am. —said Gwendoline.

—I thought the cute Earl had all the hands he needed, but well, —she added as she noted her measurements. —A little bit of extra help is never a problem. —She frowned. —Miss Leigh, are you a foreigner?

She flinched.

—Why do you ask?

—Your body type... so curvy. Wide hips, small waist. Your breasts are large, your thighs... twice the average. For a woman with a lot of chores, your body is rather... voluminous.

Bard and Finnian blushed. As men, they had obviously noticed those features in their household partner.

—Compared to the other maid, with you I’ll have to use half a yard more of fabric...

Winy sighed.

—Thankfully, I have no problem with my body type. It has never represented a problem when it comes to fulfilling my duties. —She smiled and looked down at her feet. —In another time, my figure would’ve been praised and clothed in... more appropriate garments.

—That’s it! —shouted Miss Hopkins. —You really are a challenge, but I’ll find a way to cover up those wide hips...

Gwendoline expected the mocking chuckle of the butler somewhere near, or at least an opinion on the matter. But as soon as she lifted her gaze, she noticed the absence.

But she didn’t take it badly. The truth is, since breakfast, something in the air had changed.

That night, as the lights went out one by one, she repeated the ritual.

Once again, she left a space in her bed.

Once again, she folded the blanket.

She looked at the door for a moment before blowing out the candle.

And went to sleep again.

At dawn, the sheets remained untouched. As did the pillow. He didn’t return, not that night, nor the following ones.

She dressed in her new uniform. Thick stockings and a black coat that blended with her black dress. The scent of freshly laundered clothes was a delight. Everything was in order.

For her.

For now.

Let’s shiver at the cold winds of winter.

Chapter Text

The Phantomhive carriage passed through the palace gates minutes before the seventh chime. The steel wheels glistened with evening dew, and the royal emblems atop the scarlet carpet rose like tongues of fire as the guests passed by.

It was the opening evening of the December festivities. Buckingham Palace transformed once more into a gala of intricate garments, endless waltzes, and a web of whispers among champagne glasses.

—We’ll be back before midnight. —said Ciel, adjusting the clasp of his glove with disdain—. I have no intention of entertaining nobles longer than necessary.

—Very prudent, my lord —replied Sebastian, stepping down from the carriage first and extending his hand with grace—. Though these kinds of events always bring familiar faces.

The young Earl stepped down, and together they entered the main hall. The warm light from the chandeliers bathed the corridors, where nobles and officials gathered in small circles, laughing or murmuring with feigned indifference.

The sound of a piano echoed in the distance.

But the attention wasn’t on the grand ballroom.

An usher led them to one of the adjacent salons, adorned in mahogany with blue stained glass that imitated the winter frost just beginning. Upon entering, the spectacle before them was as peculiar as it was surprising.

Queen Victoria. Measured, discreet, impenetrable, rigorous. The Sovereign of England. And curiously, she stood beside a French billiard table, her lips slightly curved in an expression dangerously close to a smile. Clapping with elegance.

—Marvelous.

Beside her stood the unmistakable figure of Lady Laidenin Herson, wrapped in a sky-blue satin gown, the folds hugging her silhouette. Her hair was gathered into an elaborate updo, adorned with pearls framing the curls that fell behind her ears, graced with diamond earrings. The fitted sleeves gave way to a collection of bracelets, necklaces, and silver charms that were her signature. Her style, unmistakably eclectic, defied French trends and English austerity. With her characteristic aesthetic audacity, Lady Herson always incorporated distinctive elements into her attire: whether bracelets with unique designs or prints evoking the sarees of Indian royalty.

—Observe, Your Majesty. If the white ball hits with just the right spin here, the red will bounce twice along the rail and strike the yellow at the perfect angle. —Laidenin struck the cue with a slight wrist twist.

The white ball danced.

It bounced.

Once, twice, three times.

And the “thwack!”, the impact that crowned the 3-cushion carom, made the Queen raise her eyebrows and, with notable astonishment, declare:

—Extraordinary.

The butler didn’t blink, but his gaze sharpened like a blade. Not because of the play.

But because of what he was seeing.

—My lord. —he whispered discreetly into the young master's ear—. There’s a Shinigami in this room.

Ciel said nothing.

But glanced sideways. He hadn't spotted him yet.

Then the side door opened, and a slender, youthful figure entered, gold-rimmed glasses and curly chestnut hair, strikingly extroverted. His aura resembled that of the evening’s host.

—Champagne for the lady. —he said, approaching Laidenin from behind—. And for Her Majesty.

The Queen took the glass naturally. John Brown stepped forward, sniffing the drink before she sipped.

—Is that the Shinigami you mentioned, Sebastian? —Ciel asked, eyes fixed on the young man with green-yellow eyes.

With the ease of someone familiar with every fold of that body, the young man placed his hand on Laidenin’s waist and held the cue as she gave him a brief smile.

—Will Her Majesty join us for another round? —he asked, with a faint French accent—. It’s about time you tried, don’t you think?

Victoria laughed, gloved fingers rising to her lips.

—Only if Lady Herson won’t be offended by my clumsiness.

—My dear Liny would never be offended by anything from Her Majesty —Said the Shinigami with perfect diplomacy—. Only I can provoke her with my catastrophic shots.

All three laughed. The moment was interrupted by the usher’s announcement:

—His Excellency, Earl Phantomhive.

Laidenin turned naturally, cue still in hand. Upon seeing them, she tilted her head slightly.

—Oh! What a pleasant surprise. —Laidenin said, approaching the young Earl—. Come, love, I want you to meet him.

Ha! Not them. She only note the Earl.

Ciel stopped before the Queen. Both the he and the butler gave a formal bow. While Ciel kept his eyes on the Queen, Sebastian never looked away from the approaching pair.

They bowed to the Count.

—Christopher. —Laidenin said, her tone seemingly aimed at the butler—. Let me introduce you to Earl Ciel Phantomhive. And his butler. Your Excellency, this is my partner: Christopher Ludwin.

That part of the “his butler” tinged with elegant disdain.

—A pleasure to meet you, your excellency. —Christopher said, shaking hands with the very serious blue-haired boy—. And you must be Sebastian Michaelis. —he added, though his eyes seemed to probe something deeper—. The butler.

—The pleasure is mine, Mr. Ludwin —Sebastian replied with a subtle smile, lowering his head slightly—. How wonderful to meet you in person. It seems Miss Herson was not mistaken about you.

Laidenin caught the nuance. And the faint ironic tone.

Tension among the three was palpable.

The butler remembered the young alchemist’s delirium, the portraits. The kiss.

The alchemist held a noble hatred for the creature loved by her innocent sister.

The Shinigami, both in defense of his beloved and as duty dictated. Demons were a plague to soul collectors.

—Have you played before, Earl? —the Shinigami asked, gesturing toward the table—. Her Majesty is quite familiar with French billiards, though I’m still trying to convince her to play.

The Queen hid her smile behind her fan, breaking the tension.

—No, but I know the game.

Sebastian added:

—The young master’s height is somewhat disadvantageous, and the cue is quite tall.

That made Ciel clench his jaw as he watched his butler stifle a chuckle.

—Height is no obstacle, —Laidenin said, stroking her glove—. You should try. Two beginners: Her Majesty and you would make a fine team.

But the Queen declined.

—I prefer to keep watching, —she said—. I want to understand how young Ludwin makes that ball seem to go straight and then curve perfectly at the last moment.

—Of course, Your Majesty. —said Christopher, circling Laidenin—. My dear, may I use your cue? It brings me good luck.

She nodded, and before handing it over, spun around.

—Don’t forget, Your Majesty: always chalk the cue.

Christopher smiled at her, with his hand left in the air.

—Those two, —the Earl muttered—. have no shame flirting in front of the Queen.

Sebastian tilted his head, amused.

—Absolutely. —the butler replied, then thought to himself— The Sharma sisters, it seems, have a clear weakness for forbidden games.

While Christopher explained the shot to Her Majesty, Laidenin stood at the far end, staring directly at the butler. She held his gaze without blinking.

—And demons have a flaw for underestimating humans. —she said to him, though her thoughts.

The crack of the cue striking the ball tried to shatter the tension between the butler and the alchemist.

—Mr. Ludwin, you certainly have talent. —the Queen said.

He nodded and immediately turned to his beloved.

—Did you see that, love? —approaching her—. That was the shot I struggled with, the perfect curve.

But she lowered her gaze, holding his hand.

—Sorry, I missed it. Something got in my eye, dirt actually.

Ludwin smiled and glanced sideways at the butler, who merely smiled at them.

—I don’t feel quite up to it, but I know who can defend my honor. John —said the Queen—. Why don’t you show these young ones how the game is played?

The two lovers looked at the Queen.

—Excellent candidate, Your Majesty.

—Excellent candidate, Your Majesty.

Then they looked at each other, and amidst subtle touches, they laughed.

—What a nuisance. —muttered the Earl, then addressed the Queen—. Your Majesty, it’s a pleasure to see you. I take this moment to inform you that all is under control and awaiting further orders.

The Queen looked at him with complicity, and hiding her smile, replied:

—Very good, my little boy.

—We’ll take our leave, —said the young master, bowing—. I must find my fiancée and greet the Midfords.

But that was merely an excuse, he was already tired of those two, especially noticing how Laidenin and the Shinigami looked at Sebastian. It was obvious, something happened between them.

The evening was drawing to a close. The music faded into increasingly languid waltzes, the glasses emptied with deliberate grace, and the murmurs now revolved more around the weather, hoping the carriages wouldn’t get stuck in the snow, than the event itself. Laidenin bowed reverently to the Queen, her movements soft as a flower folding beneath the night’s dew.

—Your Majesty, it has been an honor to share this evening with you. I shall see you next week to continue our lessons.

—Lady Herson —the Queen replied, with a barely perceptible gesture of appreciation—, it has been a delightful spectacle. Keep playing, and take good care of your companion.

—Your Majesty. —said Christopher, bowing—. It has been a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for your kind wishes. As for me, —smiling. —I wish you a long and prosperous life.

The Queen looked at them, visibly moved. In that young alchemist, she saw the spark she once held herself.

When she turned around, a single tear fell from her cheek. And before it could touch her gown, the butler, John Brown, stepped forward with a handkerchief held by the little puppet.

—Albert...

—Don’t cry, my Queen. You look splendid tonight.

The alchemist and the Shinigami, a remarkable pair. Madly in love and walking on the edge of the abyss.

Love and Death.

Without letting go of her hand, Christopher walked beside her toward the exit. The echo of their steps rang through the palace corridors. Their laughter and play were interrupted when a shadow crossed their path. It appeared silently, as if it had emerged from the very architecture, from the columns or the corners beneath the curtains.

—Apologies for the intrusion, —he said, bowing his head slightly.

Both looked at him warily. Ludwin took Laidenin by the waist and, shielding her, stepped forward.

—Mr. Ludwin…

—Michaelis, —replied the Shinigami. —That’s the name your master gave you, isn’t it?

Sebastian smiled.

—Have you come tonight to take a soul to the other side, or is your visit, shall we say, purely for pleasure?

The young Shinigami looked at him with a polished smile, his bright glasses catching the light.

—What do you want? —said Laidenin.

—Miss Herson, I’m glad you’ve found your beloved. I’m pleased to see my powers were useful to you, —he said, licking his lower lip.

Laidenin turned her gaze away, which only agitated the Shinigami.

—What interest such a hideous creature could possibly have in us? —Christopher retorted.

—A peculiar pair, —said the butler, wearing a smile of amusement. —especially you, Mr. Ludwin. Were you granted a few days off to wander the human world?

Sebastian found malicious delight in how easily the Shinigami was riled up, after all, not so long ago he had still been human.

—As I was saying, I was wondering if you were working or just here to accompany Miss Herson.

Sebastian’s eyes sparkled with barely contained malice.

—It’s none of your concern.

—I see. Then, Miss Herson, —looking at her—. If I may offer a word of caution: you are walking on very thin ice.

—I know, —Laidenin interrupted, squeezing Ludwin’s hand—. But everything that happens is always... —and for a moment her eyes sought Jonathan’s— in our favor.

Sebastian nodded, recognizing the shift. He knew that before, Laidenin would have said “in my favor.”

—I understand. However, —he continued with studied calm— if I must make you aware of something, between the two of you, the one in greater danger is not you, Lady Herson. Relationships between Shinigami and humans are strictly forbidden.

Christopher adjusted his glasses with two fingers and smiled as if someone had asked about the weather.

—No doubt about that. But every now and then, one of us… gets away with it.

Sebastian didn’t answer right away. The Shinigami stepped closer, lowering his tone with a cadence nearly musical:

—You might want to take a closer look at your master’s family tree, Mr. Michaelis… you’ll see that…

And gently wrapping his arm around Laidenin’s waist, he added with intent:

—My case wouldn’t be the first.

Laidenin, who had maintained her composure with admirable precision, gently moved young Ludwin aside with the same grace a priestess would use to correct an apprentice.

—Besides, he have me. —added Laidenin. —Don’t you think that just as I found him, I could also prevent any trouble. Don't you think... —And she lifted her gaze proudly. —Z...ebastian.

Ludwin let out a soft chuckle, amused.

—Nice, my love... —he praised her.

—Thanks, my love. —she added, piercing the demon with her emerald honey eyes.

Sebastian kept an impassive expression, though something in his jaw tightened. Before he could respond, Laidenin said:

—I hope my sister remains in good hands, —she said in a more intimate tone—. I’ve written to her, but she has replied very little.

The demon’s eyes lit up, and his smile shifted...soft.

—Miss Leigh remains under the care of the young master, —he paused briefly, avoiding Laidenin’s gaze—. And mine, of course. She has nothing to fear. Besides…

The smile curled with a touch of humor.

—Miss Leigh is... devilishly charming.

Laidenin’s eyes flashed.

A warning.

—Don’t use terms so wicked of your kind to describe her. It’s offensive.

Sebastian lowered his head in a flawless bow.

—My apologies. I won’t keep you any longer. We wouldn’t want the carriage wheels to freeze and cause an accident.

He straightened up.

—In any case, you’re in good company, Miss Herson. Your soul wouldn’t wander lost for long.

Laidenin raised an eyebrow.

—Thank you for your kind wishes, —she replied with refined irony—. And tell the young Earl it was a pleasure seeing him again.

—I shall. And of course, I’ll let your sister know you send your regards.

Laidenin had to resist the urge to tear his head off. Fortunately, Christopher stood beside her to hold her back.

The demon watched as the two disappeared down the corridor toward the exit: the Queen’s alchemist and the angel of death, hand in hand, wrapped in the murmur of a story yet to be written.

He lingered a moment longer, watching the pair, mocking.

—The day I succeed in fucking your sister, Miss Herson, I shall be the first to deliver the news to you. And I dare say, your exquisite corpse as lover won't be sufficient to contain your fury. —he held a horrible grin while looking at them, laughing at the thought of it. —How delightful, to see you perish... You'll wish you had never crossed paths with me...

Later, when he returned to the Earl, the boy was already fastening his gloves, impatient.

—Done socializing?

—Yes, my lord.

They walked toward the exit, while the night began to freeze the lamps.

—Miss Herson’s relationship with Mr. Ludwin is purely sentimental, —Sebastian reported without being asked—. Nothing that should concern us.

Ciel let out a short laugh under his breath, not even glancing at his butler.

—I thought deserters weren’t so common, but it seems they are. —Then he smiled wryly. —Her Majesty’s alchemist enjoys playing with fire.

Sebastian didn’t respond immediately.

He only whispered, to himself:

—And Miss Leigh... with shadows.

Chapter Text

The weeks slipped by like snowflakes on the windowpane. Snow had already begun to pile up on the front steps, coating the garden's carvings in a cottony mantle of ice. The manor, though used to silent winter, seemed quieter, as if the cold had reached even the thoughts of those taking refuge among the fireplaces and the rising steam of teapots.

That afternoon, the entire household stirred with the arrival of two distinguished guests: investors from the north, sent by the Royal Chamber of Commerce to evaluate the prospect of investing in the young Earl Phantomhive’s textile enterprise. A new venture the Earl was deeply interested in.

Sebastian announced their arrival with his usual solemnity.

—The carriage has entered the main courtyard. Everyone to your positions. —the butler instructed as the others gathered at the entrance. —Lord Radcliffe and Lord Baron.

That name slipped like a cold drop down Gwendoline Leigh’s back. She was putting away the brooms, and though she didn’t look up, she froze for a few seconds. Her fingers trembled as the brooms nearly slipped from her grasp.

—Lord Baron? —repeated Meyrin—. Isn’t that the Lord you once told me about?

Gwendoline simply nodded. No correction. No explanation.

Sebastian observed her.

—Let’s not waste time. —he said, smiling.

It seemed he rather enjoyed seeing Winy suffer in silence. Though for her, a whirlwind of emotions and sorrowful memories swelled in her chest. Choking her with sobs she could only suppress behind a smile.

—Be strong, Gwendoline. Breathe. Smile. —she whispered to herself as the Earl appeared.

The lord’s entrance was imminent.

The young master descended the central staircase with a firm step and was led to the Reception Room. The fireplace crackled softly. Everything was prepared.

The gentlemen entered. One of them, tall, stern-faced, with greying hair and a walking cane he didn’t truly need, sat to the Earl’s left. The other, younger, perhaps in his thirties, wore his blonde hair in a low ponytail, pale blue eyes, almost white. Moonlit. His elegant posture befitted a lord, though he carried a certain worldly melancholy. His gaze, as he entered, was light, distracted. As if he entrusted his fortune entirely to Lord Radcliffe, as a son would a father, and was merely there to complete a formality.

While Sebastian gathered the lord’s coats and top hats, he heard the echo of Gwendoline’s steps in the corridor. Even from afar, he could feel her heart trembling with that delicate fear he found so captivating. Though, deep down, something irked him, the knowledge that he was not the cause of such turmoil.

Even so, he could not resist the desire to witness how the always composed and righteous Miss Leigh would react to such a presence.

—Let’s see what expression Miss Leigh wears. —he thought to himself, amuse. —Will she drop a cup? Will she flee in tears, as she often does when overcome with emotion? —he smiled. —Or will she seek my gaze for comfort?

The half-open door shifted in colour as she entered.

Of course, that was Sebastian’s doing. He had known about Lord Baron ever since Gwendoline poured out her heart beside her sister, and in the whispered confidences she shared with Meyrin.

He was fully aware, and true to his treacherous nature. If he could not be the one to ignite her, then he would simply stand by and watch her burn to ashes.

—Good evening, your excellencies. —said Gwendoline.

Lord Baron raised his gaze, and it was as if his body turned to stone, like another pillar in the room. Petrified.

Winy, serene and elegant, appeared with the tray in her hands.

Time, though never ceasing, seemed to sigh deeply within that room.

Porcelain cups chimed gently on the tray. The scent of jasmine and bergamot tea lingered in the air. Lemon and lavender biscuits, carefully decorated, sat beside a fruitcake of dried fruits and almonds. Everything in perfect harmony.

—What a marvellous aroma. —said Lord Radcliffe. —A taste of spring in the midst of winter.

—I took it upon myself to bring a little memory of sunnier days. —Sebastian replied, helping Winy serve. —It is always good to bring memories of the past, especially those that soothe the heart.

He.

Was.

A.

Damn.

Son of a—

Winy heard him. Every word. That smug and mocking Sebastian was enjoying himself. But she had no heart to entertain his torments. She could feel Lord Baron’s gaze burning into her cheeks. And to make it worse, Sebastian had the audacity to serve Lord Radcliffe, leaving her the inevitable task of serving the other Lord.

—Thank you... Miss. —said Lord Baron. His hands trembled, and he nearly dropped the plate.

But Winy quickly grasped his hand and steadied it.

Her delicacy.

Her touch.

Only now, she wore gloves, her sole shield against the tremble of his shivering fingers.

She could not respond. Could not speak. She only smiled and walked slowly past the butler.

Lord Baron seemed breathless. Even as he sipped his tea, like a lady, he used the cup like a hidden fan, hoping to glimpse her again. Her composed face, bearing a faint smile. Hands before her apron. Her posture flawless, as flawless as the butler beside her.

—She looks just as ever. Undeniably dutiful and... beautiful. My Winy...—Lord Baron thought.

Until Sebastian leaned in and murmured to her:

—Excellent composure, Miss Leigh. Very much in character.

Her smile faded.

Lord Baron looked at her and wondered:

—What did the butler say to her?

—Lord Baron, what do you think? —asked Lord Radcliffe. —Sounds promising, wouldn’t you agree?

—Pardon me, could you repeat that?

—I was saying to the Earl that...

Gwendoline merely took a deep breath and, barely glancing at the butler, asked:

—Do you still need me here?

Sebastian smiled.

—Wouldn’t you care to remain a little longer, to continue attending to dear Lord Baron?

Dear Lord Baron...

He was...never mind.

He is a damn demon, what else could it be expected?

Kindness?

A bit of mercy?

He is heartless and a twisted creature.

She despised when people answered with a question.

Gwendoline Leigh held herself with inhuman grace. And at that moment, her composure was all that kept her upright. Elegant, calm, proper to her duty as the Earl Phantomhive maid. Though the memory within torment at her. She knows her place, and her past have no—

—Charming. —whispered the demon. —But I don't see the resemble, he is so gentle and I'm... —his velt voice near her ear. —so devious...

No.

She had no patience for the butler’s insolence. Or rather, the demon's.

—Mr. Michaelis, I am not in the mood for your games. I would rather focus on my duties. Just tell me, do you truly need me here, or can you manage on your own?

But he hid a smile behind his gloved hands.

—Don’t be so cruel to the Lord. I’m sure he’s quite happy to see you.

The demon continued his teasing. Though he played the part of a courteous servant, his true nature remained. Arrogant, exasperating, merciless, and relentlessly mocking.

Gwendoline’s heart was strong, but as with all mortals, weakness finds its way in. The news of his arrival had shaken her; hearing his voice greet the Earl felt like a stab. And now seeing him right in front of her, especially because he failed so miserably at concealing how he watched her with those puppy eyes, made her lower her gaze, just to avoid feeling her heartache.

—Please. —she plead, breathing deeply, trying to hold the tears back so they wouldn’t stain her performance as the ever-unshaken maid. —Just... let me go. I know you don’t need me. Just for today... don’t do this to me.

Sebastian did not shift his stance, but something hardened in his eyes as he watched her hold back the sob. She was pleading with soft words, like the wailing souls he’d heard countless times, begging for mercy as their flesh was consumed by the fires of Faustian pacts. But she—

Her tiny, fragile, desperate plea ceased to amuse him the moment her trembling hand brushed her cheek and a tear escaped.

Bored now, almost irritated by the scene, the demon straightened languidly and declared:

—I had expected you to be far more composed... and content, —he said. —you may leave.

Without another word, Gwendoline bowed impeccably to the guests and exited the room. Her steps were steady, but as soon as she crossed the threshold, she raised her gloved hands to her mouth to muffle the sob building in her throat.

Those hands that now adored the gloves she had just begun wearing, purportedly for the cold, though truly, they were a tribute to the butler. To the performance of the magnificent Earl’s butler. Though behind it all...stood the merciless demon whom she...

No.

Not now.

Right after his merciless mockery and harsh demeanor. Gwendoline could not say she loved him.

Inside the room, the conversation carried on, but only in appearance.

The young Lord paid no attention to the treatise his colleague read aloud. His eyes remained fixed on the tray, on the porcelain, on the teacup she had served him. On her hands, white and delicate, now outlined only by the gloves adorned with a tiny ribbon she had sewn herself.

—That cake smells of cinnamon. —he remarked, for the need to speak of her could not be stifled. Yet he dared not appear too interested in the Earl’s maid.

Not so brazenly.

—Crafted by Miss Gwendoline Leigh, our maid, though I had assistance, —Sebastian replied behind him with a restrained smile. —Who just left us. She has a peculiar gift for sweet flavours. She joined us not long ago but has proven herself remarkably capable in all things related to service.

Lord Baron merely nodded. But his eyes betrayed him: surprise, guilt, and something more.

—I can imagine. —he muttered. For he did not doubt those virtues. He had witnessed them himself. Her devotion in cooking, preparing tea, polishing glass.

Ironing young Edward Baron’s handkerchiefs and saving the ribbons from every bouquet he gifted her.

The conversation moved on. The business, fortunately, was sound. Ciel spoke with confidence. The deal wouldn’t be sealed that day, but intentions were clear. Sebastian mentally noted every word, yet part of him, a part very recent and still difficult to name, wonder...

—What must she be doing now?

How she managed to walk with her heart pounding in her hands who recently touch him?

How she chose composure over collapse?

And how even now, she was likely already in the kitchen again, washing teacups, pretending nothing had happened.

But something had.

And just like the flake that starts an avalanche, that moment, when she held Edward’s hand, and he couldn’t stop looking at her—

—She must be crying, like always, when emotions overwhelm her reason... —the demon thought.

The tea was finished. The gentlemen spoke of business, interests, and figures. Meanwhile, the kitchen echoed not with conversation among staff, Bard made them laugh, Snake gathered his serpents near the fire. While Gwendoline remained absent, washing once again the plates that were already dry. She longed to be alone, to run to her room and bury her sorrow in her pillow. To retrieve those ribbons she still kept and tie them in her hair. Like Edward used to do when he snuck into her room with the silly excuse that he couldn’t sleep.

—Aren’t you going to eat, Winy? —Finny asked, seeing her untouched plate.

She answered without letting them see her tears.

—No, thank you. I’ll eat later.

Lord Baron. The first man who stirred her heart toward romance. Who gave meaning to the poems the courtesans of the palace whispered among themselves, reminiscing with sorrow over past lovers. Senseless yearnings. When they would dance, then cry, murmuring the names of those who had loved and lost them.

At last, she understood why they wept, then smiled when the Maharaj, her father, caressed them. Little Eshani had been confused by them, who pretended so much, yet at the end of the day, she’d hear them crying in the corners.

Their bodies loved, but their hearts belonged to no one. Not even themselves.

Only to those who remained in the memories of their sorrow whispers.

Just as she did, right now:

—Edward...

She had met him when she was still a young and inexperienced maid, freshly arrived from a noble household in southern England, having renounced her past in Jaipur and her birth title: Rajkumari Eshani Prakasha Sharma. It had only been a short while since she had begun discovering herself as Gwendoline Leigh, the maid..

Edward was a kind young man. Not particularly brilliant nor cunning, but that had never mattered. He had a sweet soul. The way he folded letters, how he chose flowers by their scent rather than their appearance, and that sacred shyness in his eyes whenever he met Gwendoline's gaze made him endearing. He was like an awkward poem that kept repeating the same praises, without rhyme, but full of soul.

Sometimes, he would personally bring the empty trays down to the kitchen, using the excuse of “returning them,” when in truth, he simply wanted to see her.

—Good morning, Miss Winy —he would say, with a smile that seemed more nervous than polite.

Back then, his hair was short and curly, framing his face like that of a boy.

And she, with her curls still unpinned, for she had only just begun to learn how to groom herself properly. Winy would receive him with a mischievous curtsey, more conspiratorial than formal.

That winter, when he took her for the first time to his family’s greenhouse, he showed her a black orchid and said:

—It has no fragrance, but its beauty is silent. Like you. Gwendoline Leigh, you are my favourite flower.

She fell in love that day.

But Eshani’s soul was still in mourning.

Despite having left behind the temples, the palaces, and her life as a princess, she was still trying to understand herself, to piece together who she was amid the vastness of a new world. Her spirit did not seek to belong, it longed to comprehend itself. And though she adored Edward, the conflict resided within her.

She could not surrender herself.

She said no.

With tears.

With a broken soul.

With regret.

And still, he promised to wait for her.

Years later, in another house, in another city, during another winter, the letter arrived.

Edward had married.

Lady Genevieve Graham. Of noble lineage. Sweet in manners. Everything the world deemed fitting for a perfect match. Everything, except love.

The letters that followed this revelation were even more painful. Explanations no one had asked for. Phrases such as “it was for family duty”, “my heart still belongs to you”, “though I sleep beside her, I dream of no one else.”

Winy, in her modesty and sense of honour, never replied. She kept those letters in a box, for she could not bring herself to erase such words from her life either. Though guilt gnawed at her, she felt sorrow for Genevieve, trapped in a loveless marriage, when Edward had all he needed to love her fully.

Marriage and love were not necessities, but she understood that a union bound by duty and illuminated by love was more than anyone could rightfully hope for in life. And she knew Edward was capable of that, of nurturing that rare and delicate beauty life sometimes offered.

She wrapped his letters with ribbons and buried them on the back of her suitcase. They were the quiet reminder that once, she had been loved for who she truly was. For being Gwendoline Leigh, someone she had chosen to become.

Sebastian entered the kitchen past six o’clock.

—The young master has decided that, due to the approaching storm, the guests will remain at the mansion tonight. Rooms have already been assigned.

She lifted her gaze, her hands still damp and wrinkle from washing the dishes.

—I understand.

—Meyrin will attend to Lord Baron, —he added calmly—. You will see to Lord Radcliffe.

She nodded. But a shadow of doubt flickered in her eyes. Was he not thoroughly enjoying the game of tormenting her? Why then relinquish that amusement and assign Meyrin to Lord Baron?

Her face betrayed her. A brief hesitation. A tension carried in that long, drawn breath.

Sebastian felt pity.

And true pity.

Not jealousy. Who, in their right mind, would envy a man as simple and dull as Lord Baron? Especially one such as Sebastian, or the demon Zarant, steeped in pride.

No. He pitied her, for still bearing the weight of that first love.

—Humans truly have a remarkable way of clinging to the past, —he thought. —What a relief. Perhaps now she’ll return to those feelings for Lord Baron and finally leave me. —And he smiled, pointing out where the Lord's rooms were. —To think it took someone like him to extinguish Winy’s delight... —he furrowed his brow. —Gwendoline.

The weight of a first love always echoes through eternity. No matter what follows, the first is always unique and unrepeatable.

—Don’t delay, —he said softly—. We wouldn’t want the Lords to leave with a poor impression of us. The young master will not tolerate mistakes.

Both nodded and made haste. Each to her post.

Meyrin with Lord Baron.

Winy with Lord Radcliffe, though inwardly, she had hoped to be assigned to Lord Baron.

And though the demon might deny it, he claim triumphant dominion over Gwendoline’s fevered, irrational heart. He lacked the nerve to fan that flame. He had chosen instead to keep her away from Lord Baron.

Because deep down...

He wanted her.

Solely and exclusively,

for him.

Chapter Text

—I just wanted to make sure the peach pie arrived whole —said young Edward awkwardly—. And... to see how your day went, Winy.

She smiled.

—Young master, I’ve told you already, there's no need for you to come all the way here. The other maids are already talking about us.

But he was stubborn and began to chase her around the table.

—Winy, don’t run. I just want to hold you and never, ever let go.

She laughed, until she let herself be caught.

—No, young master, that’s not proper.

Yet she rubbed her nose against his.

—Don’t call me that, just say...

—Edward.

And as she said his name, she stole a quick kiss on his cheek.

—Winy!

She laughed.

—Miss Leigh, for you...

She had loved him. With all the innocence and tenderness someone like her could allow herself, even knowing there was a great divide of class between them. But for young Winy, when she was with him, she still felt like a princess, and there were no differences. Just two youngster in love.

She loved him as one loves a dream: with devotion and distance.

But her soul, back then, wasn’t ready. Even in the ignorance of childhood, she clearly understood her purpose, the essence of her life beyond that tender romance.

She still heard the mantras of her homeland, the dances of Shiva, the voices of the Brahmins. The tears of the courtesans and their wounded bodies. Gwendoline could not ignore that life, nor promise herself to another if she had not yet found herself.

She did it for her.

For Eshani.

For Gwendoline.

For the girl who was only just becoming a woman.

So she turned him down.

Like a child, he cried in her arms, not understanding why. If she had loved him so deeply, had given him her first kiss, played with him, and written him poems in a language he had never heard

why?

But she cried too. And in explaining herself, in sharing her story, her past of gold and incense, he understood.

And he loved her even more.

He accepted it. And promise he would wait for her.

Sebastian walked through the corridor with the serenity of someone always in control. The shadows around him aligned like soldiers loyal to their master. The perfect butler. The merciless demon.

And yet…

That small gesture made him frown as if a thorn had lodged in his spine.

—I assigned Meyrin to Lord Baron’s room. Why?

Had he been true to his nature, the logical, even amusing choice would’ve been to place Miss Leigh in that room.

Was that not what humans called poetic justice?

To reunite tragic lovers?

—Dieu réunit ceux qui s’aiment —he said aloud. —So goes her favourite song. Ironically fitting.

To bring her first love to the threshold of her new home and watch her silence, her longing. To witness her choke on unshed tears, broken by the past and reliving that unfinished story.

Sebastian adored watching the human ego collapse. He was fascinated by that moment when the soul breaks from pride or disappointment. He had harvested hundreds, thousands of those moments over the centuries.

But not with her.

Not with Gwendoline Leigh.

—Since when has compassion touched my judgment? —he thought, while subtly opening the young master’s study door.

The Earl was reviewing contract documents under the light of a lamp. Noticing his presence, he set the pen down and glanced at him briefly.

—Sebastian, handle the papers for the agreement with Lord Radcliffe and Lord Baron —he said plainly—. We’ll formalize the deal in two weeks. Doing it now would be too hasty. I want you to investigate their businesses thoroughly.

—As you command, young master —he replied, bowing with the precision of a Swiss clock.

—By the way —added Ciel, flipping through a folder—. I remembered that Miss Leigh’s recommendation letters mention she worked for the Baron household. Is that correct?

Sebastian barely blinked.

—Indeed. She served at the Baron estate a few years ago.

—Perfect. Then we can use that information to our advantage. If she lived in their house, she’ll know what they’re really like. Handle Lord Radcliffe, and from Gwendoline, Lord Baron.

The assignment drew a smile from the butler.

—An excellent strategy, young master. I shall do what is necessary to obtain useful details... discreetly.

—I trust you will —said the Earl, extinguishing the lamp with a slight gesture—. You may go.

Sebastian closed the door with the care of someone locking away a word that must not escape. And the moment he was alone in the hallway, his smile vanished.

—I thought the young master would be concerned for Miss Leigh’s sensitivities. But I forgot that only the servants know the gossip and the tales of our class. —he smiled. —And even if he knew, he wouldn't care.

Ciel Phantomhive was a pragmatic master. Intelligent. Ruthless. He didn’t waste attention on “those frivolities,” as he himself would say. A maid, no matter how refined, did not feature on his list of priorities. He simply sought utility and maximum yield from all his pawns.

Sebastian returned to the central hallway, where the lights softened over the carpet. And as he walked, something began to stir uncomfortably in his chest.

The image of Winy holding the tray, her expression perfectly contained, her back as straight as a column. Her hands that did not tremble, but whose fingers gripped tighter than usual. The way she lowered her head, out of pain.

He had seen it.

He had felt it.

And it had not delighted him.

—What’s happening to me? What has distracted me?

The butler reached the door of the sitting room, which only moments ago still smelled faintly of lotion and a trace of tobacco ash. And in a strange impulse, he placed his hand on the polished wood. As if expecting a sign from the other side.

There was nothing.

Only silence.

Sebastian closed his eyes.

—Hm. I cannot bear to see her hurt.

That thought was a bitter revelation.

Because it shouldn’t matter.

He shouldn’t feel.

And yet…

There it was.

The crack in his steadiness.

The unease.

The fissure growing within his walls.

He, Lord Zarant, highborn demon, tamer of shadows, executioner of centuries, insatiable devourer...

feeling pity.

For a simple, unremarkable human? For a creature who, to make matters worse, had dared reject his carnal charms.

—Oh, now it makes sense. She holds herself in high regard. A sweet arrogant. That’s why it’s so easy for her to reject others. —he smiled. —And she mocks that I’m the self-center one.

He prided himself on having feelings only for himself.

But now… not even that felt certain.

And with that final pang of pride shattered to pieces, he vanished into the shadows. Silent. Restless.

Like someone who fears that what he treasures most might be taken from him.

His pride.

And by no one but his own hand.

All because of a simple human.

A woman.

Chapter Text

The kitchen was nearly empty, lit only by an oil lamp and the gentle flame of the stove. Copper gleamed along the edges of the pots, and the scent of chamomile and spearmint had begun to steep into the teapot that Miss Leigh watched over with care.

Gwendoline’s movements were precise, restrained, as though the storm within her found refuge in the ritual of preparing tea.

Steady.

Meticulous.

Precise.

Enough to make her tears not fall into the cups.

Her eyes were red, but they did not let go. Her back was straight, bearing unshaken. Though inside…

Her heart still beat under Edward’s sunsets.

That was when she felt it. The unmistakable presence.

—Miss Leigh —said Sebastian, his voice melodic, arrogant. As always. —What fine taste you’ve shown in preferring me over a mere mortal. Lord Baron, so full of sensitivities, belated promises, and sweet words. Though frankly, a little dull.

She did not look at him. She continued pouring the water into the porcelain cup as though his words had hit a wall.

She did not speak.

It made him laugh.

She did not reply.

His charming laugh.

—I am not in the mood for your impertinences. —she said sharply, gathering herself entirely, as though every part of her soul had to brace.

Sebastian paused. That phrase caught him by surprise. No “Mr. Michaelis,” no verbal curtsy, not even a shade of respect. Just a sentence. Cold. Human.

—How bold. I’ll grant you that. —he continued, now relaxed, leaning against the counter before her—. It was you who brought the Lord back to reality, with that imperial composure. Still, for a man of such relevance in the business world, those tears looked more like a lady’s than a gentleman’s.

Winy kept her sight on the trait.

Steady.

Still.

Shaking.

Eyes like green embers. The cup trembled for a second in her hand before returning to the trait. Her fists clenched tightly on the table. Then, she laid her palms flat, gaze fixed on the wooden surface.

Nothing she told Edward had been easy, in fact, she had doubted her words. She had considered, if only for an instant, running away with him that very night.

To kiss him again.

To sleep in his lap, like when they were children.

The bouquets.

The laughter.

The ribbons.

The sunsets.

Fleeing India had been a torment, a merciless journey that left scars. She still carried the guilt of a past that refused to let her go. Starting a new life had not been easy. It was then, among young Edward’s sincere affections, that household, the people. She found a spark of hope.

Love was hopeful, innocent.

It delighted in simple gestures, like a ring made from a daisy stem.

Edward chasing her through the kitchen.

Sebastian leaning over the table.

Edaward sneaking into her room to read her poems.

Sebastian with feline grace, his gestures seductive.

—Admit it, Miss Leigh, you crave me. You’ve said as much before. Cease your charade and utter it —he said with a curling smile—. I want to hear you. —he demand, defiant, confident. —Say that you love me.

—Say it, Winy… —said Edward as he braided ribbons into her dark hair.

Both hidden in the stables.

—I love you. —she whispered.

—Say it again, I did'nt hear you.

—I love you. —she chuckle.

They both laughed.

—Now say it like Princess Eshani would…

She turned and, holding his face, said:

—Mujhe tumse pyār hai…Edward...

I

Love

You...

Winy’s sob was so raw it seemed to rip through the air.

The sound tore from her wasn't human. It cracked against the walls like a ghost suddenly returned to flesh, the wail of her broken heart echoing through the kitchen. Her hands flew to her face as if to hold herself together, but the strangled cries escaped anyway, dry spasms racking her body until she coughed in pain.

Her hands found nowhere to hide. She held her nape, her neck, behind her ears, scratching her skin, tearing strands of her hair, taking off her cap, looking around, her eyes met no peace, as she was blinded by thoughts, memories, sunsets. Sunsets. Sunsets. This panic, this despair, a tide of suffering too vast to name. This was her soul breaking open. Her mind flooded with memories again, and again, and again. She could no longer contain. Sunlight filtering through silk, dandelions dancing in the wind, morning dew on fresh bread, his laughter echoing across courtyards. Her hands tossed the apron aside, as if tearing away the weight, suffocating, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe. Edward had been everything, her warmth, her safety, her sanctuary. He was home. His family, the household, the maids, the butlers, the gardeners, the music at night, the scents of the kitchen, colorful ribbons, childrens games. The only reason she had endured that blistering, shame-filled march from India to England. And now he was gone, forever, beyond her reach.

—Miss Leigh? —murmured Sebastian.

Why had she left Edward? Why? Why? Why? She tore the front buttons of her black dress, desperate to ask her heart why? Why did you let go? Why did you make him cry? Why? She kept breathing hard as she scratched her skin to burn, her nape, her throat all covered in red lines. Anguish. Anguish. Doubts. Fear. Repentance. The question looped in her mind like a judge scream guilty! infamous guilty! Why are you crying? You did this yourself, you bring them pain, you left them all. You run away and claim for mercy, No! You deserve all this suffering and pain, all of this is your own making! Embrace it! You belong to where the horrors of the world lay, that’s why you fall in love with a monster! A demon! Cause you are the same! The reasons had always been there, misery, disparity, shame. She was no one, a servant, nameless and disposable. He bore a legacy, a surname that would never welcome her. She would’ve dragged his family into scandal, poisoned his inheritance with her presence. No peace would have ever existed for them. Only disgrace. Only despair. Edward I didn't mean to, I love you. I loved you, but I can't, not right now! Not now or ever! Please forgive me! Mother...Maa...please, I didn't mean to. Muskan...brothers...Please...please. There was no other way, she could've been doomed, she would have dragged him to shame, there was no place for a Lord and a Maid, the Barons would have been doomed in shame and disgrace. There's no peace, no happy ending, only to run away, run and never look back, let go of everything, your name, who they say you are. Forget, keep running, run faster… Kumar run faster! run, let us free… forever free and and and then… maybe… just maybe… if we can't be at peace we could have… the greatest happiness a human could bear.

—Can you hear me? —the demon’s voice again. Cold. Still not understanding. —Miss Leigh!

She gasped for air. She was gasping like someone drowning, her eyes darting everywhere, searching for a surface that did not exist. Her hands clawed at her neck, her scalp, her chest, trying to peel something off, as if her very body was a prison. She was suffocating. She ripped her clothes, leaned onto the table, fingers stretching blindly behind her ears. Her tears blurred her sight. Her mind raced. Her skin flamed red with the ferocity of her own scratching. Her chest heaved, bare now, as if she were wounded, though there was no blood, only the unbearable heat of despair. She pressed her trembling fingers into her cheeks, as if to tear them away. One hand smothered her sobs, the other seized her chest like it might extract her own heart by force. She wanted to disappear. To die. To un-feel.

Gwendoline missed him, everything. She had held herself together before Edward, but now, there was no one to perform for. There was no sense in pretending composure; she had been holding these emotions inside, letting them build layers of sorrow more and more within her. But there are limits. Humans have limits, and today was the day to let everything out.

That was the drop that spill the cup of sweet tea.

—Gwendoline! Stop! —Sebastian shouted, finally crossing the invisible line, restraining her wrists with urgent hands.

She had loved Edward.

And seeing him again had shattered her. It was the reminder of all that might have been, all that could never return. But it was also the push she needed to finally be at peace with her past with him, everyone, at least.

—That’s enough —Sebastian muttered, voice firm, the voice of duty. He had to restore her. It was time for the Butler to enter the scene.

But his commands were meaningless. His harshness, his mockery, his endless teasing. It only deepened the wound. It was a cruel contrast to what she had once known. To Edward’s gentleness. To the kindness of being loved, warmth, care.

By the time he let go of her wrists, startled by something he couldn’t name, it was too late. She had already crossed the veil withing her, ripped it.

He could only watch and wait, as she was now regaining her senses.

Confused, Sebastian stood up straight.

—So you were holding back —he said, stepping back. —I knew that composure was far too cold for someone as sensitive as you. How fortunate Lord Baron didn't see you like this, —he smiled, wickedly. —I'm sure he would have lost his composure too, just like you. You two are perfect for each other.

Seeing everything under control, the butler breath relief and let the demon came back.

—You know what? —said Winy, her voice still trembling, but her eyes were now clear.

She was fed up.

Love had shown her its cruelest face, and the only one who had been different, or at least was once, was Edward.

Until she insisted on having hope in a demon.

—I believed I saw something in you beyond the horrific —Winy continued, catching her breath though still trembling. Anger gave her strength. —Something not even my sister, the Queen’s alchemist, has been able to explain or even believe possible. Something I myself haven’t understood. But I had hope. In you, I had faith. —she paused, throat tight—. But I was wrong.

She raised her gaze, and her eyes were two moistened daggers.

He laughed, but it was out of habit. The truth was, he had never seen such anger and maddening demeanor. He had seen countless people losing their minds toward horrors, a church destroyed, a city being conquer by bloodthirst warriors, even toward himself. But what actually broke Winy's sense was…the pain of the past or rather, the loss of a loved one.

But it still wasn't enough. There was more.

—Oh, so you finally realized, —replied the arrogant demon. —I'm glad you've awakened from the fantasy you chose to live, Miss Leigh. At last, you see what I truly am…

—Yes! —she cried. —You are detestable! a vile creature who does nothing but praise himself. Lord Baron, in contrast, is infinitely more worthy, far nobler than you!

The demon smiled, containing his laughter.

—But that's obvious, Miss Leigh, —he replied, with a sharp voice. —I am merely a Butler. A diabolically superior creature. Magnificent, sublime... and, forgive me, but as I told you before. Infernally more irresistible.

That last phrase was delivered like a seductive dart.

But he didn't expect the response.

Magnificent?

Irresistible?

Those words only served to destroy Gwendoline's most sincere affections. Although she kept Edward in her heart, she hadn't lied. She had truly entrusted Edward to love his family as if she were there.

And she...

She had promised herself to love Sebastian as if she loved Edward.

But at that moment, that unspoken promise was impossible to keep.

—You...

—Say it. —insisted the demon, eyes burning and posture graceful. Right in front of her. —I want to hear you. Say that you love me. You kept me waiting.

Do you know what's worse than having your heart broken once?

Having your heart broken twice, on the same night.

—Damn you, demon!

Winy pushed him.

But the anger wasn’t just the loss of hope.

The pain.

Sebastian barely moved back, the woman's strength was nothing compared to his.

—What nerve. —he thought.

—Damn you spawn of the devil! You are vile, hideous! I hate you! I hate you with my entire existence! I hate you! You don’t deserve love! —she sobbed, pushing him again. —You are exactly what is it expected from a filthy beast! A wretch, miserable, horrendous thing! Tumhen dhikkar Raakshas! Tumhen dhikkar!

I curse you. Demon. I curse you.

Those angry words finished destroying her. Inside, remorse fell on her like a bucket of cold water. But also, a weight have left her too.

With her soul broken and her body still trembling with horror at the venom that had just come out of her heart. Almost as if she had said it to Edward. She held her breath, and let herself fall onto the bench beside her, she sat down, as falling to the floor would only humiliate her further in front of the demon.

He looked at her.

But it wasn't funny anymore.

She, with her face hidden in her gloved hands, already covered with tear stains. She gave herself over to the pain.

Then, she took off her gloves and threw them on the table.

That...

That gesture left Sebastian...or the demon.

Contemplating.

Thinking.

He just let out a sigh, picked up the tray with the already prepared tea and left the kitchen with firm steps. The butler wasn't going to keep Lord Baron waiting, not because of a tantrum from one of the employees.

—What would the young master think of this spectacle?

Sebastian returned to the act of the butler, it had become his refuge. The routine, the habitual, the strictly necessary.

But at this point, he could no longer play dumb.

He stopped in the middle of the hallway.

He set the tray on one of the adjacent tables.

And he had to cover his mouth, only to see how his hands were stained with his own essence.

Dark.

Thick.

—How convenient...

When he took off his gloves to put on a new pair, his vision blurred. And when he touched his cheekbones...

—Tears? —he thought.

And a new wave of nausea made him double over, barely holding onto the edge of that table. The new gloves became stained as well.

But what troubled him most was...

—Am I...? Am I crying?

He felt it. A stabbing pain. Violent. Brutal.

The heartbeat.

He clutched his chest, falling to his knees. He tried to get up but couldn't. The spasm twisted him from within.

Again.

And now, the tears. Flooded like that night when in Germany he inhaled the so-called miasma.

They weren't of anger, not even of shame. They were from the same pain he had just inflicted.

Because it wasn’t she who was wounded, sobbing in the kitchen.

It was him. He made sure there was no toxic in the air.

And that...

That was even more unbearable.

—Maybe it's the same conflict I had by that time, —he said. —I knew those "werewolves" were humans inside suits. But telling the young master would ruin the whole mystery. —he paused, and smiled. —Oh…that's right. The young master was in a deep state of weakness, maybe that softened my disguise and made me tear. I wonder why her outrageous display of emotions made me react like this, maybe I was moved! —he chuckled, as if it was a funny thing to say. Impossible and stupid. —But not as terrible as hunger, never as hunger.

He stood up, snap his fingers and move on.

—I told you, Miss Leigh, —he spoke to the corridor. —Sooner or later you would hate me.

But deep down, he wasn't relieved.

[Ya lo se que tu te vas-Juan Gabriel]

Hoy me he despertado

Con mucha tristeza

Sabiendo que mañana

Ya te vas de mí

Ah~

The morning arrived frigid. The manor's windows were adorned with capricious frost patterns, and footsteps on the cobblestone echoed hollowly, while the horses snorted impatiently, misting the air with their vaporous breaths.

Te juro mi vida

Que pensando en lo nuestro

Me pasé la noche

Casi sin dormir

The two Lords, already wearing their coats, bid each other farewell formally in front of the main gate. The young master, clad in his impeccable navy blue suit, solemnly shook their hands.

—Thank you for your visit. I hope the arrangement proves profitable for both parties.

Lord Baron bowed his head. His voice barely trembled:

—The honor has been ours, Earl.

And then, the unexpected.

Miss Leigh, dressed in her black coat with cheeks flushed from the cold, stepped forward with a naturalness that none expected. She lifted the young Baron's suitcase without asking for help, just as she did years ago.

—Please, allow me—she said softly.

Edward's heart seemed to stop for a moment. That gesture was identical to those from his days in the manor of his childhood. A scene intact, rescued from memory. Young Gwendoline, so proper, so serviceable, so impossible to forget.

But her hair was now all neatly tucked with pins.

Ya lo sé que tú te vas

Que quizás no volverás

Que muy tristes hoy serán

Mis mañanas si te vas

Hasta cuando volverás

A mis brazos, no lo sé

Será una eternidad

Creo que te voy a perder

They walked together in silence toward the carriage. There, slightly apart, she searched among the folds of her apron for a small object wrapped in cloth.

She presented it with both hands.

—This handkerchief was given to me by a very dear girl, Honora Bridgerton. A sweet creature whom I loved with all my heart. And these...—unwrapping the handkerchief.

—You still kept them?

The ribbons.

He received it as if it were a relic.

—I want you to have it, Edward. It's a reminder that love, true love, never ceases to be.

Edward was left speechless. His eyes moistened, again. But this time he didn't cry. He just nodded, pressing the handkerchief against his chest, the ribbons unraveled. Like his very spirit.

Then, Lord Radcliffe called for him.

—Thank you, Winy. I will honor you with my life. —he murmured.

She only smiled at him.

—With your love, Edward.

Ya lo sé, mi amor

Que te vas, te vas

Que ha llegado la hora

De decirnos adiós

Te deseo buena suerte

Hasta nunca mi amor…

The carriage departed, leaving deep marks in the snow. The wheels receded like the echo of a chapter at the end of a novel.

Winy stood until she could no longer see him, until only the mist of ice remained.

She sighed, and let go. Finally, she let go of him too.

Adiós amor, adiós amor, adiós amor, adiós amor, adiós amor.

Inside the manor, the young master retired methodically to the study room, while Sebastian followed with his perfect pace.

But the cold in the mansion wasn't just from the weather.

Since early morning, while distributing instructions for the day, Gwendoline Leigh's voice was not heard. No "Thank you, Mr. Michaelis," no playful whisper while serving breakfast. Only efficiency. Only the professional murmur of an obedient maid.

Like a corpse.

Lifeless.

Withou that la vie on rose filter.

—Let's begin. —said the Butler, expecting Winy's usual endearments.

—Yes, sir. —everyone said.

Just that.

And that coldness was gnawing at his core.

The butler handed the papers to the Earl, reviewed the contracts, lit the fireplace... everything as usual. But in every movement, something was missing.

The compliment hidden in her gaze. The brightness of her smile. The excitement when her hand brushed his while receiving the teapot.

And now...

Nothing.

Finally peace.

The clock marked the hour precisely, but it no longer sighed.

Adiós amor

Adiós amor

Adiós amor…

Chapter Text

[I’m Tired-Labrynth & Zendaya]

Hey, Lord, you know I'm tired

Hey, Lord, you know I'm tired

Hey, Lord, you know I'm tired of tears

Hey, Lord, just cut me loose

Throughout the day, Sebastian sought out the most insignificant moments to approach her. From adjusting the napkins in the dining room, to aligning the dishes beside her while she cleaned. Always finding an excuse.

And when the opportunity arose, he disguised his intentions with polished and direct phrases. As if nothing had changed.

—Tell me, Miss Leigh, —he inquired while smoothing a tablecloth with exaggerated care, —have I offended you so deeply that I no longer deserve your smiles?

Gwendoline didn't look at him.

Hey, Lord, you know I'm fighting

Hey, Lord, you know I'm fighting

I'm sure this world is done with me

Hey Lord, you know it's true

She only turned slowly and, without losing her composure, replied:

—Don't bother me. We are all busy today. 

The demon no longer smiled.

Where was the smile of one who plays with knives?

Of the cat licking its sharp claws?

But before he could launch his next dart, an internal spasm stopped him. That stab, that ridiculous beat.

Now the tide is rolling in

I don't wanna win

Let it take me, let it take me

The trace of his grimace was erased. He disguised a bow, turned on with his accustomed grace, and left. He didn't even apologize for his impertinence. It felt odd, not funny. Not anymore.

I'll be on my way

How long can I stay?

In a place that can't contain me

The frozen air didn't help.

Leaning against the stone frame next to the trees dormant from winter, Sebastian took a deep breath, trying to expel that invisible nausea.

Nothing came out.

No blood, no shadows, no lightless thickness. Only a dense silence and the certainty of something new:

For every word he used to hurt her, as he used to do with the rest of human creatures, the poison returned to him. It corroded his soul, if he still possessed anything resembling one. Like a tongue entering his mouth, making him beg for it to leave.

It wasn't fun anymore. It was as if he had truly succeeded. He had extinguished Winy's light.

And then, he admitted it with a poisoned whisper:

—Well, —he sighed, looking at the clock, —I managed to make her hate me.

And as he returned to the mansion to prepare the Earl's lunch, he thought:

—But it doesn't feel as I expected.

The collapse of an infernal pleasure.

Hey, Lord, you know I'm trying

Hey, Lord, you know I'm trying

It is all I got, is this enough?

Hey, Lord, I wanna stay

Since when had he stopped enjoying breaking human egos? Since when had each attempt to subdue Winy left him... wounded?

Since when had Lord Zarant begun to feel sorrow? Missing? Yearning?

The breeze shook him, as if wanting to dishevel his dignity.

He could imitate anything. It was his specialty. Every gesture, every nod of the head, every measured compliment. Every human emotion. Everything could be pretended, executed with the precision of a musical score.

But now...

Now he wished to be kind. And he simply didn't know how.

Not as himself. Not as Zarant.

And that was the most humiliating of revelations.

He knew how to imitate kindness.

But he didn't know how to be kind.

Chapter Text

The Earl’s office burned with the crackling of the fireplace. Ciel, seated behind the oak desk, leafed through a series of letters with the royal seal, while his butler remained at his side, standing like a statue. Awaiting the Earl's commands.

—Sebastian —said Ciel, in a neutral tone—, did you collect the information I asked about Lord Baron?

—Of course. —Sebastian interlaced his hands behind his back, his tone impeccable—. According to what Miss Leigh gathered during her previous service, Lord Edward Baron is a man of kind manner, reserved, not particularly brilliant but consistent. He was attentive with the servants and maintained good judgment in his family duties.

—And his temperament? —asked Ciel without raising his eyes.

—Sensitive. Extremely sentimental. —A pause, almost imperceptible—. One could say he is moved with ease, perhaps more than advisable for a man of his position.

Ciel nodded slightly, placing his pen on the inkwell.

—That's enough for me. As long as he's not just another greedy man, we can handle him. Besides, men with weak hearts are easy to bend.

Sebastian did not reply.

—That’s right.

But Sebastian felt those words somewhat personal, although clearly Ciel's intention was not that.

—Very well —continued Ciel—. Bring me hot chocolate and a dessert, something with a sugar coat texture. I will be writing to Her Majesty and, unfortunately, also to Elizabeth. This time her letter came with a pink ribbon and strawberry scent. —he smiled. —Prepare a dessert with strawberry jam.

The butler bowed his head slightly.

—As you wish.

The kitchen bubbled with sweet aromas and hot milk. Snake was collecting the plates with the slow clumsiness of someone who listens to a snake at the same time as trying to coordinate his movements.

—It was delicious, Miss Leigh! —said Meyrin with shining eyes—. How did you make something so simple in such a short time?

—It was improvised, I thought a little chocolate would brighten the night. —responded Winy, downplaying it with her usual modesty.

At that moment, Sebastian entered. Like an icy wind in a greenhouse.

—Meyrin, clean the main dining room. Snake, check the firewood in your room. Some of your companions could fall ill if the temperature drops any further.

Both servants nodded, obeying without hesitation. When the door closed behind them, the kitchen became tense with silence.

Sebastian took another step, as if inspecting the jars on the counter.

—Miss Leigh, I need you to check the pantry. The young master desires a particular dessert. To accompany, Earl Grey, with a touch of bergamot. I suppose you'll remember it.

Winy remained still, with one hand still on the plate she was washing.

—Of course, I'll go in a moment.

But she remained unmoved.

And just as he was about to turn around, a tiny figure appeared behind them.

—Oh-ho-ho... allow me to help with that. —said Mr. Tanaka, with his characteristic chuckle—. Miss Leigh has cold hands from the water, if she doesn't warm them first they might hurt.

She smiled at the old man.

—How considerate, Mr. Tanaka. —she said in a soft voice.

Winy's countenance was downcast. Even sitting by the fire her cheeks did not blush with life. She was pale, her eyes slightly sunken from so much crying. And her voice... each time she spoke it was like the last sigh of a tuberculosis patient.

Barely holding her breath to respond, but with little to say.

That old man, although he seemed to not even be among the employees, had a special way of comforting her. From time to time they both talked and during that day, the old man was observant and offering her a tea, sat down to talk with her. Of course, while Sebastian attended to the Earl.

—I'll go with Meyrin, I'll help her with the dining room.

Winy lowered her head slightly, grateful. The decision was made without the need for words.

Days seemed the same. Clouded skies, shivering cold winds, night snow.

Gwendoline regained her attention on what's important. She cleaned every corner of the manor with devotion, and kept warm tea or chocolate for Bard and Finny who worked almost the whole day scraping the snow from the night before, clearing the stairs and outside corridors.

She even looked at Finnian's long bangs. And she offered to cut his hair. That same day, she grabbed Bard and sat him on the chair, to cut his hair and to bring a better sight to that badly cut beard of his.

—Now that's a gentleman. —she said proudly as he was looking at his reflection in a small mirror.

—Outstanding. —he said, sliding his fingers on his cheeks. —So smooth, I can't remember when I had such baby-butt skin.

Winy chuckled and washed her hands.

—Now it's your turn Mey, today's a good day to cut the tips. The moon is in the phase of growing the hair fast, if you like your hair long, of course.

She was nervous.

—Me?

—Or do you prefer to take a bath? I'll lend you my ointments, you'll sleep so warm and smelling like incense.

—A warm bath? For me?

She laughed.

—Come on, say yes! —Winy insisted. —And we can keep talking while I make a crown of foam out of your hair.

She doubted but in the end, decided to be washed by the kind hands of Winy.

That night the bath area of the household staff was filled with giggles. When Winy finished embalming Mey, she dried her hair and spilled drops of perfume on her bed.

—Now you'll have sweet dreams! Of vanilla and myrrh.

—But that's your perfume! Isn't it expensive? —she trembled as she put on her nightgown.

—Oh don't mind it, I like to share and this perfume is exquisite. —she said, as she grabbed Meyrin's glasses, cleaning them.

—Thanks again Winy. —she smiled. —You are truly so caring... —but she wanted to say something more.

—No need to thank kindness. —placing the glasses on the bedside table. —Besides, I love to share the stories of my childhood.

—Oh yeah! —she said excited. —Can't believe you had a tiger as a pet!

—Ah~ my lovely Kumar. —she sighed. —Now he runs wild in the jungle where he belongs, I pray for his safety and his offspring…

—Winy. —she said, changing the tone. —I've noticed you a little different…

—Different? —she furrowed. —No, I'm just cold. I prefer sunny days. I miss the sun, it's just that.

—Are you still in love with Sebastian?

That left her frozen.

—What makes you think I'm in love with him?

—Well, —she said, as she sat on the bed. —I have good sight. —she smiled. —The way you look at him, how you smiled and how you are always so attentive. It's obvious! But I think that…you kind of gave up. —she sighed as she let herself fall on the bed. —I understand, I once fell in love with him but, even though it's not impossible, such affairs are just that. Affairs. —she shivered. —And he frightens me more than I want him.

Winy stood proud.

—You should not fear him, he is just another…being. Full of flaws, and more self-centered than you think. —she closed the wardrobe and raised her candle. —He is utterly attractive, but not everything that shines is gold.

She laughed.

—I know! But I would easily fall for fool's gold.

They both laughed.

—So, did you give up on him? —said Meyrin.

She did not answer.

—And what about Lord Baron? —Meyrin insisted.

—Ah~ he is a chapter closed. —said Winy. —It was good to see him again, it reminds me of what's worth in this life.

—And that is…

But she still was hurt, she could only wait for her heart to heal to actually speak the truth.

—Let's say that right now, I don't feel with the right to speak of it. My heart is swollen and…I need to recover so I could say it.

—Heartbroken? You mean…Lord Baron?

But she looked down.

—I saw hope where there's none, so…I caused this myself.

Meyrin was puzzled, so she simply attributed Winy's sorrow to Lord Baron.

—You know what would make you happy?

—What? —she smiled, heading to the door.

—A kiss from Sebastian! —she said excited.

She chuckled, finding innocent Meyrin's praise of that…creature.

—I really doubt it. Maybe his kisses are bitter and I prefer sweetness…

—Oh, bitter from that handsome man would feel like sweetness!

—Then go make him kiss you, and then you tell me how it was.

But Meyrin buried her face in the pillow, ashamed yet tempted by the idea.

—Goodnight Mey. —said Winy.

And when she closed the door…

—You should ask your sister about it. —he said, leaning on the wall, arms crossed.

Her laughter turned to a tired sigh. He was there, like a stubborn stain on a perfect white dress. Hard to remove.

—Don't bring that up. —she said, walking straight to her room. —Besides, it's quite improper to eavesdrop on conversations.

He smiled, delighted.

—You're still angry at me, I deserve it. But I'm curious about…

—Mr. Michaelis. —she stopped, and confronted him. —I'm tired of this play of yours. If there's a way for you to make me forget about your true nature then do so. I want to forget about it and keep myself as I was supposed to be. And that means for you to be the butler, nothing more.

He was surprised.

—So you want to forget about everything?

She hesitated.

—Or you could keep the butler act on me. —she replied. —And stop playing this foolishness around, I'm not your plaything.

He chuckled.

—Well, I can make you forget about my nature. But that's one request. If you want to forget that you ever loved me that's a second request.

She sighed, troubled.

—I will not make any contract with you. —and she kept walking.

—I don't serve two masters at the same time, that's not my style. —he replied, following. —I'll grant you your wishes in exchange for two easy things.

She was about to enter her room, but the idea to forget was tempting. A broken heart needs healing, but to forget, that'll be the final cure. So she stood up on her doorframe.

—So you are interested. —he said, excited.

—Humans can't forget. You learn to live with it or pretend you don't remember, but no one can deceive themselves.

—Wise. —he smiled, mockingly. —So proper of you, Miss Leigh.

—What do you ask in exchange for forgetting…

The way he looked at her, mischievous and so…devilish.

—To forget about me and to forget about the love you so deeply stated. Two things: Let me kiss you and make love to you.

She stood there, as if nothing happened.

But it did.

Her tears flooded again.

—How foolish of me to still believe you could show mercy... —she cleaned her eyelids.

She opened her door and entered, but he stopped the door from shutting.

—I know you are a perfect virgin. —he said, nonchalantly. —No one has ever kissed you, and of course, no one has ever touched you. —he stood straight, looking for her watery gaze, but she looked to the side. —Let me make it up for you, and as an extra wish I'll make you forget about those two things too.

But she couldn't bear how…disappointing he was.

—You really are devious. —she said, staring at him. —How… —she whispered, broken. —How did I see beauty in you? When the only thing you do, and you do it on purpose, is to be a beast moved purely by low impulses. That's all you are…all you ever be.

The smile faded on him.

—Stop bothering me, Mr. Michaelis. Or I'll write my sister to use your name on my behalf.

And he did not push the door open. He was both thrilled and troubled.

—She is bold, but I never expected her tender heart to actually threaten me. —his eyes gleamed crimson. —That's what happens with a broken heart. —he thought, walking to his room. —It can turn the most sublime affections and brave convictions into hatred… —he smiled. —It was silly of me to think that a human capable of "loving" me existed. That's impossible, it's of human nature to change their beliefs…hearts are impossible to deceive, but when they hate… —he let out a deep sigh. —They can make the one hated seek…forgiveness.

And he entered his room.

Chapter Text

This cold weather, sunless.

Cold is only the absence of heat; therefore, coldness doesn't exist as a form itself but rather what lacks. So does the darkness, absence of light, the emptiness left by an ember now nowhere to be found.

Restless emptiness, like a belly growling for food.

Starving.

Or a heart wounded, swollen.

Hopeless.

—Come on Winy! —shouted Finny. —Let's have a snowball fight!

No one dies for love.

—Quit scrubbing, Winy —said Bard, plucking the broom from her grasp. —You’ll have the ice gleaming like a chandelier. Come on now, take a break.

And love has many forms to yield and to give the heart to, sometimes as soft as a laughter shared beneath the cold air, other times as fierce as a promise sworn in a alley, with a past lover on his knees. In a butler's room, where shadows were once seen with sublime beauty.

Or in a golden palace, all as one.

—All right. —she sighed, defeated, gazing at Meyrin running behind Finny. —I'll grab my coat and new pair of gloves.

[I dream a dream-Anne Hataway, Les Miserables]

There was a time when men were kind

When their voices were soft

And their words inviting

There was a time when love was blind

And the world was a song

And the song was exciting

There was a time

Then it all went wrong...

Snow holds its own spellbound magic. Wishes descend as intricate patterns, delicate symmetries drifting from the heavens as though they were nothing at all, or perhaps, everything at once. Each flake felt like laughter incarnate, like music carried on wind, like love untethered, falling simply because they can, and because they must. Nothing halts them. No will restrains the clouds from scattering their dainty wonders.

Just as the sun, its rays are for everyone, equally.

—The sun always rises for everyone. —she thought as she heard the loud laughter of Bard and Finny.

—Watch out Winy! —shouted Bard.

And a snowball hit the back of her head. She stood still, and everyone remained frozen.

—Sorry sorry sorry! —came Meyrin rushing.

But then she leaned down and grabbed a big snowball for herself.

—RUN! —she shouted and got ready for throwing that white ball.

Meyrin turned and began to be followed by the cheerful Winy, now devoted to turning her into a snowman or…snow lady.

No one dies from love, she guessed she'll be the first. But when a new heartbreak comes, there's the idea of "never being able to love again," but that's just an illusion. She still has too much to give.

dreamed a dream in times gone by

When hope was high

And life worth living

I dreamed that love would never die

I dreamed that God would be forgiving

Now they were laying on the white ground, printing their silhouettes like a pair of wings. Gazing at the endless grey above.

—I love snow angels! —shouted Finny.

When the three of them stood up and saw the figures they felt proud.

—Beautiful, isn't it? —said Mey.

Winy held her arm, looking for warmth.

—Yeah. —she sighed. —There's beauty in our deformed shapes of heaven.

—Deformed? —said Finny. —No, they look good.

—If you ask me, —said Bard, the only one who didn't make his angel. —they look awful, you raised your arm more and it looks weird.

—I think they look good. —said Winy. —We only need to have fun, not to make the best out of these... deformed angels.

—Ho, ho, ho.

Beauty. There's beauty in all. And it's not a thing or a trait, is just is. Beauty is subjective, a pile of corpses may look divine to a serial killer so the sleeping eyes of a newborn in the eyes of a first time mother. Beauty is a spirit, a respite of life. It comes with amazement, wonder, excitment. Confussion even, but, out of the same awe.

—They are having fun. —said the Butler, gazing from the window in the Earl's office. —Don't you want to join them?

Ciel was fixed on reading the arrangement of the Funtom Company.

—Ice and damp clothes will make me catch a cold.

—Would you like something sweet?

—Hm, you have already prepared me a dessert. —he raised his gaze. —Why are you granting me that indulgence?

But he had no answer. His eyes fixed on them, playing as if nothing mattered. Gathering snowflakes that would become water in an instant.

Winy stood there, hands raised to the sky, feeling the cold within her. The dreams, the hopes. The good and the bad. All those moments she gave bread to an orphanage and when she stole it. When she cared like a nurse over one of the maids tragically robbed and...when she punched a streetwalker for kicking her by accident.

When she danced over Holi powders.

And now, under the snow she would never have known unless leaving her home.

Then I was young and unafraid

And dreams were made and used and wasted

There was no ransom to be paid

No song unsung, no wine untasted

—Come here Winy! —shouted Mey. —It's freezing!

She noticed they were heading to the kitchen entrance. She adjusted her coat and walked with them. Ready to prepare hot chocolate for all, and later to change the jar of water for Snake's serpents.

Later that evening, she was arranging the cups and plates, Tanaka was helping her. And she:

—I grew up with petal rose rain and colorful powder, scented air and warm weather. —she said, as she polished every plate. —But the snowflakes, the cold shivering weather. At first I hated it, so hard to live in these conditions, sheltered only by the safety of the household…I miss the grass and the dandelions floating. 

She paused, as the work was finished.

—But the beauty of it, leaves me breathless…

Old Tanaka smiled.

—It's good to see you in better mood, Miss Leigh. —said the old man.

—You are good company Mr. Tanaka. —she replied, holding his arm. —Now let us share that cup of green tea.

At night, she held a tray with hot chocolate and went to the Earl's office. She knocked and the butler opened the door.

—Your excellency. —she bowed, sensing the warmth rushing out of the office. The chimney was lit, fading now its last embers—I've prepared chocolate, —she only stepped into the office right under the door frame. —would you like some?

Sweets. The young master would never say no.

—Thanks. 

She left the mug on his desk and held the tray under her arm.

—I hope you like it. —she smiled and waited for him to give it a sip, and after it, he nodded.

—Well done, Miss Leigh. —said the butler. —Always so caring.

She bowed.

—It's my pleasure. —she replied, and then added. —Mr. Michaelis, I left everything done in the kitchen. The tasks you gave us are completed.

—Good. 

—Master, —she turned to him. —have a goodnight. 

She bowed again and left.

The butler went to open the door for her but she was faster. He was left with that scent of cinnamon, coming from her apron.

He went back to the Earl's side, but Ciel noticed his downcast expression.

—Since when do you carry such a grieved look? —asked the Earl.

He blinked and smiled.

—My apologies, I didn't notice my expression.

—Did something happend with that maid? 

But he quicly regain his usual confident demeanor.

—My charms break hearts, my lord. 

Ciel furrowed and look back to his files.

—First Meyrin, now Gwendoline. —he was serious. —Stop toying with them, that's not what a butler should be wasting his time on.

—Is that and order? —he said, with a confident smirk.

Somehow, Sebastian pleaded for it to be an order. Especially since he, as the creature of darkness, the demon named Zarant, wasn't able to stop being such a hideous being toward Winy. He could pretend and mimic good demeanor and a proper appearance, but, in truth, he did not know how to be…
kind.

Forgiving.

Or Merciful.

—It’s your job. —he replied.

He bow, right hand on his chest. But his eyes.

His eyes hide behind his dreadful sorrow.

But the tigers come at night

With their voices as soft as thunder

As they tear your hope apart

And they turn your dream to shame

She was hanging her dress in the wardrobe when the door creaked with two knocks.

—Miss Leigh? Are you already asleep?

She let out a tired, powerless sigh. She went to the door and opened it.

He was there.

Perfectly dressed in that black suit. His insufferable bangs and messy hair. Eyes like warm honey, prideful demeanor. Taller, slim but of refined figure.

She no longer felt the umbra around him, she had gotten used to it, the darkness lurking in the folds of his jacket no longer odd.

He slept a summer by my side

He filled my days with endless wonder

He took my childhood in his stride

But he was gone when autumn came

—Is there anything I can help you with, Mr. Michaelis?

—I will grant your wishes.

And she look to the side, closing the door.

—Goodnight, Mr. Michaelis.

But he stop the door.

—Only one request. —he said, but his face was no longer mocking or confident.

—I don’t want to hear it.

—Let me own your first kiss. —he push the door, gently enough for him to look at her hair still wild over her shoulders.

—Why? —she look at him furious. —So you could have another thing to tease me with, to make fun of me?

She tried to push the door but he was determied.

—I… —but the pain prevent him from talking, he had to gulp the essences drainig from himself.

—Come on in. —she said, tired. Fed up.

She opened the door further. As he entered, closing it, she grabbed the chair in front of her desk and placed it in front of the side of her bed.

—Sit there.

Then she took the candle and put it on her bedside table.

—Unbelievable. —he thought, his sight perplexed, looking how she got “prepared”

She sat right in front of him, hands gracefully over her lap. Hair still unravel.

—Giving you explanations seems like talking to a rock. —she doubted. —I'm probably wasting my time with you, again. But…—she paused, troubled. —I feel…I must explain myself.

That wasn’t what he expected but still, worth it.

—I'll listen. —he replied, crossign both legs and arms. 

She inhaled deeply. Her heart was now in better condition, enough to see her own past with clear mind and humble.

—Women not only in my homeland but everywhere, we are all measured, born to fit in a box of ideas, expectations. One of them is purity. Chastity. —she spoke, more like a teaching given by the nurses that took care of her and her sister back in the palace. A teaching now repeated as a prayer. —A woman must remain untouched until the day of her wedding. A woman must go from her father to her husband. A woman now a wife must serve and please her husband. Bring children. And live for them. —she looked at him. —The same goes for every woman. Princess, highborn, farmer's daughter, streetwalker, merchant wife. We are all measured by what makes us valuable for others.

He listened.

—While going from India to England, I saw a woman bleeding, her skirt was torn, she ran partially naked. Three attackers still chasing her. She ran up to a hill and let her body fall onto sharp rocks. She preferred death.

And she kept going.

—I saw a little girl, barely eight. Being covered by rocks, thrown by angry women and men, even the children her age. —a tear fell. —she was newly wed and found not a virgin. She died too. And I found that not only girls. Boys too were subjected to the desires of depraved men, children sold and condemned to far more torturous fates than simply being ripped alive by one or more men, —and she paused. —and even women, in a single night.

And kept going.

—A girl, my age at that time, fifteen. I saw her sell her body... her gaze was dim, her body was covered in bright colors but her soul was long ago gone. A customer came, a man who seemed dangerous. His pace of a rabid lion. He bought her, her screams filled the street... by morning she was covered in a white cloth. A whole hand missing.

And her gaze burned him.

—I was there too!

He kept his composure, quiet. Listening.

—I was about to be raped by the same man who carried me all the way to England. He was kind, father of two gentle daughters, a husband. A good man. He protected us from others, he fed us, he sheltered me as one of his own daughters. —she paused. —You think you are the devil, but mankind is far worse!

He straightened his back.

—The last day with them, we arrived in London and I was meant to meet my sister the next evening. I was so close to her, to my freedom. —she paused as the pain in her throat came. —I should have suspected, but I simply couldn't see, or didn't want to. That night he sent his wife to his daughter's tent. I was left with him as he was explaining to me about the high debt for my travel, and how important it was for my sister to pay on time. He fed me until i got bloated, and even gave me wine. —she looked down, those piercing words. —”For Rajkumari! Let us cheer for the freedom of a princess! Tiger spirit and gentle heart!” —she slid her fingers on her eyelids and breath in, regaining her posture. —When I felt dizzy I went to sleep and he invited me to stay in the tent.

He inhaled, thinking a mistake. But no, she smelled of an untouched woman.

—He was subtle, explaining that he would miss me and caressed my back. Then my legs, and his fingers reached my belly button. —she shivered at the image of that moment. —I remember the look on those girls, of those women. If that happened to me I would do the same. Run to death. But I was so close, I was hours away. I couldn't bear the thought of looking in the mirror and seeing that my soul fled my body. Alive but... somewhere else.

He suspected the outcome but, not quite so.

—When he started to remove my clothes I knew that death had to claim one of us. —she looked down. —I grabbed the same knife he used to peel me an apple and stabbed his throat. —she paused in fear. —The next thing I knew is that I was running non-stop. Freezing in a snowstorm. Still covered in blood. Until I saw a light in a corner, a group of homeless, I stood by the fire and did not sleep. I was so afraid, so guilty for what I'd done. For leaving three women at the mercy of the same kind of fate that led me to kill a man.

Her tears ran freely but she did not sob.

—I protected myself to survive, then I realized that... protecting my chastity was beyond the mere value or thing meant to be given to a man. It was mine. And only mine to be given. Not taken, given. Just like love. —she sighed. —I didn't care that you are a demon, I've known worse. You are just hungry, not so different from a starving child, capable of doing the unthinkable just for a piece of bread.

He raised a brow, remembering that she knew about his hunger, thanks to her sister.

—But the people I've met, they are true monsters. They do the worst because they can, and the world around not only looks to the other side, they praise them for the treachery! They applaud and cheer for the evil in them. —she paused, as she stood up, firmly. —You can’t take anything from me, Sebastian. I have given you enough for free and out of love, I ask of you your form, but that was all, I never expected your kindness or gentleness. I saw beauty in you, hope that even the one called demon was much better than humankind, worth of love and care. —she inhaled and calm her rush. —Now I must come back to me, take care for the love I still have to give.

And still I dream he'll come to me

That we will live the years together

But there are dreams that cannot be

And there are storms we cannot weather

She look at him, her heart, healed, at peace. Without the clouds of anger and despair, her voice was clear. Only submit by the screams of sorrow, but the voice, that tender faithful voice, was there. Never fled, it was there…

...waiting to be heard.

Waiting for the sky to clear.

And the sunrays shine again.

I had a dream my life would be

So different from this hell I'm living!

So different now from what it seemed

—My heart fell for the buttler, but chose the demon… —she thought.

She truly wanted to give him one last piece of her…

He stood up and look down at her.

—Thanks for sharing this with me. —he smoothed his jacket and maintained his impeccable posture.

He walked to her door and without looking at her:

—Rest well, Miss Leigh.

Now life has killed

The dream I dreamed...

Chapter Text

[Demons-Jacob Lee (Philosophical Sessions)]

My heart is weak

Tear it down piece by piece

Leave me to think

Deep in my structure

I think I still love her

But I need some sleep

You've taken my breath away

Now I want to breathe

'Cause I cannot see what you can see

So easily

Two weeks.

Endless days of silent indifference, avoided glances, and greetings no different from those given to anyone else within the manor. Her kindness unchaged, her laughter and diligence.

And her composure around him had returned to how it was when she first arrived at the manor. Winy had rebuilt herself.

Glossy lips.

A bit of powder on her eyelids.

No need for blush as her cheeks were constantly rosy from the chimney flames.

Almost as if she had never felt affection for him. As if her heart had never beat faster at the sight of him rolling up his sleeves to cook for the Earl.

And Sebastian...

Ah~ that damned demon resented it.

He lamented it as only a proud demon could: not with sadness, but with arrogance. He had grown accustomed to those little gifts she offered him: the way she sighed when hearing his discreet mocking laughter, the cups of strong tea that he barely drank as he didn't need them, the sweetness with which she addressed him: Mr. Michaelis.

And above all…

Your eyes are beautiful...Mr. Michaelis.

Small charms.

Delights that had now been taken from him.

That night, cold as only winter knows how, Winy stepped into the hallway of the servant's quarters, with a bonnet covering her hair and her face stained. Nose, lips, cheeks.

And her hands. Her arms up to elbow, with the only color or…lack of it.

Painted in BLACK.

She was in a hurry. In one hand, a towel. In the other, a small piece of soap.

Sebastian crossed the hallway at the same time. His soft, elegant steps halted upon seeing her, like someone stumbling upon a specter. She raised her gaze for an instant.

She recognized him.

She said nothing.

—Miss Leigh...

But she looked at him and continued on her way. Without even slowing her pace.

—She still hates me... —he thought.

She disappeared behind the bathroom door, closing it firmly.

Sebastian didn't move for a few seconds. His crimson eyes fixed upon the brass handle she had touched. Then, an idea occurred to him.

Or a doubt.

—Could she be writing so much to her sister that she ended up with her face stained with ink? —he sighed. —I can imagine what horrors she must be telling about me. I'd better take a look before I hear my name being cursed by Miss Herson.

Gwendoline's room.

The door wasn't completely closed. A small gap, barely a finger's width, allowed the warmth of the candle to slip through like smoke.

He didn't enter.

He would never do so without explicit consent. But he didn't leave either.

From the shadows, he observed. Not like a beast hunting, but like the observer who has served the aristocracy for centuries. Learning from silence.

And there it was.

The desk had been moved toward the window. In its place, on the wooden floor protected with canvases, was a bucket of inky water and a round glass container, the kind typically used to preserve fruits in syrup, and several papaer sheets with ink stains.

Winy had clearly been practicing a rudimentary but charming technique: floating ink on water.

And on one of those half-dried sheets...

Sebastian recognized it.

It was him.

A diffuse, dark silhouette, with an elegant gesture. The outline of his eyes, his proud profile, the shape of his horns.

—She's punishing me with her indifference... —he thought, utterly relieved. —but I haven't left her heart.

It wasn't a perfect drawing. It wasn't even refined. But each formless stroke seemed guided by an impulse that he recognized.

Devotion.

And something in his chest, that damned sting that had become a chronic illness, bothered him again, although this time... it was different.

He was beginning to like that pain.

He heard the click of the bathroom doorknob in the distance. He retreated with the precision of a cat and slipped through shadows to his own room. He closed the door without a sound.

He stood in front of the window, observing his reflection in the glass. Sighing while crossing his arms.

—Why does she concern me so much?

The demon in the glass looked at him with irony. Purple-red eyes, twisted smile. Shapeless shadows, only confused emotions and intentions.

He tilted his head, answering himself.

—I am a... diabolically...hellish…devilish!

But he couldn't find an adjective that pleased him. That last word: devilish, was beginning to sound increasingly hollow. Along with all those superb adjectives.

And while outside it snowed as if London were washing away its sins, the most feared butler in England accepted, in silence, that no matter how much he denied it...

...there was something about that young woman with ink on her lips, that was beginning to draw him. Maybe he has a soul, and it’s not the countless ones he has devour. No, no.

His essence.

And her indifference was more annoying to him than not knowing how to name himself.

I thought my demons were almost defeated

But you took their side

And you pull them to freedom

They know my secrets and won't let me go

Won't let me go

—What have you done?! —shouted Mey.

Both were washing the room's sheets. Of course, Winy had to roll her sleeves and reveal her last night's doings.

—Sh! Lower your voice, Mey.

—But…but! Why are your arms black?

Winy let out a sigh as she slid her wrist over her forehead, she gazed at her hands now with a faded tone of black ink.

—I know this is so improper of me but… —she smiled slightly. —I had to become something in particular, to see again what made it beautiful.

—What?

—And to grab the snowflakes on my hands. —she added, dipping her hands in her soapy water. —I notice that they can be seen better on a dark surface.

—Are you ok, Winy? —Mey asked, concerned.

—Yes. —she replied, with a wide smile. —Better than ever.

Chapter Text

The hallway seemed longer that night.

Perhaps due to the thick silence, the wind slipping through the stained glass windows, or because each step Winy took in her flannel nightgown with her hair tied up high weighed more than the snow on the windowpanes.

She carried a lantern in one hand, while the other, clenched nervously, stopped just inches from the door.

The butler's door.

That night, however, she did. She was determined to redeem herself.

Not as a maid. Not as a woman. But as a repentant soul seeking forgiveness.

As a heart willing to renew its vows.

She had traveled it many times with her gaze, with intention, but never with enough resolve.

Yes! That was Gwendoline Leigh. A woman who, even after walking through the worst of humankind, still believed every soul was worthy of a second chance. She had faced hell and emerged with a heart both fierce and kind, for it is the one who suffers most who learns to shield others from suffering. Even if that meant standing before a demon cloaked in a butler’s disguise. Even if he laughed at her sorrow and made her bend to her knees from despair.

Still, she upheld all that was justice, honourable, and true. She felt it her moral duty to offer an apology, but deeper still, there lingered a brave faith. A longing to see him again, to smile not with timidity, but with a new strength. The days of shy glances and trembling hands were behind her.

Like a phoenix risen from ashes, she was ready to love, to love him. To yield once more to that fragile ember called hope, for it is the last light that flickers within every human soul.

And maybe, just maybe…

[Kiss him but I wont write it haha]

A gust of icy wind swept across the floor, her feet faltered, and before she could knock on the door.

It opened.

Winy wrote in her diary that, despite seeing Edward again and feeling how memories enveloped her with an almost painful sweetness, she knew she had to move forward. And not only from him, but for all she had left behind a long time ago.

She understood that her path was no longer the same as the beginning, and that the love she once had for him needed to evolve. She repeated what she had told Edward: that he should love his family as if he was loving her. Now, with the same conviction, she had decided to love the butler, with the same intensity with which she once loved Edward.

It was fair.

This way she would be true to her words.

Love never ceases to be. Love never dies!

But...

How could she love someone who, in her most fragile moment, only knew how to mock and despise the man she had loved? How could she continue appealing to someone with such a lack of sensitivity?

Slow, as a snowflake falling she realized she loved no man. But a creature far beyond her comprehension. She had a glimpse of…it, and chose to contempla, no judgment and she found beauty on those dark hues of nothingness.

She saw infinite possibilities in his void.

And she fall for it.

—Who knows when love begins? —she thought while writing in her diary. —Who knows what makes it start? One day it's simply there, alive, within the heart. Full of hope.

Even with all the transgressions, she believed in Sebastian. She had hope in him. Her heart still sank when she thought of him. Enterly him.

—Love never falters. Once it's spoken, love is yours and never fades away.

She was convinced that, beyond his faultless role as a butler, in the heart of that horrendous demonic essence, there was a spark. Light. Like a ember about to burst into flames. Pure beauty.

One cannot be selfish without having a glimmer of empathy. Nor can one be so obsessive without having cultivated some patience.

She had seen, in the butler's most everyday actions, the small virtues that the demon had learned in the service of the young master. And for her, that was enough. Because if she could love those virtues, then she could also learn to love the many calamities that comprehend the rest of him.

—Hearts can break but... love endures.

But just when her heart was already vulnerable from the memories, he displayed his usual vanity and mockery. And she couldn't take it anymore. The poison of the unattainable past surged forth, and she insulted him. She cursed his lack of sensitivity, his lack of empathy, and that rude way of mocking everything. Of mocking her.

She cursed him and call upon his horrid nature.

She regret it.

Despite being a despicable creature in many ways, his loyalty to his convictions inspired respect in her. She did not know how demons work, they laws and morale but, she admired how, despite his devious nature, Sebastian had actively chosen to be a devoted server to the young Earl Phantomhive. Even if his motives were as simple as to fed on him, there was something in that way of attending to Ciel every day without complaint, obedient, faithful. And that was simply...

Beautiful.

—Love takes a form much greater than your own. It uses you at its whim and drags you into despair.

Diabolically perfect. Just as she herself had consecrated her life to service.

But it took a couple of days for her to recover her composure, to let the bitter moment pass and return to the foundations of her heart. A small storm couldn't knock down a house built on rock; it might blow off the roof or break some windows, but it wouldn't affect its columns.

And for her, the damned demon still remained worthy of love.

To be loved.

—…and it forces you to feel more joy than you can bear.

The crimson eyes found her in a blink. Not one of his perfected reflexes managed to soften the gesture of surprise that crossed through him.

She was there.

And so was he.

—Miss Leigh, what and unexpected visit.

—Sebastian! I... —her voice was faint, but full of conviction.

That was the second time he dared to adress him as such. But if she knew his true name, she would call him that way, with the same relieve and urge of him.

— I've come to apologize. —she added.

His lips parted. The gesture seemed unnecessary to him, but his human form had been betraying him a lot lately.

—Curious... —he murmured—. I was heading to do exactly the same.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The candle between them danced like a nervous witness. Winy lowered her gaze, her voice trembled a little as she found the words:

—What I said that night... after what happened with Edward...

—Yes —he interrupted gently, but not to reproach her—. I deserved it. I was absolutely imprudent and hurt your sensibilities, already fragile due to Lord Baron's presence.

Well, that was sincere. That gave him points for redemption.

She raised her eyes, with that gleam of remorse that only someone with a noble soul can hold.

—I appreciate your apology. But I want to speak first. I insulted you. The fault is not yours alone.

The butler smiled.

—Fault? Me? I didn't say I had insulted her, —he thought. —I did it anyway. Although not explicitly.

—I said things out of anger and pain. I was overwhelmed with emotions and let my sorrow take over my reasoning. —she lower her gaze. —I am not those words and much less do I stand by them.

Sebastian motion her to enter and closed the door behind her. Not to trap her, but to isolate them from the cold alley, just for that moment.

—I also behave improperly. —said the butler. —I wanted to provoke you. I thought that if I poked the wound, you would finally give up that nonsense you've been determined to uphold regarding me. —He stood still, his gaze soft for the first time, but his gestures remained sharp—. My apologies, —he bowed, using the butler’s demeanor to redeem the demon. —I went too far on you, Miss Leigh.

She revealed a slight smile. Compassion.

—You don't know how to be gentle, do you? —she asked in a low voice, almost as if embracing him with the question.

She knew those moves were the butler’s.

He barely smiled. It was a smile of defeat.

—I can imitate gentleness. —the demon spoke and his eyes glowed, just as his fangs sharpened between words. —But no. I don't know how to be gentle because I simply am not. It's not part of my nature.

—No, Mr. Michaellis. You do know how to be gentle.

She took a step forward.

He looked at her, expectant of what her argument would be.

—Miss Leigh, you insist on attributing me qualities that simply don't align to what I am. —he sighed wearily. —I've already told you that I am not what you think you see. I am just a demon butler. —and he crossed his arms.

She, with some trembling in her breathing, dared to place her hand on the crossed arms of that stubborn beign.

—Have you never heard that phrase that says "a lie repeated a thousand times becomes truth"? —and she smiled at him. —You have spent so long perfecting the act of the butler that, along the way...

She hesitated. But if she was going to speak with the truth, and without a hint of doubt, this would not be the moment to hold back everything she wanted to confess.

—...the demon ended up learning to be virtuous.

And then, as if sealing that declaration, she barely touched the edge of his sleeves, no longer with shyness, but with deep conviction.

He could only see how he simply let her got closer.

—You are not so different from the humans you so adore to contemplate. —she lowered her gaze. —And it's not a reproach, in fact. —she sighed. —I find it profoundly admirable that a creature as formidable as you... —she paused, she was somewhat embarrassed to admit it. —that someone like you has found your fascination in beings as…only God knows how to call us. —she said, finding impossible to give the humankind a single adjective. —You have take the time to witness our lives, to the point of surrendering your powers to the service of each of your contractors. That’s pure devotion, not only to us but…to your convictions.

He just listened to her. Never before had anyone dared to address him in such a forthright manner. Revealing his simplicity. But his arrogance would not allow him to give her complete reason.

—I don't do it just out of fascination. —he paused. —I’m anything and everything. To become me I must be no one. —he smirk. —It is what it is. —he declared seriously. —I know you’ve learn to be humble, sweetening the horrors of your life, but in my case you should not apply the same logic. —he clarified and she removed her hands from him. —If I admire human nature, it's for the mere charm of seeing you, existing in an extensive menu of forms, under so many convictions, despicable purposes, honorable, infamous, simple. And you all managed to surprise me every now and then.

He smiled and raised his gaze. Seeing before him the lives that still dwelled within him, all those he had consumed.

—You humans are marvelous creatures, how could I not be captivated?

Chapter Text

She had a few more things to say.

—We are majestic creatures. Children of the universe. —she said with pride. —But even the angels who transgressed against Brahma had their punishment. Everything has its consequences. Life doesn't keep anything and all debts must be settled.

And he flashed a smile. He found adorable the way she referred to God. Very typical of her homeland teachings.

—Karma, right?

—That's right. —she paused. —And everything we do or think is paid for. Either by our own hand or by divine hand.

Sebastian understood that he had been excessive; the indifference and insults he received from her were justified, but her remorse was disconcerting. In that logic of Karma and settling accounts, she had no need to offer apologies.

Her posture changed, she stood straighter.

—My words towards you were despicable, as I said, I was carried away by my sorrow and the weightlessness of your impertinences.

She bowed her head.

—I apologize, the truth is that I still appreciate you and... I'm sorry for having offended you.

Sebastian understood a new characteristic of Gwendoline's love for him: it was undeserved.

In fact. It felt like mercy.

It was undeserved love.

Pure grace.

—Do you only appreciate me? —he asked incisively.

She raised her gaze and with that naked and sincere soul declared:

—I still love you. I believe that you, like any other creature, is worthy of love. And whether you believe it or not, the affections and hopes I have for you are still within me.

The entrails of Lord Zarant, the ancient demon, twisted. Every fiber of his infernal being struggled to preserve the mask of indifference, of haughtiness, of dominance. But that pure confession, those apologies pronounced with compassion and repentance, were like holy water on his entrails.

She wasn't asking him to accept her apologies or even to show compassion. She just poured her heart out to him, as a peace offering.

He was powerless against her display of pure honesty, and that was against his nature.

His chest tightened brutally. As if a heart, his hearts, which should not synchronize, tried to find coherence in that sudden harmony amid the demon's innate chaos.

He brought his hand to his shirt. The claws, barely contained behind the butler's gloves, tore the fabric of his shirt with a slight crunch. His breath trembled on his lips, and an invisible retch threatened to emerge from the depths of his empty stomach.

Winy approached, alarmed.

—Are you all right? —she asked, her hands resting on his.

He pushed her away.

—D-don't touch me. —he stutter.

But not out of pride.

It was fear.

Real fear.

Fear that if she touched him in that moment, she would see him without masks. And perhaps, could destroy him with one more gesture of affection. And he wasn't going to allow it.

He clenched his teeth.

His eyes opened, pupils glowing.

The demon revealed himself, and the butler vanished like an actor who leaves the stage after a performance with no tickets sold. He left the mask hanging backstage, knowing that he could no longer pretend before her.

The demon and the woman had to face each other.

Once and for all. 

She trembled slightly from the cold seeping through the floor, but more from the way Sebastian had changed his measured gestures for an appearance and posture that was disturbing.

The snow fell slowly outside, a silent witness to the intimate drama unfolding in that wing of the manor. The walls seemed to retract, as if even the architecture sensed that its composition was being violated.

Sebastian was the first to speak. His voice, deeper and more eloquent than usual, carried the weight of millennia of existence. His gestures became vaporous, his posture exuded irreverence, eloquence, and an arrogant confidence that would irritate anyone.

—You don't know what you think you've fallen in love with, Eshani.

She blinked. Not because of the name, but because of the way he ceased to be the measured butler. His bearing was imperial. Despotic.

—Don't call me that. I am no longer her.

—Eshani, Gwendoline, Winy. It doesn't matter —he said, waving his fingers in the air.—. Even you know about masks as much as I do.

She looked up, barely able to understand how that change in posture, voice, gestures. It was as if she was facing another person.

He was no longer the butler.

—Doesn't that make us similar? —said Winy, her chest still burning.

He frowned. The candle on the table sputtered.

—You are in love with the form that “Ciel” assigned me. —he leaned in, sliding his fingers along her jaw. —One of many he could have chosen, but I see that black hair and a sharp face was his preference. —he said smiling. —The human form of a butler with the name of a dog.

—That's not true. —she replied, furrowing her brow. Still surprised by how he referred to the young master.

Finally, he showed himself as he was. Gwendoline was, finally, speaking with the demon.

—Liar. —he declared rudely—. It's easy for your small and simple mind to love this facade. The attractive, seductive appearance. —his chuckle was annoying. —You have a very subtle form of lust, but in the end it is what it is: carnal desire. Even if it's for my gloved hands. —raising his hands, admiring those palms now turned into sharp shadows. —I know you are a virtuous woman Eshani, you pride yourself on your diligence, on how good and kind you are. On what a great person you are. Although you don't admit it, deep inside that fills your ego. —he paused, walking towards her. — All humans are drawn to beauty, charms, good looks. They all desires it. They turn the enticing into an object to possess, and if it's forbidden it seduces them even more. —he sighed, and his lips parted between fangs and sharp teeth. —Gwendoline, everyone who knows me loves me, that's obvious to me. They dream of me, they desire me. They create stories in their daydream minds just to satisfy their longing to have me. You are no different.

He extended his hands and untied her hair, she wanted to step back but the floor beneath her feet...

The floor was very cold.

—You showed me your form. —she declared bravely. —I saw what you are and I'm still here, in front of you. Without fear. I don’t to posses you, I…just want you to believe it's possible to be loved.

He smiled irreverently, with that twisted grimace that betrays the most blasphemous shadows.

—No Winy. You only saw one of my forms, the most tolerable in fact. You don't know what I am. Much less what I can be.

She took a step forward. The cold rose up her ankles but it no longer mattered. She continued holding her flag of fierce convictions.

—Of course I do! I saw you, I saw you! I know what I witnessed. I know what you are, everything you are!

—No, Eshani. —he repeated in a darker tone, spinning the wheel of that woman's identities—. I only let you see the most common form in which humans can understand me. The most subtle. The one that embodies their terrors, their desires, their shame. Even yours.

Tears began to run down her face.

—No... —she hesitated, realizing that indeed. She didn't even know his real name, she didn't know him at all. —I know, in my soul I know. —her hands clung to the nightgown over her chest. —I can't explain it, I just know. I know what you are and I... I love you.

He felt pity. But it was a dangerous pity, pushing him to the limit of his own patience.

—Even that child whose slave I became, felt terror when seeing me. With him I had to be more explicit, show him a couple of options, reduce myself to simple forms but recognizable for his age. What makes you think you could tolerate my truth in all its splendor?

She was firm, more than ever.

—Show me.

Sebastian looked at her with contempt. Or perhaps, with fear. At this point even the woman's insolence ceased to be endearing.

—The last time I was careful. You're asking me to be the cause of your own death.

—I want to prove to you that what I say is true. I love you.

—Don't you have appreciation for your life, Gwendoline? —he said raising his voice. —Even your sister has been more cautious with me. You seem to be too foolish. —he smiled, despotically. —What makes a hero is their courage, but heroes always die. And you, for example, use that phrase with too much carelessness, you say it as if it meant nothing.

He leaned over and took a couple of he curly strands, playing with them between his fingers.

—You have the fierce spirit of a warrior but again, all the brave ones die. They sacrifice themselves. And being honest, I don't see any sense in your cause. Why do you insist on me? You don't know what horror is, what is vile.

—Yes, I do. I've seen it. —she declared.

But he laughed.

—Think of it this way, it's as if you loved that man you killed or as if you wanted to give your affections to those whom you saw stoning that girl you told me about. All of them ARE ME.

And she hesitated. It made sense. When he said he was evil incarnate, he was indeed that spirit that possesses humans to do evil and intoxicate themselves with the adrenaline produced by depravities and tortures.

He was that.

But for Winy, he was that and much more.

—No, you don't understand me. —she pulled her locks away from the demon's hands. —I don't just see what you claim to be, I see everything you are, what you are not. The world of infinite possibilities and...I love you... —her voice trembled—. Everything you are, the little or much I have seen are traces of your essence. The horrors and the beauty, the shadows and how in that darkness the souls like star in you also shine. All your masks always reveal your truth. And I love that about you...your essence in all of them.

Sebastian clenched his fists. That woman was taking him to a frontier that no human had dared to cross without a contract.

—That love you claim to profess is nothing more than a stubborn whim. —he replied, crossing his arms again. Looking at her with haughtiness. —You are in love with what you think you know about me, not counting the obviousness of my appearance, but well, let's say that's not the case. —he sighed wearily. —You don't know how I am, my form is not something or someone. You wouldn't even know how to distinguish if I am in front of you or around you. Even if I am inside or outside of you, —he smiled, tilting his head to one side. —You wouldn't know if I am real or if I only exist as a pretty image in your head. I can become a product of your imagination. You wouldn't know how to distinguish me from you.

But she had no doubts. Not a bit.

—You don't believe me. —she replied. —If what you need are facts, then do it however you please. You will see that even within the corners of my mind that I don't even know, you will be there. In my heart too. You will find the love that I have endeavored to confer upon you. Since my heart awakened its affections for you, you have lived in me. You will know a possibility of yourself. You will see what I see...a beautiful being of dark.

That woman would not give up.

Until recently, she herself claimed that the only thing to be afraid of is what you don't know, and she truly did not know him. And yet, there wasn't a hint of ignorance in her. Her convictions, at this point very similar to the iron beliefs of a faithful towards a saint, seemed to border on madness.

—Very well, —he replied disdainfully. —I see that definitely, you are a tough nut to crack. —he paused. —But I want you to know that even now, I am taking the unnecessary liberty of looking out for your own mental and spiritual sanity. —he glanced to one side. —Which shouldn't matter to me but here I am.

Then his posture straightened and he placed his hands on his waist.

—Do it. —she insisted, and her eyes reflected the crimson light of the demon.

—Ah~ Winy, —he said wearily. —if you say you love me so much, I have a question. —he stated, with a grave voice. — Would you be capable of losing your life, just to see me? Would you die for me?

She wiped away her tears, at this point her crying was for the purest and smallest reason: truly, her love for him wanted to know him.

And she would not give up.

But that impetuous love bordered on insolence, ignorance. She herself didn't know how to distinguish the boundary between her love and her obsession for him.

—Listen to me, woman —he growled—. I am a creature you wouldn't understand. —digging his index finger into Gwendoline's forehead. —There-Is-No-Human-Logic-That-Applies-To-Me. —and he dug his finger into her forehead again and again. —It is I who must take the trouble to present myself with a minimally acceptable appearance so that humans can even see me. Under their reduced terms and simple symbols. —he sighed. —My nature goes against what God himself has designated for me. Can you imagine that?

And she, as if something in her soul had waited to be seen, even before birth, responded:

—Only because I don't know your true name, but... if I knew it, I would also say it like this...

He waited, to see what other feverish argument would come out.

—Sebastian...

A broken smile appeared on his face. As on countless occasions...

He was fascinated to witness the human spirit.

—I... would live for you.

He lowered his gaze. All his eyes closed to allow that pair of eyeballs of human anatomy to rest on her.

She approached and placed both hands on the demon's chest.

—I. Love. You. Sebastian. —she breathed deeply. —Think or say what you want, but my heart has your name written on it. Search for yourself in me and you will find your reflection. Reveal yourself to me, and you will see that I am simply another form of you.

It was as if a crack in the universe split it apart. The blinding flash of light that precedes thunder.

—Then. —he pressed Eshani's hands against his own chest. —If your love considers light more revolting than darkness itself. So be it.

The shadows emerged from him. Taking a couple of steps back, drawing her toward him.

—Come, Gwendoline. —he said with words tinged with blasphemous affection.

—Know me.

She...                                                                                                                                                 walked walked                                                                                                                                                                 walked.

The                                                               pupils                                                of. She           walked                                                   towards...

What thing?                                           𓅢

?

?

                                                                       ...

𓆦

                                                                                                                                                                           𓄃

                                                                                  𓆗

The                                                             pupils                                                   of Eshani…                       Eshani.                                                                                      PrakashsanSjarm-That

woman, Winy,                         ,yniW ,namow                                                                                                                     The Maid, at your service.

                                            S-They noratalid                                                                           dalliance…

                              𓆏                                                                                              What?

in a second dnoces a ni, the snow snow snow. Accumulated                                                                 torn to be                                                             edge eht no                                                                                                                          of the window

                                                                                  𖤐                                       Threshold hold

"Hold me please!"

Where am I?

                                                                              ?siht si tahW                                                                   𓅖

                                                                                                                    nevE .sreyal sti gninekciht erew yehT the candle that illuminated the room

                                         What…what is this?

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           Who…what?

                                    of the major                                                          Where?                                                      𖤐

d3mon…

                                                                                                                …reltuB ehT

Of.

Of the.

D…z

D…zzz

d…Z

                                                                                                                Zar                                                              𖤐                                                              ant…

Chapter Text

Si puer cum puellula

moraretur in cellula,

felix coniunctio.

Amore suscrescente

pariter e medio

avulso procul tedio,

fit ludus ineffabilis

membris, lacertis, labii.

𖤐

If a boy with a girl

lingers in a small room,

happy is that union.

As love grows,

and far away remains

all weariness and tedium,

an ineffable game arises

with limbs, arms, and lips.

The song "Puer cum puellula", part of Carl Orff's Carmina Burana, celebrates the amorous and erotic union between a young man and a maiden as an act of pure and transcendent happiness. Far from depicting carnality as something vulgar, the poem presents it as an "ineffable game" in which growing love dissolves tedium and gives rise to an intimate connection between bodies and emotions. In its simplicity and sensuality, the song exalts desire as a natural, joyful, and almost sacred way of experiencing love.

Carmina Burana is a collection of medieval goliardic songs that address themes such as love, nature, and fortune. This particular song reflects the hedonistic and celebratory vision of love that characterizes many pieces in the collection. The simplicity and joy of amorous union are highlighted as an escape from worldly concerns, offering an idealized and romantic vision of youthful love.

Chapter Text

Circa mea pectora
multa sunt suspiria
de tua pulchritudine,
que me ledunt misere.

Manda liet,
Manda liet,
min geselle
chumet niet.

Tui lucent oculi
sicut solis radii,
sicut splendor fulguris
lucem donat tenebris.

Manda liet,
Manda liet,
min geselle
chumet niet.

Vellet deus, vellent dii
quod mente proposui:
ut eius virginea
reserassem vincula.

Manda liet,
Manda liet,
min geselle
chumet niet.

𖤐

Around my chest

there are many sighs

for your beauty,

which wounds me cruelly.

My love.

My love.

my beloved

Has not yet come.

Your eyes shine

like the rays of the sun,

like the brightness of lightning

that gives light to darkness.

My love.

My love.

my beloved

Has not yet come.

May God wish, may the gods wish,

what I have imagined in my mind:

that I could untie

the bonds of her virginity.

My love.

My love.

my beloved

Has not yet come.

The song "Circa mea pectora", part of Carl Orff's Carmina Burana, is an exaltation of unrequited love, about intense desire and the suffering of the lover who cannot consummate his love. In it, the lover sighs deeply for the beauty and presence of his beloved, absent and wounded by her distance. It combines lyrical Latin with a refrain in old German (which repeats like an incomprehensible lament of the soul) that cries out for the arrival of the loved one.

Additionally, there is a clear desire for sexual union, expressed in the last verse ("reserassem vincula") as a yearning to release the "bonds of her virginity." However, this desire is not presented violently, but as a petition to heaven to unite with her physically and spiritually. A fantasy of the heart that the lover begs to see fulfilled. It transforms longing and passion into prayer.

Chapter Text

In trutina mentis dubia

fluctuant contraria

lascivus amor et pudicitia.

Sed eligo quod video,

collum iugo prebeo:

ad iugum tamen suave suave transeo.

.

In the scales of my wavering mind

opposite things fluctuate:

lascivious love and chastity.

But I choose what I see,

I offer my neck to the yoke:

to the yoke, sweet, sweet, I surrender myself.

The Song "In Trutina" from Carl Orff's Carmina Burana, represents the intimate moment when a woman (or the loving soul) faces a decision between chastity and carnal love. It is a poem of inner balance, where traditional values struggle against sensual desire, but without violence or guilt. The piece symbolizes the freedom to love with body and soul, and transforms the choice of desire into a sacred and voluntary act.

Finally, the lyrical voice freely chooses to surrender to love, without fear or regret, accepting the "yoke" of desire as something sweet, pleasant, gentle. The surrender is not forced submission, but consensual, conscious and peaceful. Almost as if dying in the gesture of surrendering to erotic freedom. She chooses what the heart desires without fear of external judgment.

Without fear of anything.

Chapter Text

The candle went out.

The light succumbed.

There were no screams. Only silence.

There was no one there.

The walls of reality creaked. Time shattered into crystals stained by smoke and snow. And when her gaze met that which has no name, that which simply has no description.

God lost sight of her for a second.

The last thing her consciousness registered before collapsing was the absence of form.

ℨ𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔱.

And then, she knew no more of herself.

In that impossible trance, someone, no one would ever know who, had left the fireplace lit in the kitchen.

A spark.

A bag of gunpowder.

An explosion.

And the snow, which had been falling serenely before, mingled with the flames.

A thunderous noise preceded the flames and the snowflakes melted as they fell upon them.

The adjacent rooms of Winy's and Sebastian's, were destroyed.

And in the midst of that cataclysm, only one body perished.

—Can't you sleep? —said Ludwin, emerging naked from the sheets.

Laidenin was standing in front of the window, covered only by the transparent robe. Watching the snow fall.

—Something happened.

Young Christopher put on his glasses and, taking one of the many scattered blankets, covered his waist, walking to her.

—Something...like what? —sliding his hands around Laidenin's waist

—I don't know but... —she murmured, feeling her beloved's curls brush against her nape. —I was dreaming about God's eye, and I saw it blink.

Laidenin turned to embrace her sweet lover.

—Oh…is that bad? —said the young man, kissing the woman's neck.

—It felt...as if God had stopped seeing us...for a second.

Winy did not die.

But everything within her was gone

Held in the butler's arms. Her body almost intact but completely altered.

She could not see.

She could not hear.

She could not smell.

She could not speak.

She could not feel.

She no longer had any way to measure her own existence in space, or time. Her mind, still conscious, floated in a place without location.  She only knew she was still alive because she could still see what kept appearing, like echoes. Those forms, silhouettes and figures. Endless. Restless.

She kept seeing them.

Nonstop.

Revolving and pulsing.

She breathed, only because her heart still beat to fill her tissues with blood and expand her lungs.

Alive.

Like a flower in hibernation.

Doctors came and went by order of the young Earl.

The rooms were sealed. The corridors under repair. The rumors, controlled.

The only constant was the motionless body of Gwendoline Leigh, covered with blankets as if she was dead. Her skin suffered a couple of burns, a few broken fingers, and her lush curls had unfortunately been singed.

Now she had been reduced to a bandaged body, reflecting that absent state of her senses. With her eyes wrapped in bandages, her face barely uncovered at the nose and mouth. The rest of her body, naked, lay at the mercy of oils and ointments to heal the burns. A silk blanket rested just above her, covering her once pristine figure.

—She still hasn't stopped bleeding, right? —asked Meyrin to one of the doctors who was just leaving.

—No, all her orifices are bleeding. It's a light drip but it's as if she had internal hemorrhaging.

—Will she live? —asked the Earl.

Sebastian at his side. Immutable.

—I don't think so, in that state, I doubt very much she'll make it to the end of the week.

On the seventh day, Laidenin arrived.

She was in Vienna, attending important engagements. Due to the gravity of the matter, Ciel asked the butler to deliver a letter to Lady Herson, informing her of her sister's health condition, but it was Sebastian himself who decided to deliver it personally. He knew that if it were sent through the usual channels, it wouldn't arrive in time.

However, upon delivering the letter to the doorman of the residence where she was staying, he glanced at the window where she stood, looking outside. Sebastian didn't have the courage to face Gwendoline's sister.

As soon as she read the first few lines, Laidenin left everything behind. She interrupted her activities in the country and rode without rest, changing mounts at each royal post, without sleeping, without stopping, without allowing herself a single moment to breathe. She accelerated time with each decision, shrinking the distance with each contained sigh. But when a concern of such magnitude took hold of her perfect state of plenitude, her gift of weaving reality became clouded.

The letter carried the unmistakable scent of the demon. That thick trace that clung to the black ink, to the paper. Laidenin knew, without needing to read between the lines, that what had happened at the Phantomhive manor was no accident. If the demon had delivered the letter to the doorman, it was because he had to use his supernatural abilities, since otherwise, the letter would have arrived too late.

Yet the demon's haste only proved his guilt.

The Queen's alchemist. The sister, the guardian of Gwendoline Leigh's diaries and memories. She entered the manor, forgetting any reverence or formality. Her body knew where Winy was, and leaving a young Earl bewildered by such discourtesy, she climbed the stairs until she reached her sister's room.

Seeing her bedridden, covered in bandages that were beginning to stain red again, surrounded by doctors placing clean sheets over her body, she feared the worst. She knelt beside her and began to cry in silence. She was alive, she felt her pulse.

But there was no trace of her soul.

She was a broken, empty shell.

—She... is still alive —said one of the doctors. —It is extraordinary how despite the constant blood loss, she still clings to life.

Yes. She was still alive. But she was no longer there.

It was as if she were dead. And all because she had seen something that no human should see.

—Ma'Shani... —sobbed Laidenin, sliding her hands over her sister's body, but soon the doctors indicated that she shouldn’t do so.

—Her body is covered with sores from the burns. I recommend not touching her.

Laidenin couldn't bear the idea that her sister's sacred temple was undone.

—Ma'Shani... —she murmured again, her hands sliding through the air, just inches from those sheets. —Who did this to you?

But the most painful question was.

—Where are you?

The Earl entered the room, but couldn't say anything. The doctors were leaving and while the butler dispatched them, he barely glanced inside the room.

Gwendoline was still alive.

As if a force beyond logic refused to let her go.

As if her heart still clung to an incomplete promise.

As if, at the center of her soul, a truth still resonated:

I... would live for you. 

Sebastian was unscathed.

Of course he was.

The embers did not touch him. The debris dared not fall upon his shoulders.

Fire could consume him a thousand times and still his form would remold itself as the embodied perfection of his kind.

But something had embedded itself in his chest.

Gwendoline's silence.

Her wounded body. Her vanished soul. Searching his shadows, he found nothing.

And, even more somber.

The fact that she had fulfilled that promise he never asked of her.

It was then that Laidenin entered the Earl's office, as Meyrin had brought her there. She wished to see him.

Not the Earl.

The demon.

—It's here, my lady. —said Meyrin, about to knock on the door but Laidenin just entered.

Like a storm.

Like an ancient fury.

—Lady Herson. —said the Earl, standing up behind his desk.

Sebastian was serving the Earl's tea, when he saw her, piercing gaze.

The creak of her boots resonated like a death sentence. Upon seeing the butler, she didn't ask for explanations. She didn't ask for permission.

She just grabbed him by the shirt, and dragged him until they were near the fireplace of that office. She lifted him with a strength that wasn't natural to a woman.

—Main tumhein shraap deti hoon, Zarant!

I curse you, Zarant!

Her voice was a broken howl.

—Main tumhari gandi hasti ko shraapit karti hoon!

Cursed be your filthy existence!

Sebastian didn't struggle. He said nothing.

He just looked at her.

And for a moment, the demon didn't seem like an imposing and formidable predator. But a creature incapable of admitting that it also felt remorse.

—What is the meaning of this unseemly behavior, Lady Herson?! —shouted Ciel, furious.

Laidenin released the demon, her eyes still burning, but not enough to evaporate the tears that ran down her face.

—Your demon did this to my sister!

Then Ciel was stunned. Left in a sigle piece.

Impossible.

—What are you talking about? —he replied, pretending not to know.

Laidenin barely tilted her head in the direction of the Earl.

—Look, your excellency, this matter is not between you and me. —she replied, holding the butler's shirt. —I don't care what this demon has to do with you. My only problem with this blasphemous creature is the fact that he has hurt my sister.

Sebastian continued without responding.

Ciel had to maintain his composure because no one, at least not in such a vociferous manner, had confessed to him that they knew the nature of his butler.

—Sebastian. —said the Earl.

—Yes, my lord.

—Is it true that you hurt Miss Leigh?

—I did not inflict any harm upon her, my lord.

—You damned liar! —Laidenin, with that superhuman strength, threw the butler to the floor and taking one of the burning pokers from the fireplace, with her own hand, threatened to burn his mouth.

—Enough! —exclaimed the Earl.

Then the door burst open.

It was Christopher Ludwin.

—Laidenin, what are you doing?

—Leave, Christopher! —exclaimed Laidenin, bringing the burning spear closer to the butler.

Then Tanaka entered, and together with Christopher, pulled her away from the butler, who very slowly stood up.

—Get her out of here. —ordered the Earl, keeping his own rage in composure.

But she struggled, she wanted to hit him, she wanted to tear out his mouth, to dig her hands into his entrails and rip his insides until he explained why he had destroyed her sister's soul.

—Damn you son of a thousand whores! —rage and tears emerged like boiling venom. —Zarant! Zarant! Zarant!

The demon's eyes lit up and his entire body tensed. He had to use inhuman strength not to kill her in that instant.

To pronounce his name in front of his current contractor, Ciel Phantomhive, was a threat he would not tolerate.

—Enough, Liny. —insisted Christopher.

—No! Let me go! —and her gaze became unyielding. —Forget my promise, damn demon!

Sebastian looked at her with contempt, haughty. He was determined to silence her. Hiding in that docile gesture of dusting off his shoulders, the mortal impulse to tear out her tongue.

—I'm going to ruin your life, filthy wretch!

Then she pushed Christopher and the old man, with a strength that did not correspond to a woman of her size. She walked determinedly to the Earl.

—Earl Phantomhive, your demon's name is...

And with a blow to the nape, Sebastian left her unconscious, just inches from reaching the Earl.

Just with a little less force, as not to break the vertebrae of her neck and silence her forever.

Just a few words away from ruining, indeed, his life as a demon servant.

—Mr. Tanaka. —spoke Ciel, who stepped back just one step. —Take Lady Herson to one of the rooms.

—As you order, master.

Sebastian held Laidenin's body. With deep hatred but, right now, the demon had to remain under the butler's mask.

—Allow me. —said Christopher, taking Laidenin's unconscious body in his arms. —I am very sorry for this, your excellency. Lady Herson...you must understand.

—Of course. —said Ciel, but his tone was distant. —I kindly request that you remain, Mr. Ludwin. Please stay with her until she regains consciousness. —crossing his arms. —I would prefer that you keep an eye on her, surely this will not be the last outburst.

—Certainly, your excellency. You have my utmost assurance.

And when the three left. Ciel was left alone with his butler, who only let out a sigh of relief.

—What a commotion. —said the butler.

—I expected you to have everything under control, but I see it got out of hand.

Sebastian turned, his expression peaceful.

—Lady Herson had a moment of weakness, that's all. —he said with feigned kindness. —This whole matter with Miss Leigh affected her and it's to be expected, both are...

—Sebastian. —said the Earl in a severe tone.

The butler fell silent.

—What is going on between you and the maid?

The butler smiled, bringing his hand to his chest. Confident.

—Nothing that should concern you, my lord.

Ciel was not in the mood for his games.

—You said the same thing the last time Lady Herson was here, and I let it go. But today I realized that you two also have unresolved matters.

The butler replied with complete calm.

—You see, the young lady...

—It is too improper of you that your personal affairs have ended up meddling in this house. Reaching my private office. —he replied, cutting him off. —Don't lie to me.

And the butler stopped smiling.

—Is it true that Lady Herson knows your name? Your true name?

—That is correct.

He was not amused by this revelation. While knowing the demon's true name was intriguing, it wasn't relevant to his immediate concerns.

—And is it also true that you had something to do with the incident with Gwendoline?

Sebastian could do nothing but abandon his eloquent facade and surrender to the Earl's designs.

—Yes, but not as...

—Fine. —he interrupted again. His bearing was imperial. —I see that this is your problem, and you had the audacity to let it become my problem.

Sebastian had to swallow his rage, because indeed, this was his fault.

—As your butler, I feel extremely sorry. Young master. —he declared, bowing.

—I had my suspicions about Gwendoline and your relationship with her, but I paid little attention to it because I trusted that everything was under your control. I don't know what you did, but you went too far with her, in whatever you two were doing.

Ciel took a step forward. Sebastian remained bent, maintaining the bow. Repentant. And when he realized it.

His cheek was already red.

A slap.

—Don't forget that your duty is to me. —he stated. —And this is a serious offense. —he added, regaining his composure while still making his mistake known. —The butler in my manor seemed so obedient and competent. —he look down at him. —Who would've thought that I would end up cleaning up the mess from your secret affairs...

—My apologies.

—Resolve this matter immediately. I will not tolerate any further disturbances.

—Yes, my lord.

Sebastian rose and as he left the office, he was burning with anger.

He had never made a mistake. Much less had he failed a contract. He had never dared to defy the designs of his contractors. That was equivalent to an offense to himself.

Until she arrived.

But he had to swallow his rage, because after all...

—Again... —he coughed, and when he covered his mouth it was stained black. —How inconvenient.

He was already infected by Gwendoline Leigh's poisonous affections.

He never believed that it would get out of hand, and while changing his gloves, he questioned his decisions. He genuinely hated himself...

—That woman... —he thought to curse her for all the problems she had brought him, but he coughed again. —Ah~ Gwendoline...

Hatred can only exist where affection once lived.

He lowered his gaze. Humble. Once again, he was a victim of confusion. He live up to the rule of not serving two masters, but at that moment, his human appearance obeyed the orders of Earl Phantomhive.

While his demonic self, with all his hearts...yearned for her.

Chapter Text

Christopher Ludwin remained at the foot of the bed, watching over his beloved's rest. The aura of death and eternity that surrounded him contrasted with the warmth with which he held Laidenin's hand. His beloved unconscious, her face tense, as if having nightmares and her body stiff. Without rest.

Sebastian entered the room with deliberate grace, a silver tray balanced perfectly in his gloved hands. Upon it rested a delicate porcelain teapot and a modest selection of refreshments.

—I've brought you something light, Mr. Ludwin. —said Sebastian, placing the tray on the nearby table.

Christopher frowned without taking his eyes off Laidenin. His disdain for him didn't reach Laidenin's level, but it was persistent.

—Thanks. —he responded dryly while caressing his beloved's hair.

Sebastian observed the unconscious woman and then the Shinigami.

—She's been asleep for a long time. —said Christopher. —She's probably forcing herself not to wake up.

Sebastian poured the tea.

—She once told me that she looked for me in dreams. —said Christopher, adjusting his glasses. —But it was difficult to coincide, shinigamis need to sleep, but not as much as humans need to.

—Did Miss Herson manage to find you through that medium?

Christopher smiled, while kissing Laidenin's hand.

—No, but she didn't give up. She found other ways to summon me and in the end managed to attract me without me realizing.

Sebastian looked at that creature. Utterly different from him. A human who dared to take his own life, against God's designs, and now his punishment was to witness all the lives that clung to life. Storing them in folders and sealing, archive them.

—If only I had waited a little longer. —he lamented. —If I hadn't been so impatient. With a little more time she would have found me, it would have been different. Better.

Sebastian looked at him.

—Aren't you happy now that you're with her?

Christopher sighed.

—I am more blessed than I could ask for but...it won't last. I haven't wanted to tell her but, —he paused. —It's been a couple of months since I abandoned my position as a soul collector.

Sebastian knew it, sooner or later something like this would happen.

—Now you're a deserter.

Christopher frowned.

—She believes in impossibilities, I've seen her make them happen...but I'm not like her. —straightening up in his chair. —I don't feel capable of doing what she does, I was convinced that my place was paying my penance but, when she found me and when I realized I couldn't live without her. —he paused. —I couldn't go back, she showed me that I could live again. That I was still alive.

He took the cup of tea and drank.

—I didn't want to continue being a soul collector. She showed me that I still had dreams to fulfill, things to learn, places to know. I want to live.

Sebastian held back a chuckle.

—But you're not alive. You no longer belong to this world.

—I know. —he murmured, placing the cup on the plate. —That's exactly why I refuse to waste the precious time I have with her on a duty I never chose for myself.

—That's why you spend every minute you can by her side. —added the demon, devious sarcasm. —That explains why I found you with her the day of the Queen's winter party.

—Liny has told me about her sister.

Ludwin changed the subject.

—About what she feels for you.

Sebastian remained upright, not a gesture, not a sigh. Nothing.

—Miss Leigh has expressed her affections to me, that is all.

—No. —said Ludwin, standing up.

—Gwendoline decided to love you. A creature as despicable as you. —clenching his fists. —She did the same as I did, in her own way of course, but...she decided to invest the little time she has left in this world in order to...

—Love me? —replied the butler, a smirk on his confident pace. —Even after death, human souls cling to their convictions. —he smiled. —That is charming.

Ludwin restrained himself.

—I know it's stupid to ask, but a being like you, who has no soul or heart and whose only purpose is destruction...

—Are you going to ask why I simply don't reciprocate Gwendoline's feelings?

—Not just her feelings, her convictions. —he raised his voice. —Aren't souls what attract you? That kind of obsession, desire, devotion. Madness even, why did you have to hurt her in that way? Couldn't you find another way to push her away from you other than leaving her a step away from death.

But Sebastian did not respond.

—You truly are horrid creatures. —said Ludwin, returning to his seat. —I don't understand how God allows beings like you to encounter souls as kind as Gwendoline’s. All she did was love you, and not even for that pretty face you have...she yearned to hold your horrors, to put flower garlands on them. —he sighed. —Varmalas. That's how those are known in their homeland.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. This was new information to him. Despite his usual habit of investigating every detail about those in the manor, he hadn't bothered reading Gwendoline's diaries lately. She was so open with her feelings that he found little need to search for hidden thoughts in her personal writings.

—God has His ways of laughing at His creation. —added the butler.

—For you it may be mockery, but...surely you remained ignorant of Gwendoline's true purpose. —his gaze cutting sideways with piercing intent. —She harbored an unwavering conviction that beneath your corruption lay something deserving of love. Her soul clung to the hope that she had not merely fall to blind affection, but had glimpsed something beyond your facade. Something sacred amidst the profane, worthy of cherish and devotion.

Christopher, cold but deeply hurt, gave the demon a look that was no longer that of a supernatural colleague, but of a man who, even after death, understood the humanity to which he had belonged.

—In one of her letters to Liny, she said she dreamed of shadows. —he paused. —She called them beautiful.

Sebastian remained still, elegant. But he remembered.

—Then those same shadows plunged her into nightmares from which she couldn't wake up, falling into cycles where she appeared to be awake only to realize she was still dreaming. —Christopher explained. —And even with that mental exhaustion, she felt happy. Because something told her that it was you, and although she was deeply afraid to see the horrors that your true self implied, she wanted to see it and decide for herself. —and he declared. —She was willing to love the blasphemy that you are, because she herself said that your form was simply...

—Yes. —interrupted the butler. —I know what Miss Leigh said. I was there.

The guilt.

The regret.

The butler put his hand to his chest, feeling that fracture in his ribs. The liquid of his form was pouring into his entrails.

—Look Sebastian, I'm sure you won't understand but... love always brings a kind of sublime ecstasy, a happiness and fullness greater than what we can contain. Why is it so difficult for those of your kind to grant yourselves at least a little of that love? If you want to see it that way: to know what it is to be loved. The experience of loving, to be loved.

But Sebastian headed for the door.

—You have no idea what you're talking about, Mr. Ludwin. —sentenced Sebastian.

Or the demon?

That took the Shinigami by surprise. The butler's eyes lit up.

—For humans it is very easy to talk about what they believe is and is not. What is sublime and what is despicable. To give names. To assign judgments and pin labels. And love is one of those things that all of you believe you know but in reality, like everything in your lives, it is just one more frivolous thing to experienced.

—Then what is it for you?

And the demon smiled, his expression was obstinate but in his gaze there was a hint of sadness. Only the door in front of him could see it.

—The worst of curses.

Chapter Text

The next morning, the demon returned to his role.

Impeccable suit. Seductive smile.

The act continued.

Before young master Phantomhive, he presented a detailed report:

—The arrangements for the reconstruction of the rooms are complete. There was no information leak, nor staff injured besides Miss Leigh. The event was maintained as a private occurrence.

Ciel was irritated, directing his annoyance primarily at his butler.

—And Lady Herson?

—She is stable, still resting.

Ciel frowned. Something didn't add up.

He knew his butler's voice like the palm of his hand.

But this time, he didn't seem to smile much, nor demonstrate that habitual eloquence.

—What's wrong with you?

The tone was imperative. As if with those words he wanted to push him back to his place.

But Sebastian merely responded with his accustomed eloquence:

—Everything is in order, young master. Why do you ask?

Then, like a whisper, Tanaka knocked on the door.

—Miss Laidenin has awakened. Young Ludwin accompanies her.

Ciel nodded, still unsatisfied with the question left hanging in the air.

—Take care of attending to her. —indicated the Earl. —It would be imprudent for you, —looking at Sebastian. —to approach.

—As you wish. —said Sebastian.

—Keep me informed of Lady Herson's condition. —addressing Tanaka.

—Of course, young master.

Tanaka left and again, the butler and the Earl were alone.

—Why do you have that look? —asked Ciel.

Sebastian blinked a couple of times and looked at the him.

—What do you mean, young master?

—Hmm. —he replied. —Nothing.

Ciel didn't understand why his butler suddenly kept staring at the window, his gestures were more neutral and even, he didn't mock as usual in any situation. His chuckle at everything the young master said or did as mistakes was gone.

It was as if all that, as if Gwendoline herself meant...

—Nonsense. —thought Ciel, drinking from the freshly served cup of tea. —He can't feel anything, he's a beast moved by his narcissist desires.

Laidenin was sitting at the edge of the bed.

The dim glow of the candles flickered over Gwendoline's motionless face, whose lips, once always curved with tenderness, now lay half-open, dry.

The darkness of her countenance, covered by bloodied bandages.

The flame of her spirit... faint.

Her curls cut short.

Her still breathing body.

Abscent.

Once Laidenin recovered, she realized the demon didn't have her sister trapped in his entrails. She even searched for Gwendoline in dreams but couldn't find her there. Time was running out. It seemed pointless to summon Zarant to force him to return Gwendoline's soul, if Laidenin herself hadn't succeeded with her wider access to the astral realm, what could he possibly do?

She abandoned the anger that infernal creature caused her, she needed to regain balance and focus all her efforts on finding her sister.

But it was difficult, as the shadow of the butler lurked everywhere.

Laidenin hadn't slept. Not a single night since she came to her senses. She would only close her eyes for a few minutes and then get up again.

Her voice slipped into ancient mantras, prayers in Sanskrit, invocations that vibrated at the boundary between reality and the beyond. All in order to provide a path for Gwendoline's soul.

—Om Tryambakam Yajamahe Sugandhim Pushtivardhanam Urvarukamiva Bandhanan Mrityor Mukshiya Maamritat…

Laidenin wore a purple sari without ornaments. Her hands and feet painted, on her forehead tints of white, red and yellow. Hair loose under the purple veil. She had abandoned her eclectic attire and even discarded her jewels. Only the anklets remained, for their chimes were said to bring good fortune.

Now she was a priestess of Brahma. Begging the Creator to bring her back.

She didn't turn when the door opened.

Sebastian crossed the threshold accompanied by Meyrin.

—Om Tryambakam Yajamahe Sugandhim Pushtivardhanam Urvarukamiva Bandhanan Mrityor Mukshiya Maamritat…

Laidenin walked in circles around the bed, incense permeated the air, candles, flowers. It looked like an altar. And she was the guardian of the sleeping goddess.

Both carried buckets of hot water, clean sheets. They were going to clean the room and leave everything for Laidenin to clean and change the bandages that, incredibly, were still bleeding.

—Om Tryambakam Yajamahe Sugandhim Pushtivardhanam Urvarukamiva Bandhanan Mrityor Mukshiya Maamritat…

Sebastian disappeared from Laidenin's radar, she did not look at him and completely ignored his presence. It was as if she tolerated but, in reality, she decided that he did not exist and thus, made the task of focusing on her sister a little easier.

Tanaka appeared with his serene walk, like a bell announcing new visits:

—Sebastian, Lady Elizabeth and her maid require attention in the small room. —His tone was kind, but intentional*.*

Since Gwendoline's diligent help had been absent, he returned to the role of butler, cook, maid, and even gardener. In addition to attending to the Earl's needs.

—Mr. Tanaka, Meyrin. You two take care of them while I deliver the sheets to Miss Herson.

Meyrin hurried, making a slight bow before leaving.

And they were left alone.

The butler and the alchemist.

—Om Tryambakam Yajamahe Sugandhim Pushtivardhanam Urvarukamiva Bandhanan Mrityor Mukshiya Maamritat…

—With your permission. —said Sebastian, entering to the table where medicines, ointments, buckets with bloodied bandages and scabs of skin were displayed.

She ignored him.

The demon himself felt stunned by the reverberation of Laidenin's voice. Her powerful incantations made him feel like an outcast in what had now become a sanctuary. However, he had to continued, the butler had duties to fulfill.

In an attempt to distract himself, he spoke, though with little hope that Laidenin would acknowledge him.

—Lady Elizabeth keeps visiting,—remarked the butler, whilst arranging the fresh linens. —She is quite acquainted with Miss Leigh and finds herself most distressed by the unfortunate circumstances.

There was no response.

—The royal doctors are also making all their efforts, John Brown contacted Miss Sieglinde Sullivan, you must know her. Perhaps she can contribute to the recovery of Miss Leigh's skin or to stop the bleeding.

There was no response.

He had finished. And while arranging the bloodied bandages in a single bucket, he could smell the scent of blood, Gwendoline. Her body had not withstood the shock of seeing him, and even he, Zarant, could not explain how she was losing so much blood and still breathing. As if her heart, though beating with so little strength, continued to cling to life.

—Shani...What are you doing? —said Laidenin, still walking around the bed. Eyes closed, holding an incense stick.

But she was speaking in her mother tongue.

Sebastian stopped his motion and listened.

—Did she find her? —he thought.

—Look Sari, did you see how the water looks with the powders?

Sebastian stood still for a moment, Laidenin changed her voice to that of a small child.

—Shani, you should be asleep by now. If amma sees that you're still out here, she'll scold us. Everyone is still celebrating, but you should already be in bed.

—Could it be? —thought the demon. —A memory.

—I couldn't sleep, I like to hear the songs and wanted to keep dancing. —continued Laidenin. —But I don't want amma to get angry, so I came to play...

Sebastian tried to imagine that scene that was seen only by Laidenin.

—Where did you get that from? —and she laughed. —One of the courtesans had it hidden, she didn't want to lend it to me, so I waited for her to leave and took it. Look... —Laidenin brought her hands to her mouth, in a gesture of surprise. —Shani no! The water in the fountain, amma will kill you. —Laidenin laughed, then extended her hand, as if stirring something in the air. —Look Shani, the black ink, the colored powders, the petals...they look so pretty. I like to play with ink and powders but amma says I stain my clothes.

—Ink? —thought Sebastian.

—Shani, you're going to get all stained. —said Laidenin making the gesture of taking her hand out of the water. —No, let me go! —raising her voice. —Nobody can bother me when I'm playing with my colors! Let me go! Release me! —Laidenin struggled in the air and then gave up. —Shani... I gave you all the bottles of ink I could get, have you used them all? —and again an innocent laugh.

But this time, she stopped, and raised her face, extending her face.

—Of course I used them all Shani, look. —pointing with her arms open to her surroundings. —Black ink seems so beautiful to me, it makes the colored powders shine more, even the candles, look. It's as if the stars were in the fountains. even the stained petals... everything is beautiful if painted with black ink. Darkness... darkness is beautiful, it lets us see the light. ——Laidenin began to cry. —The fountains! Shani, the fountains... the water reaches the other halls. What did you do?

She fell silent.

She opened her eyes and sighed deeply.

Her anklets stop twinkling.

—That night, the festival was overshadowed by the black water. —said Laidenin, looking at her sister's body. —Everyone believed it was a bad omen and ran to the temples to ask for mercy. —she smiled. —The ink on the floor, on the dresses, and on the walls. It took weeks to clean up...

Sebastian remained expectant.

—She has always had a very strange way of seeing ink... —said she, breathing deeply. Resuming her mantras.

He left the room and while listening to Lady Elizabeth's cries from the lower floor, Sebastian remembered that day when she had her hands up to her armas and face stained. Only to realize that she...

—Was playing with black ink...

And smile was painted on him.

The dining room was silent, broken only by the soft tinkling of silverware against the porcelain. Ciel Phantomhive shared dinner with Lady Laidenin Herson, whose light, usually vibrant, now seemed dimmed. Her posture was dignified, as always, but the fire in her eyes was extinguished.

The queen, upon learning of what happened, sent her personal physicians to attend to Gwendoline Leigh. A noble gesture that Laidenin gratefully appreciated. However, the help seemed futile.

Even John Brown, Her Majesty's butler, was sent to the manor. He had gone personally to introduce the doctors, moved even by the sincere admiration he felt for a woman capable of speaking to the Queen, not only as the highest authority in England, but also as the woman she was. In Brown's eyes, anyone whom the Queen appreciated deserved his respect.

Ciel, though surprised by the kind of connections Laidenin maintained with the crown, found no opportunity to inquire about the matter. It wasn't the right time. The royal alchemist's gaze was a abyss.

It was then that the dining room door opened with an icy breath. Ludwin, still with melted snowflakes on his hair and coat, crossed the threshold. His presence did not go unnoticed. For Sebastian, who stood silently beside the table, brought a faint relief. If anyone could lift Laidenin's broken spirit, it was him.

But she barely raised her face.

Ludwin, visibly affected, approached with the gentleness of a careful lover. Seeing his sun and moon, his midnight star, so dimmed, tore him apart. Ciel, with his usual courtesy, offered him a seat. He remembered that this man was a shinigami, and although that reality left him uneasy, he preferred not to dwell in that matter.

As soon as the young earl finished his dinner, he excused himself.

—Pardon my departure, I still have matters to attend to.

Laidenin nodded without a word.

—Please, continue enjoying your dinner.

Ludwin, as the silent spokesman for his beloved, stood up, thanked him solemnly, and sat back down beside her.

Sebastian collected the plates with measured efficiency. His face revealed no emotion, but he continued thinking.

The black ink.

It was Laidenin who broke the silence:

—Why did you do it?

Her voice barely a whisper, so lost in thought that she seemed to be asking herself more than the demon before her. Ludwin turned his face with concern, as if those words rekindled the flame of her pain. Fearing that she would once again allow herself to be consumed by anger.

Sebastian was quick to respond, though his tone was unusually measured.

—I know you despise me —he admitted—. I expect nothing else. But you should know that your sister, Miss Leigh, showed a courage that even I did not expect.

Laidenin raised her head. Her eyes, covered with anger, streamed with tears.

—How dare you...? —she snapped, standing up.

Ludwin prepared to hold her, knowing what was coming.

—Your form must have been so hideous...!—she cried between sobs—. She only loved you! And you, abominable creature, decided to distance yourself from all that is love and light! And because of you... because of you... her own light...

Her legs trembled. Ludwin rushed to hold her by the waist, preventing her from falling.

—Liny, no. —said Christopher, embracing her. —Don't do this to yourself.

—The worst... —she continued, broken—. I can't even reach her soul! I don't even know if it would be worse if you had devoured it... or the fragmented state in which you left her!

It was true, Laidenin would have preferred the demon to have devoured her. That way at least she would know where to retrieve her from. But there was no trace of her.

Ludwin, fearing for his beloved's emotional balance, gently led her out of the dining room, as one carries a candle on the verge of being extinguished.

Sebastian did not move.

He did not defend himself.

He denied nothing.

And when he was left alone, when the echo of footsteps faded. When there was nothing left but the distant sound of the manor's clock and the icy breeze entering through the cracks in the window.

He felt guilt.

A deep guilt.

Primordial.

The kind of guilt that does not belong to demons.

The kind of guilt that carries with it the seed of redemption, though it may not be deserved.

—Gwendoline got stained with ink. That's all. —he smiled, as if with that he could console the pain he felt corroding his entrails. —She must be somewhere, cleansing herself...

And ink tears fell onto the porcelain plates as his sight darkened. Blurry.

Chapter Text

The snow melted just upon contact with the warm windows of the mansion. It was a cold morning, like all the previous ones, but inside, something more than the fireplace began to awaken.

In Gwendoline Leigh's room, the silence broke like crystal under pressure.

—Ah! —a sharp shriek, coming from the other maid.

Meyrin, who was finishing sweeping the incense ashes, was startled. Her hands trembled as she saw how Winy held the edge of her own apron, tightly. Her fingers, which hadn't moved in days, now retracted as if grasping life itself.

—Winy! —shouted Meyrin, and the echo reached the entrance of the mansion.

It was enough for everyone to run.

Especially Laidenin.

The doctors burst in with their bags, Laidenin arrived with labored breathing and an agitated heart. Snake, Bard, Finny, all of them surrounded the bed where Miss Leigh was…

…suffering from convulsions.

—Ma'Shani! —exclaimed Laidenin, fearing the worst.

Her lips, cracked, barely moved.

And then…

in a final spasm.

Her entire body arched as if in a catatonic state.

Her column crack and everyone hear that awful sound.

Her mouth opened so wide that it seemed as if her jaw would dislocate from the condyles.

And when she collapsed…

Laidenin hastened her fingers to her neck.

There was no pulse.

She fall onto the bed and screamed.

The doctors had to cover their ears.

—Eshani! No Brahma! Please! Use vaapas lao, use vaapas lao…!

Bring her back...bring her back...

Ludwin cried and walked to Laidenin, who trembled on the floor, clutching her hands with Gwendoline's bloodied sheets.

Miles away, in an aristocratic hall carpeted with imperial tensions, the young Earl Phantomhive attended with precision the discussions about a possible trade war. The Queen had offered to postpone the appointment, an unexpected gesture, but he soon realized that it was not for him but for Laidenin, who was still at the manor, attending to her sister's situation.

He did not accept.

Ciel Phantomhive was not the type of noble who put heart before duty.

And Sebastian was with him, as always.

Elegant. Efficient. Cold. Impeccable.

Until he wasn't.

During the presentation of reports and the deployment of a strategic map, Ciel saw something unusual.

An unbalanced step.

A foot poorly placed.

Sebastian Michaelis lost his balance for a brief instant.

The butler disguise flickered.

For a second, just one.

Ciel frowned, but turned his gaze back to the map. He thought that perhaps it was just another of his absurd ways of mocking.

But Sebastian was no longer laughing.

His gaze fell on the window. The clouds in the sky that remained thick and gray, the snow falling. And yet, in the invisible echo of the universe, he heard.

Her.

—Gwendoline...

She was calling him.

—No. —he thought. —Eshani Prakasha...

She was calling him from the thinnest fiber of her being, with the desperation of one who clings to the only flame of their soul.

With the very voice of the Creator, latent in everything.

In everyone.

And he, the demon, heard her.

She did not say his name, but definitely call for him, her entire being…called him.

As if her soul was floating unrestrained from earth, yet she refused to depart.

Back at the manor, Laidenin looked at the paper in her hand, reading its content over and over. Ludwin, standing next to her, while receiving a cup of tea from Mr. Tanaka.

Everyone was in the small room on the ground floor.

Laidein.

Christopher.

Lady Elizabeth.

Paula.

The royal doctors.

Even the Earl's servants.

All waiting for the young master to arrive.

Chapter Text

Repulsive

Hideous

Unsettling 

It could make you vomit out of fear

To tear your eyes off

But you would still see it

Feel the terror break through the skin

Calling it a torturous sight was little

It was mind breaking

Like a nightmare you could simply not wake up from.

The horrors of the world.

Children

Women

The most weak of humanity

All down at his feet.

That was him.

Everything.

The worst of all.

And yet.

As he was everything, anything.

All.

In that All, the entire opposite was also possible.

When the young Earl crossed the threshold of his manor, he noticed the commotion. The noise was unusual, even alarming. But it didn't take him long to understand.

—Winybeth has awakened! —shouted Elizabeth, through tears of such genuine happiness that it seemed to explode from her soul.

Ciel remained motionless for an instant. The weight of so many bitter days vanished with that news. Although he tried to maintain his composure, it was difficult for him to resist the vertigo of relief, the chaos in his house would finally cease. And, Lizzie’s constat whimper over his shoulder.

At his side, Sebastian took a slight step forward, as if something was pulling him.

Dragging him.

But he stopped. He shouldn't do it. Not in front of everyone. Not in front of the Earl.

And yet, the need was undeniable.

Laidenin, standing, with her hands still intertwined with Ludwin's, approached the butler firmly. Her voice, although contained, was charged with an astonishment that still couldn't find answers.

Her gaze remained somber.

—Shouldn't she be with her sister? —thought the demon.

—Earl, my sister has awakened —she said with serenity, and handed him the note stained with graphite—. She requests to see... your butler.

Ciel took the paper. He read it.

The emotional turmoil seemed unnecessary to him, but he understood.

—Sebastian, go to… —he said, barely looking at him.

And the demon needed no more.

He didn't hear the end of the order and was already in motion, climbing the stairs as if driven by an anguish that made him doubt himself.

How deeply that human had possessed him.

The earl noticed it. The urgency with which he rushed towards the stairs. Sebastian no longer seemed like the merciless and mocking demon he had known.

He has softened.

Weakened.

That was unbearable to witness.

Winy's hand rose, as if a ghost moved it.

She was drawing in the air.

Tanaka, in his silent efficiency, understood immediately.

Those present were moved by the drama, Miss Herson tearing the sheet, wrapped in grief and pain.

The elderly butler appeared with paper and pencil in his hands and placed it carefully on Gwendoline's lap.

Still blind, still speechless, she sensed the old hand and the paper.

The pencil scratched the sheet with slow traces.

—Liny, look! —exclaimed Christopher, helping Laidenin to get up.

Everyone approached.

Laidenin, with tears flooding her eyes, took the sheet.

The first letters were difficult to read.

—"Se…b..."? —said Bard.

—No... it says "Send", said Emily —added Snake.

—Sending? does she wants something? —said Meyrin

— "Sebastian", the butler. Said Lancelot. —replied Snake.

Laidenin needed no more.

She read between the trembling letters, and understood.

It was his name.

The Butler's.

That revelation brought color back to her spirit, but also…

...robbed her of peace.

Forever.

—Eshani... —she thought, puzzled between grieve and relief. —How can…do you really love him that much?

Each step became a heartbeat.

After another.

After another.

-

.

-

.

-

.

The

journey

down

the

hallway

felt

as

i

n

f

i

n

i

t

e

...as he was.

The weight in his chest.

His existence struggling to maintain human form.

For such was the reverberation of those heartbeats that his entire existence swirled within itself.

His mouth was stained black.

His eardrums exploded.

His entire aura, stunned.

Even the tip of his tailcoat melted along the way, staining the floor with...

Black ink.

And when he opened the door... he saw her.

Her…

Gwendoline Leigh.

The one who had returned from darkness.

Laidenin had arrived right behind him, looking at his shoes which were stained with a black substance. She was there, like a fierce lioness at the foot of the bed, observing, protecting, still wondering why her sister, weakened, covered in her own blood, shattered to the soul...

Why had she called for him?

Sebastian walked in silence until he was by her side. He couldn't believe it, he was sure she had died. He heard her leave this world.

He knew of humans who approached the beyond and returned but, Gwendoline's soul had been fragmented. The most merciful path would have been for her to depart, as it would have taken her an eternity to gather her pieces.

But there she was.

Full.

Surprisingly alive.

Not even death could drag her away…

Winy slightly turned her head as soon as she felt that presence.

Blind.

Deaf.

Mute.

Unable to feel her own body.

But she knew it was him.

—Miss... —murmured Sebastian.

But those words no longer made sense. The facade had died a long time ago. There was no need for masks anymore. The butler had to step back, that scenario no longer belonged to him.

He placed a hand on his forhead, sorrow flodded his gestures. He slid his fingers over his cheeks and the face of demon revelead.

But not with grandiose gestures.

Repentance diminished that once proud figure.

—Eshani... —said the demon, and his voice changed. Reverberating deep in the rib cages of the two women.

His crimson eyes lit up. His fangs gleamed.

Laidenin looked at him, ready to separate him from her. His look was horrendous.

But before she could move…

Winy raised her hand, searching for him in the air.

He sat down beside her, as if looking for mercy.

He took that bandaged hand, so weak, but the strength with which she held the demon's gloved hand…

...was worthy of awe.

Her sigh broke the silence of the room. It was relief, the certainty that he was there. Sebastian felt how, for the first time in his existence, his presence caused in a human being…

Peace.

A soul who had no fear of him.

But yearn for his touch…

And without saying a word, she brought the demon's hand to her chest.

He was petrified.

Still processing that aura of fullness emanating from her.

—Why...? —he whispered, unable to understand. —Why do you feel that before me?

She pressed his hand more firmly against her chest, as if with that she could transfer her heart to him. To let him know that there was the truth. And the answer, on her tired but beating heart.

Alive.

Relief.

Happy.

That there he was, being the impossible reason for her complete tranquility.

Laidenin, still containing her emotions at what she perceived from her sister: the impossible. She moistened a cloth and poured a few drops on Gwendoline's lips.

And then…

...with a superhuman effort, she inhaled and without releasing the demon's hand from her heart.

She spoke.

—Y-you... didn’t...

she gasped

—You did-n't un-der-stand me...

The demon gazed at her without blinking. Her soul was pulsating. From his mouth dripped that...

…black ink of his being. Shattered, just like she.

—You are beautiful... —whispered Gwendoline.

Zarant listened.

—There is no such thing as good or bad in Brahma’s manking. —she continued—. They are… —she struggle to speak, her throat was dry. —just human judgments…blind, diminish ideas. Imperfect. —

she inhaled.

—I am not like you.

she exhaled.

—You... you are…

Pause…

There was no words in this world to describe him. No word were worthy of what she saw in him.

—Nothing in you is a mistake...

The Demon's eyes were dripping.

—I... love what you are. Everything. Anything. Someone. Everyone. No one. You.

Zarant saw himself in her. Not as a formless form, not as the accumulation of horrors, filth, depravity. Hunger.

He saw himself through the soul of a broken woman, fragments barely gathered. Enough for her to speak though, her senses, still lost.

—Beautiful you…

But she…entire she. Full of a hope that surpassed his supernatural understanding.

He saw his beauty. 

His power. 

His vastness.

Everything.

Through her.

—I don't know your name... —she said—. But if I knew it... it would also be beautiful. Like you.

She, the one who had seen his true forms: perversion, audacity, violence, mercilessness, filth, flies, larvae, scorpions, vultures, misery...

She, the one who didn't look away.

She...

—You are Brahmas must beautiful creation. —she repeated—. I give you my eyes... keep them, so you can see yourself as I see you. All of you... you are beautiful. Everything you are is...Everything... —she gasped. —Everything in you is sublime…

Her breath was running out, but...there was so much to tell him.

So much more…

—Sebastian...you are...

She coghed.

—l-like life...like...ink

Her lungs expanding as she was a newborn.

—…spill in clear waters…

She was loosing her voice.

—Asto…nishi…ngly awesome! Li…ke...

She wanted to keep talking. Keep holding into him.

His tears, black as ink, flowed abundantly.

The blood on the bandages and the black stains.

The colorful powders in the water and the black ink.

And he…it.

…understood. Finally.

She had loved him.

Like no one else.

Like never before.

Like no one will ever do.

Words were not necessary.

Those words she had used so wastefully and…so frivolously. They meant nothing. Others have said them before, in the brinck of death, drunk in ecstasy, about to lose and win. They were only words. And there was no need for them. No need of arguments. He have seen, and that was enough.

No need for more of them…

He kissed her.

His lips, stained with the existence pouring from his mouth, making her drink himself.

The impossible happened:

Zarant gave up his entire exsitence.

A demon who had consumed worlds, and countless lives. Arrogant. Egocentric. Narcissist. Great lord of hell. Confident, always at peace, in control, superb on his own self. But now...none of that was delightful anymore. 

He become someone aside of himself.

He had surrender.

To her.

For her.

He chose what he could not simply speak or say aloud.

Yet…he felt it, in all his shapeless lack of sense.

It was undeniable.

—I'm so perfectly fucked. —he thought, as he felt his forms slipping through his wretched mouth.

Onto hers…

But he had never felt so...

so...

He was simply…

She was the reason why…

He meant that…

Oh fuck it!

For whatever hell he was now relishing in!

[Love Never Dies-Andrew Lloyd Weber, Sierra Boggess]

Who knows when love begins? Who knows what makes it start? One day it's simply there. Alive inside your heart.

It slips into your thoughts. It infiltrates your soul. It takes you by surprise. Then seizes full control.

Try to deny it. And try to protest. But love won't let you go. Once you've been possessed

Love never dies. Love never falters. Once it has spoken. Love is yours.

Love never fades. Love never alters. Hearts may get broken. Love endures.

And soon as you submit. Surrender flesh and bone. That love takes on a life. Much bigger than your own.

It uses you at whim. And drives you to despair.

And forces you to feel. More joy than you can bear.

Love gives you pleasure. And love brings you pain. And yet when both are gone. Love will still remain.

Hearts may get broken. Love never dies. Love will continue. Love keeps on beating. When you're gone. Love never dies. Once it is in you. Love may be fleeting.

Love lives on...

Chapter Text

He was accustomed to sealing pacts. That is how a being of supreme power lives his indefinite life—one meal at a time. Taking maximum advantage of the poor and insignificant lives of his contractors.

To amuse himself with them.

To satiate himself with their souls.

But this time, it was he who gave up his soul.

To her.

He became the motive, the means, the end of someone else.

Of her.

A simple woman. A mortal.

While walking down the hallway, his steps resonated more than ever. He stopped abruptly. With eyes wide open, he contemplated the end of that journey... and understood.

He had sold his soul. To a human.

Then, he smiled. A strange smile on his face. Unable to recognize himself, he thought:

—How low you have fallen, Zarant. —he said to himself, laughing—. Pathetic... how wonderfully pathetic. And also... what a beauty.

He, the supreme Archduke Zarant, had fallen into the oldest trap in hell.

And not by the hands of another demon.

Nor by a prince of Sheol.

No.

He had fallen to a maid.

And that was unforgivable...

...and glorious.

He had yielded to the lowest caste of nobility. And to the must incomprehensible form of love: Hope.

He resumed his pace, heading to the young master's office.

Because Zarant had not changed: he was still haughty, arrogant, egocentric, cruel.

But now he knew something more.

He could care.

He could be gentle.

He could cherish.

And that... was awful.

—It doesn't surprise me. —he thought arrogantly—. In any case, I already knew I could do anything.

But she had shown him that he could also love.

And he loved her as much as he loved himself.

In the end, Gwendoline's love so full of hope bore fruit. A rotten one, but sweet on his lips.

What a devious form of love.

So proper of him.

—When they find out about my engagement, more than one head will explode. —he sighed, overwhelmed but smiling—. What will my old friend Wald say when he finds out? Ah~ what a disappointment I'll be to him...

Surprisingly, after three days, Winy recovered her splendor. Carefully dressed, her hair gathered in a perfect bun, and her shoes polished like crystal.

—Allow me —said Sebastian, kneeling with solemnity.

He placed the shoes on her feet with reverential precision.

—Thank you —she said, smiling.

—It's my pleasure —he responded.

The young earl, observing from his desk, understood the impossible: that recovery was not natural.

It was demonic.

A new pact? A betrayal of his contract?

When Winy presented herself before the Earl, she did so with solemnity.

—I deeply appreciate your attentions and care, young master. I’m forever grateful.

But Ciel was blunt.

—I want to know what's happening between you two.

Sebastian stepped forward, confident.

—Nothing that should concern you, my Lord. Miss Leigh is valuable to this house. No less than the rest of the staff, but I couldn’t allow myself to lose her.

Ciel wasn't fooled.

—Spare me your pretenses. I want the truth.

Winy intervened calmly.

—Allow me to speak on my behalf.

And with unshakable serenity, she explained that she had discovered the butler's true nature through her sister, Miss Herson. That at first it was a shock. A conflict, and that due to her beliefs, especially regarding what Laidenin taught her. That discovery turned out to be a difficult fact to bear, which is why she tried to approach the butler to better accept his nature. But then she understood:

—It was not my place to judge him, even being what he is, and much less to judge you, your grace. —declared Gwendoline. —All of us here are equals. He is your faithful servant. —referring to Sebastian. —You are the master. —bowing her head before the Earl. —And I, by choosing this life as a maid, must act accordingly. Right now, my duty is to you: To keep my master's secrets. To protect them. —and finally she smiled, bringing her hand to her chest. —Remembering that behind everything that forms me, no matter what or who I am, I will always be faithful to my heart and my convictions.

Sebastian understood that last phrase, as if she were swearing fidelity to him. For he was the heart of Gwendoline Leigh.

—I know there are things that escape human understanding but, —and looking firmly at the young Earl. —each one is master of their own life, no one has power over it except ourselves. No matter what or who we are.

Ciel stood up and approached Gwendoline. Those words were comforting as he perceived them to be extremely appropriate. Profoundly wise, coming from someone like her. But he had to admit it, she had what it took to be one of them, even though her only area of expertise was service.

Gwendoline had demonstrated that even the most aberrant secrets could remain perpetually sealed within her.

—Understand that this must not leave you or your sister.

—Of course, my Lord —said Winy, bowing.

—Sebastian —he ordered—, if Miss Leigh ever reveals what she knows, you must eliminate her.

Sebastian bowed.

—As you order.

—I hope you don't mind, Miss Leigh.

—Not at all, young master.

—The same applies to Lady Laidenin Herson. Understood, Sebastian?

—Of course.

Ciel looked once more at Gwendoline, and with a certain wariness asked her. He was feeling a bit more relaxed now, enough to allow himself one last question.

—Miss Leigh, —with a slight smile, —now that you know the nature of my butler. Are you afraid of him?

But Sebastian already knew the answer.

—No. —smiling at him. —The only thing I can fear is what I don't know, your excellency. And I already know your butler.

Ciel smiled sincerely, satisfied.

—Good. Then you will continue to serve in this house, until I have no further use for you.

—Thanks, my lord.

—You may leave.

She bowed once more and left, closing the door behind her.

But Ciel had one more matter to attend to.

—Sebastian...

—Yes, my lord.

—Don't you think you've violated the contract?

Sebastian smiled with his usual elegance.

—Why do you think that?

—That woman has changed you in some ways.

—Like what?

—It's as if you've softened. —then he smiled. —The demon I know only cares about himself and is loyal to me for his own interests. And not just her, Lady Herson too.

Ciel smiled mockingly.

—Have you allowed yourself to be charmed by those women?

Sebastian understood that Ciel, his esteemed contractor, was distrustful.

—Young master, do not forget that I belong only to you. Everything I am exists solely to fulfill your designs and ultimately, to grant all your wishes.

Alluding to the three wishes they had agreed upon that day three years ago.

—Do not concern yourself, my lord. The foundation of our contract remains unchanged. —approaching him with a hand placed solemnly over his heart. —If I may, let me remind you the pledge I made when our fates became one:

"It is my duty to illuminate your path as you travel through darkness. I will be the guardian of your flame, so that it never extinguishes."

Sebastian raised his gaze, illuminated with his infernal hues.

—After all... I am simply your demon of a butler.

Ciel nodded with a smile.

—I don't trust you. —declared Ciel. —But I only need you to be obedient.

—I will continue to be so.

And Sebastian renewed his vows to the Earl. As he had done every day for the past three years.

He was faithful to him.

And when the contract ended, as expected according to the agreed clauses, he would consume his soul.

But for Sebastian, or rather Zarant, since the act of the butler was no longer valid before Miss Leigh.

The only eternal thing... was not the contract with the Earl. However, he would be like a faithful lover to him, until fulfilling his revenge by his own hand.

And after that bond was consummated. Something else would await him.

Someone who was…him.

—Miss Leigh —he said, catching up with her at the end of the hallway.

She stopped.

—Yes?

—I haven't properly introduced myself to you —he said.

The hallway lights went out one by one, until only the moonlight through the windows remained.

Shadows enveloped him. His silhouette grew. Darkness spread like liquid wings.

His eyes ignited.

His smile stretched beyond human limits.

Metallic heels echoed on the marble floor.

—You just can’t help being dramatic. —said Winy, approaching with soft steps.

He knelt like a dark knight, extending his leather-clad hand, his claws elongated and gleaming like onyx.

—My name is Zarant, Lord Zarant. Archduke of infernal legions. Marquis of Lust, Greed, and Wrath.

She took his black hand, as one touches eternity, and kissed it sweetly.

—It's a pleasure, your excellency. —she curtsied, then looked into his countless eyes. —Zarant…It suits you. So proper.

And he smiled upon hearing his name on Gwendoline's lips.

She immersed herself in the shadows of his shapes, in the darkness of his chaos, and kissed him. No longer with her lips, that was too human. But with her entire being.

She loved him.

That creature whose existence was an embodied blasphemy.

She loved him.

Only she could do it.

Perhaps God in his infinite forms had incarnated in Gwendoline to love this abomination.

Perhaps God was seeking ways to understand and love himself.

Or he just wanted to experience love, even in such a horrific possibility as Zarant. Through the hands of a girl as simple as Gwendoline.

Neither good nor evil.

Neither arrogant nor simple.

Neither color powders nor ink.

Just possibilities.

Forms of love.

One of them all.