(Just to warn readers, I intentionally tried to think outside of the box slightly this time, to experiment. I went a little bold and more creative on Ciel's newborn character and Sebastian's unknown origins in this piece. Review if you wish. Thanks for your time!)

"Master…?" Sebastian stood a foot behind Ciel frowning a bit, and honestly, looking faintly distraught. Had the boy surely intended to waste his first trip up to the Surface by returning here? "...Why are we here?"

"I have reasons," was the monotone response.

"Ah, I see. And you remembered after all this time? Even when dwelling in the depths of the Underground, physically and mentally changing?"

"She was my wife, was she not?" Ciel had yet to face his demonic companion, and he continued to stare ahead towards the Phantomhive Manor, which still seemed to be occupied. The bushes were poorly trimmed at Finney's best, and ginger glows of candle flames were alive beyond the twilight-tinted windowpanes. Ceil's new-grown, inhuman senses were completely at their peak by this day. He could smell a number of residents, five to be precise, inhabiting the Manor still. "No matter where he is or no matter where he plans to go, the Sir should never overlook his Lady."

"Yes Master, but you, Sir or no Sir, are recorded as deceased in the booklets. You are dead to the world. Is the Sir responsible to regard the Lady even in the afterlife?"

"If I know Elizabeth as well as I believe I do, she will not ask questions. She will just be contented to know I'm really alright."

"But really, Master, you must comprehend that you will not survive so well on the Surface, unless you make arrangements to feed...just as I had done so with you." The elder demon had finally stepped forward to clap his hand over Ciel's right shoulder. "Come with me, and we shall find you a troublesome, enraged soul for you as well. I myself may need to eat again in our time here. Can you not feel that certain hunger, Master?"

"Sebastian," Ciel barked out lowly. Bitingly. "…Even when two bank men may share a common workplace, and similar incomes, the first could still enjoy a slice of cake for dessert, while the other could just as easily prefer pudding."

Puzzled, the elder demon tipped his head as always, when hoping of evaluating a proclamation better, "Yes, Master?"

"You obviously found my soul satisfying to your tastes, I gathered as much. But, after everything, whoever said that I would inevitably acquire such tastes? No demon is exactly like another down to the core. Thus, my tastes lie elsewhere."

Sebastian's hand retracted as if a cobra had just strck at it, "You cannot possibly mean—but from all the souls in the world who require rescue via damnation...From all the souls who would bend to temptation and sin so perfectly...you just fix your eye on—?"

"Yes, Sebastian. There's only one specific soul I desire."

Voice measured, Sebastian huffed, unconvinced, "And what makes you think that she is actually in need of a contract?"

"Believe it or not, Sebastian, as a human, my love for her was real. Though it may have been sealed in and very distant, it still existed…."

No matter how much time Ciel had spent underground previously, she never faded from the corner of his mind…no matter how much he began to change. And now, he sensed that mortal love which he harbored deep within formerly, had currently transformed into another sort of feeling. Like a craving.

Ciel finally displayed a sign of movement, and started for the long-ago-familiar doors of the Phantomhive Estate. "I do not want to stop until there's a chance when I can hold her existence in the palm of my hand. She's the only goal I have here on the Surface."

Although the demonic newborn thought it was just strange, just as it was ironic. That all the reasons to why he had kept his emotional distance from her, were now the vital forces that pulled him straight to her. And to a strong magnitude. Like gravity itself.

"Yes…Master."

"So, Sebastian, you understand this is my business? You wait here until I return," Ciel had called over his shoulder.

Where did I go wrong? I taught him everything I know, everything it takes to live as one of us. If demons could discover what unhappiness truly felt like, then it certainly reflected on Sebastian's face. Have I failed in Turning my first progeny? He lingered behind like a large, dark-haired rebuked canine, who had been refused his walk and treat for the day. Sebastian had made many experienced offers throughout the past centuries, but not one of his previous clients had ever taken the contract strictly to the grave like this. Suppose it took practice in making an effective child of darkness?

Sebastian had seven older siblings, per se. He was the youngling of his clan, the one who'd been Turned last. He hadn't honestly though heard from any of his closest brethren for the last few decades. But all eight of them—he, his two sisters and five brothers were Turned by the same Maker, the same Leading Class demon. Sebastian gulped, thinking of his "father's" name. Prince Hecatemis. A valued superior in every layer of the Underworld. Sebastian also instantly recalled on the most recent sibling he had crossed paths with, twenty-one years ago. Similar bright ruby eyes, long sleek auburn hair that curled at the ends. Miss Isabel Grace Parkway—or demonically born as Malemine (The Luring Lady)—had two progenies in her custody at the time. Sarah-Lee Lungette and Peter R. Hemingburg, if Sebastian had remembered correctly. Sure, most demons would find it difficult to keep track of more than one customer at a time, let alone actually Turn two humans successfully at a time. Sebastian rolled his eyes. (Malemine had been favorited by their father by always overachieving.)

Demons in general, were also patient—though not when it came to disappointment in a human's overwhelming principles, or in personal humiliation—their kind had been beaten, outclassed, and embarrassed by the Holy Winged Ones over various periods of time as it was.

And Sebastian did not want to imagine what other demons would say if they observed that his own first Turnee had come out, well more or less, unique. A demon, not even hunting for soul after pitiful soul to prey on, but already has one set in mind? Even when there is the great chance which he cannot even obtain that soul? Sebastian managed to recompose himself, keeping in mind exactly who his trophy Turnee was. The vengeful, hate-driven, yet very poised, skilled strategist Earl Phantomhive. Many demons salivated over souls alike his all at once... Yes, perhaps he was simply overreacting.

However Sebastian inwardly could hear the scoffs already. And not only demonic scoffs, but also from the additional members that belonged to the dark-dwelling races. Warlocks had numerous scholars, and incantations to spread forth. Vampires had it even simpler. With only one bite needed, the exchange of blood, and wha-lah they have baby vampires to spare! (They may as well call themselves blood-consuming rabbits.) But, oh no—not all of the clients which demons acquire, are able to become demons. Most souls were commonly devoured, and then the remains were spat right into the Flame Pit. Correct, regularly, demons do not care to Turn their consumers...unless they find them worthy of the title.

All in all, the process was rather picky. It takes a very particular soul to gain demonic qualities once they enter the grave. And the Master was just the type. That's why Sebastian initially had chosen him. Ciel Phantomhive was too prideful, and too self-beneficial to be claimed unworthy...of whatever situation or chosen group. He was one of the few to none, who would not be satisfied enough to be recycled or copyrighted, and then not gain something, anything out of the circumstance in return.

Sebastian ultimately, redirected his thoughts back to the present, and simply repeated, "Yes."

Inside the Manor

The steady pace of high heeled shoes tapping upon the marble echoed out, on the level above. Ciel stood at the base of the grand stairway like a seamless Nobleman, and he awaited that person to emerge from the hall to the left. He waited because he knew it was her. He had immediately caught the scent of her skin, moistened with a certain vanilla root oil. He also detected it was her from the elegant stride of the footsteps. They weren't exaggerated or foolishly clumsy like Mierin's step-work while on the job.

It wasn't before long when she came completely into view. She noticed him straightway of course, for he had clearly desired her to see him, in the opening below. She remained silent, though...standing very majestically, arm slightly angled upwards, with only with her head turned to him, her overall person still facing the opposite corridor. As if she was posing for an artist, painting her portrait. He couldn't disagree that the sight of her was humanly refreshing and psychologically stimulating. Her yellow curls cascaded down her maroon-clad spine, and over the left shoulder. Her neck slender, graceful as ever. Her lips parted faintly in question, yet her eyes were calm, and unsurprised by his physical appearance.

"Hello, Lizzie."

"Ceil," she acknowledged softly, after some thought. And with that, she closed her eyes, exhaling deeply. "You're back…."

When she had reopened them however, Ciel suddenly stood directly before her then, in result of immense unearthly speed. "Yes, Lizzie. I am."

They stared at one another, earnestly, curiously, for what felt like centuries. Ciel opened his mouth, deciding to motivate additional conversational interaction than this. But before the first syllable of her name slipped out, and any words that were following close behind were cut off abruptly— and very sharply, by the strike her palm took to his cheek.

Stunned momentarily, he gazed upon the apparently-upset Elizabeth, who lowered her limb back to her side. Fortunately for Ciel, the impact did not leave behind a sting, for he couldn't feel mortal pain like that any longer. Also, Ceil felt as if his skin itself had healed whatever red mark would've bloomed there, even before it had formed.

"How dare you. How dare do this to me, Ciel. You tell me you have a mission assigned from the Queen, and suddenly go missing for days on end, until society gave up hope and claimed you as a stiff?" Elizabeth accused instantly, voice now a little more shrill in pitch, and alive with building-up negative excitement. "Sure, I knew you couldn't truly be dead, I felt it from the bottom of my heart. Mother and Father also suspected as such, but for your petty sake, we remained quiet, going along with flow of things. Why, Ciel? To fake your own demise is one thing, but what reason could you have had to not tell your own damn wife about it? If I knew, I could've helped you. You hear me? Even if I knew you wanted, or had to leave, I would have helped you to cover up your tracks, if needed."

"Something told me you wouldn't be so surprised to see me..." Ciel replied rather casually, instead of defending his personally rights and secrets from her tirade. And he advanced forward, little by little. Whether he intended to pull her into an embrace or to even grab her hand to calm her—or whatever—Elizabeth couldn't tell. "...Lizzie."

One thing was for certain, though. Elizabeth's innate drive to self-guard acted upon reflex. Her keenest instinct shifted into gear without her full her consent, and it caused her to jerk away while Ciel progressed on her. Her back-trekking nonetheless, was barred by the closet wall. After all, she noted something about her prior beloved was different. He was something similar to Sebastian. Something paranormal. She still had to take caution, not knowing precisely what this Ciel had turned out to be. If she were to dive off a cliff stretching out above the sea, on a scorching summer day, she would first check to see if there were any sharp and fatal rocks below.

"But, Lizzie," he teased lightly, once he knew she was fully ensnared by the wall and his proximity, "don't you want to play with me?"

Though, regardless of the absence of diehard facts, Elizabeth gained back her self-security just as swiftly, realizing then what particular wall she was up against. Therefore with one instantaneous, cunning move, Elizabeth half-turned, and reached for the objects on display overhead. Whirling back around, she thrashed her arms into position. She now stood with Camella's point nudged into Ciel's torso, while she angled Hototo horizontally, parallel to her collarbone. Even if she figured mere blades wouldn't be able to slash him down alone, the notion behind her stance wasn't any less symbolic.

"Careful, Ciel," she said, "I may find a way to slay you. After all, it's in my blood."

With a small dip of his chin, a vindictive, yet rather playful smirk pulled at the left corner of Ciel's mouth. Blossoming within his crimson stare was a twinkling, dark charismatic gleam. The look strangely resembled a disobedient child. Only in the sense that his eyes reflected the words, I haven't been on my best behavior lately.

Elizabeth was not about to step down. She merely responded by returning a sharp appropriate glare, like the mother disciplining that bad little boy of hers, I know that you are clearly up to no good, I can see it very well. She also resisted the urge to strike his ever arrogant face a second time, feeling a dark, untamable fire simmering, growing in her abdominal region. "I don't know what exact dark Occult exercise you dove into, Ciel, but I refuse to allow you to bring it here."

"Oh, really?" he purred ominously, and he leaned in closer until their features were but inches apart, tapping away the sword's point. "You refuse me, even here? Or are you implying that this isn't my home? Because, correct me if I'm wrong, Lizzie, but it indeed sure looks like the Phantomhive Manor."

"Ciel…I know this Manor has always been under your family's name. And I know this is where you were raised and this is where you lived to begin with," Elizabeth settled rationally. "But…."

Ciel could feel the gentle flutter of her breath against his face as she continued to speak.

"But…by inventing your own demise, you left this life behind, you left me with it, and you left it all to me to bear. No one ever took interest in buying this house after the funeral service, anyways. Not when the young Watch Dog himself, had perished so suddenly, and widowing his wife so soon. A hushed word began to spread, saying that your death would sprout a curse upon any who dared to move in here."

"Is that so?" Ciel's brow rose in faint, vain amusement.

"Mother had encouraged me to stay here despite the social disagreements. True, the Manor may appear the same, down to the last marble tile. But the whole air of existence, the entire presence of time, the state of being inside it now, is what I made of it. I am still Countess Phantomhive. I've declined to labeled anything less. Since you insisted on dying, it made me Head Phantomhive I decided, and I kept this house running. So, yes, I'm saying it's mine."

"So, is this where we are now? You there, and me, spontaneously placed on the other side of the line?"

"Ciel, honestly. Did you ever count me as a partner in any aspect of your life before? Were we on a team? Or were we a user and a utensil?"

"It can be different, Lizzie," he suggested smoothly. "Now I can be more open with you. I came for you tonight. Doesn't that say something?"

He sounded very persuasive, she couldn't deny that. His chosen words were meant to temp her, lure her in, to make her meet him midway. Ciel leaned in closer...closer, quite carefully. He moved in the manner as if he had every right to do so.

The next thing Elizabeth was aware of, had been the touch of Ceil's cold lips pressed to her own. His icy fingers caressing her jaw. And the earth went still. She determined on one twisted, curious level he was measuring her true willpower. Hence, the action of pulling back would be merely a sign of surrender. Even when she had dreamt of him encouraging this sort of endearing act himself long ago, she yet did not desperately to melt into, and deepen the deed.

In the nine seconds which it lasted, they remained in place, channeling and absorbing the other's presence. For nine seconds toughing, bodies close, they completed a cycle of opposing, yet very equal energies. Yin and Yang. Light and dark. Night and day. Life and death.

After they gradually separated, he whispered against her forehead, "You could come with me this time, Lizzie. We don't have to act as enemies. Not like this. Now we can be together to however we see fit. All I ask of you now is—to do something very similar to our wedding agreement—"

She listened, waiting for the grand finish, for the suspected catch. The fox had just begun to provokingly wave a leaf of lettuce before the rabbit.

"—promise yourself to me. Seal it with a pact. Confirm our relations with an accord. And I'll do anything you require of me..."

Elizabeth processed the words, attentively, warily, and tore each syllable out of the way, so that every detail masking itself, between the lines, was not left unturned. And then before long, pure insight struck her mind, like a pebble whipped upon glass.

She replied, "I see now. And by the indications I can piece together, the only sentiments that dwell within you, now Ciel, are nothing but meaningless lust, and overriding gluttony. You cannot grant me what I wish from you. You cannot feel or give love. That isn't how your lot is programed. It is always about making mortals believe you are their saviors. And when you have them directly where you desire, you turn on them. Your nature is untrustworthy. Tell me if I am wrong."

Ciel glared, his eyes shining catlike.

"Sebastian did it to you, I presume. Didn't he, Ciel? On the chosen day, as modest and ever-so-loyal he acted, you finally saw his true colors. He took it all from you during the last, unexpected hour. Had he promised to you, Ciel, that he never lied? I read about your kind, and more thoroughly I may add, aside from just Biblical mythology. They all say that. It's how they are raised, correct? It's part of the uniform, the criteria, the oath...And when they tell you 'I never lie,' that right there, is simply—one—heavy—lie."

Elizabeth mentally reexamined what she had just stated. Her features softened then with concern. With concern for his current state, and in concern for herself. His kind did, in any case, have the tendency to fixate on latching themselves to one victim to begin with, one solitary tool or host. Even pretty-perfect-fancy-flawless Sebastian fell prey to that statistic. And Ciel had come for her on this night. Of all the places to go, and of all the faces to see, and of all the…souls to…. Ciel came to her.

"Ciel, I cannot do what you want from me. Even if my life has become a bit lonely, and frustrating, I do not believe in walking down that path to solve my problems. Not even when it's you."

"It's interesting, Lizzie," Ciel began. "You see, when it was me, I had never truly intended to summon Sebastian. Nevertheless, he had somehow heard the deep, silent cry of my soul. And I think I am drawn to the sound of yours. But no, it's not full of anguish really, yet there's a melody...a symphony in the distance...and when I close my eyes it becomes clearer, sweeter, louder and it's so captivating to me. I must admit I can almost taste it…and I'm not leaving until I am able to possess what I desire."

"Then, you are going be waiting for quite some time, spoiled little devil," Elizabeth remarked, wisely. "Uselessly."

The boyish smirk returned to his face, "Then I shall do as much, and no matter what, you shall be my first priority."

Elizabeth remained skeptical, dropping her darling rapiers to her sides. "Really, Ciel? You sound sure of yourself."

"Oh, but I never lie, Lizzie."

End

(Who truly won at the end? I'll leave it up to the individual reader. Personally, I'd be with fine with Lizzie living her life, following what's right in her mind. Or still keeping her pride, she willingly "allowed" Ciel to take her soul, so they'd be together forever, bound by, well Unholy Matrimony in a way, haha. I thinking of writing a side story to this, to show how Lizzie and Ciel interact day by day after these events...I'm not sure if I will write anymore Kuro. stories unless readers really want it, though.)