Burgundy

A Fanfic by Neoxie

Blood flows in the crimson veins and it's teetering with life. And anguish for the lost remnants of something that should not have existed in the first place. The curtains fall back in desecration as the owner of the perilous hands summons up his otherworldly force to rip them apart. The sun was hidden by the clouds, it's the day. In just a while, the sun will shine through the broken shards of sky, crows will gather around the yellow idol, forming a circle of damnation and sirens will be heard in distance, from somewhere far away that no living being could ever find. And there will be blood cast upon the earth, just like Madam Red would love, exposed to the light.

There was a time, Ciel could vaguely remember, his body was made of fire and iron and the salty scent of sweat. That's what he could remember. Passionate bodies struggling in a turmoil of feeling. Tension and relief. Tension and relief. Brief sensations that lasted eras. Short sensations that forever carved his human existence. He could also remember pain and disgracefulness but that too faded in the edge of forgetfulness. Pain was sweet and real and he would like to feel it once again, not like the shallow feeling of a living corpse.

Some people worked in the shadows, some worked in the light. But sometimes those who work in the shadows shine brighter than those who work in the light. Ciel shone brighter than anybody else. He was the fiendish boy that paved the world with his sense of justice as graceful as a gliding feather and disappeared without a trace. But there was no such thing as justice, only everlasting boredom.

But disgracefulness hadn't been the worst, but the shadows that tormented him in the now restless nights and filled him with intense nausea. They never left, not anymore. He became so used to the gaunt faces pursuing the silver platters, the mirrors, the tittering water. He once asked him what it meant. Sebastian said it was delirium, frequent in those of their kind. And here he abstained. "Let's talk about it later, shall we?" But, is it serious? "No, it will go away with time" Sebastian said. But it was a lie.

Deranged minds never heal. And Ciel always felt, vaguely, almost vaguely diving in all that sea of uncertainty, of not-here-nor-there, a limbo, a hellish torment of dystopia. Disassociated, yes, that's the right term. A machine with an inadequate engine, disassociated. Unfixable since the beginning. Disassociation.

And after that there is nausea. Only nausea.

"It's time for tea, my Lord". It's time "for the cups, and the marmalades" he couldn't savor. All these worldly sensations he needed to engulf. But there was so much time, so little wit.

"Maybe after some talk between you and me". Appeasing, expectable, familiar. No, the lines are circled in the sky. It's time. Time for the death of time.

The lines are up in the sky. The horizon expands in massive brushes of crimson and gold. The thin burgundy light poised over the bodies, the bodies exposed before a cup of tea, and a teapot, and some toasts. Exposed and wanting, one fearless, the other inert, lethargic.

Ciel slowly dragged a long puff out of his manufactured tobacco, the nouveau branch of his enterprise, and exhaled. The puffs of smoke loitered in the festered air until they uneventfully vanished. Ciel drew another puff and smelled the exotic fragrance of the tea.

"Bergamot?" Yes. And the sun exploded in the sky wrinkling the muddle of lines and circles in the floor. The crows lifting from their poises, dancing to the ancient music – the music of want detaching from souls.

And then Ciel was gently poising the cup, and the half-cigar. And strut possessively over the coil of steps which led him to the uneven ground. His clothes, licked by the fire, fell gravely in ashes, pooling around his cold feet. There was a knife, he picked it up. The silver blade was sharp and flawless, glimmering in the jittering red lights. There was a flash of silver and gold. The earth is covered in blood. Ciel moves around, squirting the rich supple liquor. There's red in satanic circles and fire cast upon them. And now the flames that poison the air and consume his sullied body are blue, and purple until they melt in a raging crimson.

The butler waves away in disdain the smoke that fills the veranda. Not just smoke but ashes, ashes that once formed a body he desired so greatly no human could ever understand. He lifted the half-smoked cigarette and the cup of tea and sat down casually. With the fatigue of someone who had just finished a long day of work. He exhaled the pensive air.

"So what shall it be of tomorrow?"

And here I am, back with a new more mature style. Hope you enjoy it!

All the quotations are by T. , from "Love Song of Prufrock". I highly recommend it.

Any comments are welcome.