What was youth but nature's first folly? A fickle, undecided thing that instills in children wavering hearts and unsteady rhythms. Sebastian thought the whole notion of youth whimsical—an epoch of great and troublesome burden for both child and caretaker. His young master was wise beyond his years but that childish implacability was still there and, at times, he found it amusing.

A frail, cobalt eyed nobleman (whose throat was so very breakable) was ordering him to and fro—and he, the demon of more than a thousand years, completed each task with all the obedience of a well trained hound.

It was funny.

Sebastian thought it was the funniest thing in the entire world—the best jape the universe could have devised. A contract, a bound mark…that was all it took. Oh, his master's suffering had been absolutely decadent as he withered in that cage; a shot of liquified diamond in the midst of charcoal gunmetal. What beauty! Surely there wasn't prose fine enough to describe the brutal loveliness of Ciel Phantomhive's crucifixion. Apple white skin lacerated with scars, midnight hair feathered and ruffled by the rough hands of man; the hollows of his cheeks and the pain in his eyes. He was the sweetest fruit on the vine and Sebastian had been the one to pluck it.

Now, all he needed to do was wait and, truth be told, his master was entertainment enough.

Absolutely hellbent on ushering out all happiness so that when the time came, there would not be a shred of light for Sebastian to devour. Even still, his soul burned—burned the darkest shade of blue, tinged with wandering slivers of pearl silver and swirling nebulas of starry ink. Sometimes, in his quieter moments, Sebastian wondered what it'd be like to sample that heavenly soul—just a taste. An appetizer before the main course.

Would it be as sweet as the fiancée who so adored him?

Would it be as rich as the ground on which he tread?

Would it be as savory as the blood he spilled?

Or would it simply be him, the Earl of Phantomhive, in all his broken glory. Resplendent in ermine and delicate as silk; the servitude Sebastian engaged in only heightened his awareness, cognizant of the eden before him.

"And we must repeat this once again, young master. It will not do to rush through Strauss's fourth stanza like that. You must remember the light bounce and trill of the Kaiser Waltz—it echoes in harmony; the crescendo builds." Sebastian tapped a thin black baton against his master's music stand, eyes laughing but mouth firm. "Come now, you wish to impress the Lady Elizabeth do you not? Serenade her as she comes bounding down the hall."

"I don't want to do this period." He snarled but dutifully raised the violin back up to his shoulder, tucking the instrument under his chin as he raised the bow. "What measure?"

"The second will do."

Yet before a single note could be played, the library doors were thrust open and outside stood a flustered and panicked Finnian clutching a crumpled white envelope. "This just arrived for you young master!" He ran forward, nearly tripping over his own two feet, hand raised as he waved the letter about.

Sebastian suppressed a sigh of frustration, stepping in front of the earl and easily forcing the letter away from the boy's strong grip. "Thank you." The butler gave a sharp nod, cherrywood eyes cold with disapproval as Finnian cowered. Didn't anyone in this manor know any better? Music lessons ran from ten to eleven, followed by a rich tea interlude before expense reports were looked over and then, dinnertime. Was that really such a difficult concept to grasp? Surrounded by inadequacy. He mused silently, guiding Finnian back towards the double doors before slamming them shut in front of the blonde boy's face.

He collected himself, straightened his already impeccable posture, and walked back towards Ciel who was now seated behind that rosewood monstrosity again.

"Forgive the intrusion, young master, but a letter from her majesty." He smoothed out the crumpled parchment to reveal a single red wax seal, emblazoned with the British crown.

Ciel's brows furrowed. "So soon?" He questioned but then smirked. "I see the underground is preparing for spring as well. What a treat, wouldn't you say Sebastian?"

"Indeed."

And so the day progressed, just like that. There was no commentary to be found that would appear outwardly comical but to the demon, there was a slight catch in every phrase that made him smile. The self importance of these humans was staggering but not at all unexpected. In due time, all species would take for themselves a crown and sword, calling their own name instead of king and country. Wasn't that how revolutions were fought? When one man stoked the fire until it consumed him wholly.

Ah, the joys of idealism. Such a pretty, fragile thing. Once, when Sebastian lived some five or so hundred years ago, a human woman had called him devoid of sentiment, romance, and human kindness. She expected it to hurt or trigger an epiphany but all it did was amuse—she'd been a vain, selfish creature who praised her own beauty and expected men to do the same. Sebastian had little time for women such as herself, particularly since his master at the time had been a diplomat with very little spare time. Always rushing between France and Spain; to and fro they went, back and forth. He quickly saw that in spite of the linguistic and cultural differences between the two countries, hunger and strife remained consistent.

It was why his current master was such an intrigue. Sent to decimate the scourge of the underworld while he himself rotted in a hellish prison of his own making. What splendor, what radiance! Demons in general had no regime to follow; they were free flowing and survived independent of one another. To have such a strict young master was a great joy for Sebastian, for Ciel Phantomhive was someone who seemed determined to both shut him out and let him in. The young lord would not convey his private thoughts to him but Sebastian needed to know the mindset of his liege. There would be no bouts of pointless banter yet every word spoken between master and servant was of the utmost importance, weighed down by death and promise.

There was nothing binding the two together (save death) and it hadn't been until now that Sebastian caught the irony in it.

Porcelain skin, sapphire eyes, rose quartz lips. If his master were a sculpture, these jewels would comprise his face alone; his body would be black obsidian, able to glimmer under the silver moonlight. There would be Michelangelo on hand to do the Phantomhive countenance justice and Sebastian would remain hidden, watching as each curve and dip was brought to life. There were certain aesthetics about his young master he particularly enjoyed—the first and foremost being his skin. Pale and thin, like the petal of a white dahlia. It was so unlike his master's true nature; cold and steely, unyielding as the clock tower, remorseless as Valmont.

When Ciel had taken ill sometime ago, Sebastian had stood over his ailing body with a sort of curious apathy. It was strange to see his lord and commander so desperately alone, fighting a battle he could not help him with. His body had always been sickly, a final gift from his deceased mother, but the demon was grateful for the boy's physical foible—it made his mind that much sharper; his wit, that much quicker. How enjoyable their repartees could be when words had actually been exchanged, flowing from one mouth to the other. It passed the time better than wandering through the bowels of the underworld.

Much better.

That, the butler supposed, was why he had soaked cool, wet washcloths and laid them over his young master's forehead. Why he had tucked his arm under Ciel's shoulders, gently hosting him up so the little lording could take a sip of spiced apple tea and regain some much needed color on his bloodless face. Mey-Rin supplied fresh sheets and blankets and Finnian had dug out medicinal herbs and flowers from the vast Phantomhive garden. All of this was necessary to the butler's role: that of caretaker and caregiver.

So he didn't quite understand why, on the third day of his lord's illness, he had taken a pale blue vase imported from Marseilles and filled it with a bouquet of freshly cut belladonnas. Almost unconsciously, Sebastian placed the vase beside his master's bedside table and went on to brew another cup of spiced tea.

Lord Phantomhive awoke some hours later, drowsy and a little irritated as he looked around his darkened room. "Well." He demanded, voice scratchy from ill use, "how long has my body betrayed me?"

"Three days since you last entered your office, my lord." Sebastian replied, never missing a beat as he continued his elegant approach, a silver tray in his hands. "And now that you're well and awake, I'm sure you do not need me to feed you?"

A look of horror shadowed Ciel's blue eye but it dissipated as quickly as it appeared. "Nonsense." He motioned for the tray to be set down. "I've been eating alone since I was three. Maidservants tired me and I despised their coddling." He raised a pearl embedded spoon. "Is this…?"

"Miso soup. Light enough for your stomach to hold, nutritious enough to nourish the body." He bowed. "My lord."

"Has anything happened between these few days that I need to know about?"

"Not in the least. Everything has been handled and I have taken the liberty of informing Lady Elizabeth of your disposition. She was quite worried and wished to come over immediately but was stopped by Lord Edward, who feared that she may contract your same sickness." He gave a short bow. "She sent over an exquisite bouquet of carnations and camellias which I have placed in your study."

"And…?"

"A stuffed rabbit she has named Lapin." Seemingly out of nowhere, Sebastian produced a fluffy white toy rabbit with exquisite blue stone eyes and a pretty pink ribbon tied round its neck. "She sewed it herself."

His master looked at the rabbit with a mildly horrified expression but then held out his hand. Observing the rabbit closely, he gave a faint smirk. "Pink thread." He mused quietly, gently turning the stuffed animal back and around before laying it beside him on the bed. "Has her majesty asked anything of me?"

"No sire. She is aware of your illness and wishes you a speedy and efficient recovery."

"And my meetings?"

"All rescheduled to the end of this week." Sebastian gave a low smile. "You may think it presumptuous but I had a feeling you would recover well beyond week's end."

Ciel grimaced. "I'm sure you did. Now—" he paused, having finally caught sight of the vase beside his bed. He sighed with annoyance. "Tell Finnian to leave the belladonnas where they are. I don't want them near me."

"Apologies my lord." Sebastian bowed again. "This was entirely my doing."

The boy looked up, surprised. "Reminding me of my debt?" His master joked wryly. "I assure you demon, it has not been forgotten."

"Oh by no means. The fragrance merely appealed to me."

"Yes. The sweet scent of miasma and deadly nightshade." Ciel derided sourly. "How aromatic."

Sebastian chuckled. "You must be more willing to examine the smaller details of life, young master. After all, death has no flowers for you to admire and oblivion is not exactly a favored tourist destination."

Ciel glared. "Yes, you'd be the expert on ruination and cessation wouldn't you? Hell and all its fires do await you once I'm finished."

"Indeed." Sebastian mused, almost contentedly. "But we had best get you up and ready. No time to waste—your fiancée will be here at a quarter to seven to dine with you."

"You told Lizzy I was awake before I was actually awake?!"

"Of course not." Sebastian chided gently. "She wrote this afternoon stating her intentions. I do believe she wants to try her hand at nursing later this evening."

"Well, inform Elizabeth that I am very busy and cannot possibly—"

"It would be poor form to send Lady Elizabeth home. After all, she is to be your wife and you two have not spoken for close to a fortnight. Is that any way to treat a lady?"

Ciel's brow twitched. "I would never want to hurt her but—"

"Excellent. I shall be sure to prepare a gratin dauphinois for her visit."

"Don't be ridiculous. I won't have Elizabeth catching the remains of my fever."

"You're perfectly well."

Ciel hesitated. "I…may find myself exasperated by evening's time." He said slowly. The words were a touch unsure and immediately caught the butler's attention. "I shall spend this afternoon working and reviewing some of the tasks her majesty wishes to see completed. And with this lingering ache I am unsure if I can properly entertain Lizzy in the way that she desires…" he paused, wanting to say more. "To burden her spirit with my enervated form will be…" his jaw clenched and Sebastian did all he could to suppress his smirk.

So here lies the crux of his dilemma. My young master, wishing to appease his fiancée and fearing that he will become too tired by evening's end to properly spend time with her. Sentimental and foolish—but so lovingly cultivated.

Sebastian turned to the cup of spiced tea on the silver serving tray. "You'd best drink up young master." He handed the teacup over to him. "You'll need your strength for the rest of his evening."

"But—"

"I trust that the Queen's Watchdog is capable of persevering through a single dinner. After all, this is Elizabeth, the lady you have known since childhood. Her company has always left you revitalized in my humble opinion and seeing her again after so long might do you some good." He tucked the tray under his arm. "You need put on no airs for her. She is the one constant thing in your life, young master." Sebastian placed his right hand over his chest, deferential to the last.

"Wait." Ciel called, causing Sebastian to look up again with mild curiosity.

"My lord?"

"Lady Elizabeth."

His brows furrowed slightly. "I beg your pardon?"

"Address her as Lady Elizabeth. You need not be so familiar."

Sebastian smiled, eyes glittering. "Of course my lord. Do forgive me."

Ciel nodded. "Dismissed."

And so it went, his young master living on borrowed time. A slow, solemn but elegant procession to hell, trailed by those he loved and loathed in equal measure. Sebastian often wondered what his young master would grow up to be. Physical age did not flavor the soul as emotional bedlam did but he had always been an inquisitive demon, forever examining the small details around him, analyzing the throes of both hell and heaven. Human nature fascinated him the most—what would Ciel Phantomhive be like in nine or so years? Married to Elizabeth? The Queen's Watchdog still?

Father to a son with a soul as temping as his own? Ah, that would be a beautiful thing.

Sebastian was rather fond of Lady Elizabeth—indeed, she had surprised him in more ways than one and her staunch determination was admirable as was her radiant light. Daughter of the sun she was, wife to winter was what she desired. What would their child be like, the butler often found himself wondering, just before the vesper star rose. Would he be worthy? There was no denying Ciel's own delectability for Sebastian would be rather melancholy following his demise…but if there was a continuation…well. He would simply have to find a way to extend his lord's revenge, would he not?

Then death would befall the Phantomhives once again, save him—that one precious little boy Sebastian would observe from the shadows until he was ready to be taken.

Then the game would played once again.

- Title comes from de Laclos Les Liasions dangereuses. ("Humanity is not perfect in any fashion; no more in the case of evil than in that of good. The criminal has his virtues, just as the honest man has his weaknesses.")

- Kaiser-Waltz: composed in 1889 (a little later than Black Butler I know) by the Austrian Johann Strauss II. It was dedicated in honor of the friendship between Austria (heralded by Emperor Franz Josef) and Germany (ruled by Kaiser Wilhelm II). Translated, this is the Emperor Waltz.

- Valmont: referring to Vicomte de Valmont of Pierre Choderlos de Laclos' Les Liasions dangereuses (or, Dangerous Liaisons; personally, I prefer the book but if I had to pick a film version I'd say the 1988 version with Glenn Close and John Malkovich is best). Valmont is a socially savvy, highly seductive manipulator who uses the weaknesses of women (and anyone else) to his advantage. He plays the game for the fun of it and acts as a match to the equally vicious (if not more so) Marquise de Merteuil - until he falls in love.

- "Once...a human woman had called him devoid of sentiment, romance, and human kindness" - I lifted this line from the film 'On the Waterfront'. It's spoken by the ever lovely Eva Marie Saint as Edie to Marlon Brando's Terry. (Seriously, love this movie.)

- Gratin dauphinois: a traditional French dish based on potatoes and crème fraîche. Very rich and warming (perfect for a winter day). Regionally found in the Rhône-Alpes. I feel like Lizzy would enjoy the Rhône-Alpes simply because of how accessible and versatile it is: it's situated between Paris and the Côte d'Azur and borders both Switzerland and Italy - similarly, I see Elizabeth as someone who is quite malleable and would have no problem situating herself in the lives of radically different people. (Ex: Ciel and Edward) So she'll always be a Alpes girl to me :)

A/N: As always, reviews would be lovely :) I might turn this into a series of interconnected oneshots. Who knows.