Gentle Lady

Kuroshitsuji © Yana Toboso

Gentle Lady © fhclause

The first time he saw her, she almost made a fool of herself from tumbling off the carriage without waiting for the valet to attach the stairs, but she made a fool of herself anyway when she jumped and latched shamelessly onto his newest client—nay, his young master—with fat, crocodile tears and streams of prayers of how glad she was that her beloved Ciel was still alive. He inwardly scoffed at this needless show of affection. Give or take a few days, after his cli—young master—showed her that he came back not to relive the fairy tale they once did, she would tuck her skirt and turn away.

Still, he had to commend her performance. He might have been able to produce such copious amount of tears with a flick of his fingers but it might take him a moment to make his face puffy and eyes red from crying like how she did so effortlessly.

He forced a polite smile when his young master introduced him to her.

. . .

He ignored the fact that he was proven wrong when Lady Elizabeth kept visiting them days after days and showed no sign of stopping.

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How long had it been since he felt real hunger? He—Ah, no. Sebastian. That was the name given to him; he should get used to it, despite its distasteful origin. In any case, he, Sebastian, was preparing dinner for his young master and lady. He didn't understand why his young master was so persistent on him taking over the duty of a cook, but Sebastian never backed away from a challenge—really, who would not take on the dare when a twelve-year-old human boy mocked you and threw hot gravy on your face?—and if perfecting his cooking skill was one of the obstacles he had to overcome in order to dine on his young master's soul, then so be it.

What he found laughable however, was that Lady Elizabeth had always something nice to say about his cooking, such as, "Oh, this gravy is divine!" or "Oh, this soup is so creamy!" or "Oh, this is the best pastry I've ever had!"

Oh, how her tongue glib!

Such smooth-tongue reminded him of his past masters. How they were so easily satisfied when he granted their paltry wish that took no great effort whatsoever from a demon such as he. The soul picking was terribly easy that he had done it mindlessly because they were there and not because it was fun to take. Which perhaps, he pondered quite belatedly, explained why their souls tasted more like putrid air than sinful pleasure.

Thus perhaps, he had to be grateful for Lady Elizabeth's affectation. The smell of putrid air from her soul reminded him he now had a choice: one, a divine soul and the other, a displeasing one. And one of those souls shall soon be his for the taking. Just thinking about it made his stomach growl.

Sebastian thinned his lips into a smile when the lady asked for seconds.

. . .

He ignored the fact that he had indulged on those putrid air then because it reminded him of hell and how much he had missed it.

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He couldn't remember the last time he was left speechless. Here he was, mouth left agape and his hand hovering above the chess board as he was contemplating the murder of a lady who had not even yet fully passed her blooming years. What was his young master thinking, leaving him to entertain the lady? By teaching her how to play chess, no less! Furthermore, did he not know there was no such thing as a servant chaperoning a lady of the ton? Was he not aware the lady's reputation might be compromised if she was left alone with a male servant and not a female one?

Goodness. His young master's awareness on society's etiquette certainly left much to be desired. Even he, a demon, knew better.

Instead of going through with his plan of bloody murder—cleaning the carpet afterwards wasn't worth the effort, he decided—Sebastian inwardly sighed and rearranged the chess pieces again. Really, teaching her chess was more difficult than teaching a parrot human speech. "That is not how you play chess, milady."

"Oh, is it not? I thought the idea was to take the king away."

"That is not wrong, but only after you remove other pieces out of the way with their own unique moves. Not to jump the pawn over the other pieces and topple the king off the board."

She sighed loudly. "Well, it's more difficult than it looks. I don't know how Ciel can be so good at it. Speaking of which, will he take much longer?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Another pack of suspicious bills suddenly appeared this morning. Mr. Tanaka is helping him sorting them out. But don't you worry, milady. I will make sure he will be available for today's picnic." He tightened his lips into a smile. "Shall we start over?"

He spent another half an hour teaching her the moves of each pieces and how to think—at least—two steps ahead from her opponent. How she shouldn't rely on one piece only but also remind her that the king was important. As he was doing this, he had a feeling he was doing something wrong—like that one time when he 'accidentally' snapped a branch of a tree for a drowning child to cling to, rather than laughing at how amusing his drowning face looked like.

Fifteen minutes later, he was yet again left speechless and wondered if he had left his guard down too much playing with this girl that his king was taken over so easily. Before he could assure himself that it was merely a fluke of a beginner, he had looked up and saw that innocent tilt of her head, her big, green eyes and her smile that said nothing but told him everything.

Well. Well!

He certainly was not amused by her airhead act turned master. The minx! He ought to show her how a real chess play would be like. He would show her that in this game, he was the king, his young master merely the pawn for him to be fiddled with and she—she could be that queen she always pretending to be—the one who sits on her throne to look pretty like a doll and nothing else!

Sebastian smiled through gritted teeth and challenged her for another game.

. . .

He ignored the fact that in chess, the king was the weakest piece while the queen was the strongest.

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He would never have thought he would feel such relief at seeing a lot of familiar faces at once. Not because they were hugging and crying for him—and certainly not because one of them were blowing his snot on his jacket—but because he was finally able to stop playing dead. He had sworn to himself that he would forever always obey his young master without complain—as long as that order did not entail of him being stuffed into a coffin and definitely not dug into a grave.

He was a demon that brought death. Not to feel death.

Not that he was afraid. He certainly could prolong the drama going on above him over his 'death' as he amused himself in his grave picturing the funny faces of his young master, trying to console his friends. He just felt obliged to get out when a familiar feminine voice spoke about how Sebastian was a liar, that he left Ciel alone and how she would stay with the young master forever and ever.

Well, he certainly couldn't let that slipped by, could he? Especially from another liar? So he pulled the string connected to his coffin to ring the bell, waited to be dug out, and immediately regretted his decision when he was bombarded by four people, including her, hugging and crying all at once.

Sebastian felt a full smile threatening to pull from his lips, but he stiffened them like per usual and assured them one by one that he was very much alive and will not leave them.

. . .

He ignored the fact that her cry was the loudest of the bunch that it carried over to the darkest part of his dream.

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He had never felt physical pain despite how terrible his wounds were. How could he, when he could recover faster than he could even realize he was wounded? The only pain he knew—if pain was the right word to use—was terrible hunger that not even a lifetime of Baphomet's blood could satisfy him. Although now, he stood frozen, overwhelmed with shame that it was almost painful as he watched Lady Elizabeth spun in her low-heeled shoes and slaughtered the Bizarre Dolls that dare came near her and her beloved fiancé.

How strong , Sebastian thought, as he stopped her epee from stabbing the perverted red-haired Death God. Sebastian was a creature who saw physical strength as a superior quality than anything else. If the situation was different, he would have respected her for such a display. However, when he looked at this young lady who pretended to be delicate, he knew, that her physical strength was not the reason why he was now kneeling and asked for her forgiveness for his inability to protect them better.

If she was willing to go such length to protect the young master, then he would too.

Sebastian chuckled tiredly when the lady insisted on carrying the young master on her back when he could have done it instead.

. . .

He ignored the fact that the side of his palm throb quite incessantly with guilt after he knocked Lady Elizabeth unconscious so she would get on the boat.

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It was around two hundred years ago when he first felt amused by a human. Actually, he was first intrigued by the topic of the passing villagers, discussing heatedly about a sermon they had been given that Sunday morning. The sermon might have been provoked by his recent arrival because he heard something about the devils were nearby (What an insult! He was not one of those inferior little imps!), there were shadows in the alleys (Oops. He didn't mean to show that), and Lisette's death will not be in vain (Was she the ginger one? Her soul was most delicious). They do not need to worry however, because God will protect them in His house.

How he could resist proving the priest wrong with that kind of statement?

So he went to the church and introduced himself to the priest in his true form—he couldn't very well scare a devoted God's servant half-cocked now, could he? As expected, the man screamed splendidly for his life and begged him, not God, for mercy. He was having such fun when suddenly his face was drenched with water. Holy Water, he corrected, although contrary to popular belief, Holy Water didn't do anything to demons alike. It merely annoyed him—really, who liked to be thrown water to the face?

He turned with rage at the offender but his claws paused inches from her neck. The nun in front of him seemed familiar—which was ridiculous, because he was sure he had never met her before. He looked her up and down and was amused to see that her eyes—green like the murky pond—was filled with sadness and not fear he always caused. He wondered why that was and tried to reach for her neck again, yet his fingers refused to squeeze the life out of her. A hollowed screamed that sounded similar like that of the ginger he ate last night rang in his ears.

Not understanding what happened, he fled.

It wasn't until he crossed path with a female demon with navy blue eyes and pale lavender hair, obsessed in fulfilling the desire of the slumbering soul within her, did he finally understood what had happened back in the church.

To think that a mere human soul could do such a thing! The truth was so preposterous that he had laughed for two days straight.

"Sebastian?"

Sebastian broke from his reverie and bowed. "Milady."

"What are young doing here? Why aren't you with Ciel?"

He sighed exasperatedly. "The young master had sent me away. It seems that he doesn't like my suggestion to tie the cravat in a new style for today's occasion—or any style, for that matter. He thought I was mocking him."

Elizabeth giggled. "Well, you are one of the few people who dare to do so. I take it that Snake is the one who is helping him now?"

"Yes, but don't worry, milady. I did specifically tell him to not do an 'Oscar' or 'Emily' knot on the young master's neck." The lady—who had reached two and twenty just last summer—giggled again. Sebastian discreetly observed her from head to toe. Her usual curled pigtails were replaced with a loose bun tied at the back. Her hair adorned with flowers instead of the usual bonnet or ribbons. Her dress was white as snow, not the pink she usually favoured and to complement her look, a pair of high-heeled shoes.

It had taken him years to finally grant his young master's wish. Despite that, his young master had one last order. He had asked for more time, to tie some loose ends before he departed. It was a foolish request and his young master knew it too, but Sebastian had obliged, feeling uncharacteristically generous.

Ah, well. Since this was a special day, why not?

"Sebastian!?" Elizabeth gasped when he put his hand on his chest and got down on one knee.

"Milady, I have served the Phantomhive household for nearly a decade now and I have promised him, with every extension of the Phantomhive household, I will protect." He looked up and smiled. "So, I welcome you, my Lady Phantomhive."

There was no reason for him to do this, really. Even if he did this as a slight diversion, even when he told himself he was merely fulfilling his final duty, even if this was merely another insignificant moment in her fairy tale that she had longed to live in, even when she was smiling through her tears and hugged him with no pretext whatsoever, it would end. He had completed his end of the bargain, and soon, his young master would to.

It would all end.

. . .

He ignored the fact that he had not felt amused at the thought of a pair of green eyes—the green of the shallow tide—judging him for what he would do.

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The first time he saw her, he thought she would make a fool of herself from tumbling off the carriage without waiting for the valet to attach the stairs. She did wait however, and strolled along the path, with her brother at her side.

When the first flower was given, he thought she would sit on the pew with a pair of hunched shoulders without giving any offering. She proved him wrong when she stood up and put a blue rose along with the others.

As the priest started his speech, he thought she would cover her face and start to cry. However, she was the only figure who stood still among the crowds —didn't even once shift her footing.

When patches of dirt slowly filled the hole, this time he thought, for sure, she would break down and scream to her heart desire. Alas, she stood there, staring as the beautifully painted piece of wood covered by the earth.

One by one left, every single person stopped to give their condolences to her, but all she did was smiled at them. When she was finally left alone, the wind blew and her black veil flipped away from her face. He watched, disappointed, that her face was free from trail of tears and her eyes did not swell from sadness. As she righted her veil, she looked at the direction of where he was. It was impossible for her to see him—the shadows and the leaves hid him very well.

Still, there it was, a genuinely sad smile, directed at him.

He could not smile back.

. . .

He ignored the fact that the smile also told him that she knew, and that she forgave him.

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Elizabeth sighed as she looked out of the window from the train cabin. Finally, she could leave London. It had taken a surreal amount of convincing on her part to assure her father that she would be alright, travelling alone. His father had insisted that she brought Paula with her if she really wanted to travel somewhere, but Elizabeth had refused. After all, her faithful maid was recently married to one of their footmen; she didn't want to disturb their happiness. She could only be so grateful when her mother stood up for her—who could defy Francis Phantomhive Midford when she glared threateningly at you?

It had been two years since Ciel died. The first few months had been awful for her, not just because he had left, but because everyone around her kept giving her their condolences, their pity, that she could not have even a moment of her own to not even think about Ciel. Then she was angry at him, for leaving her the way he did. If he knew it would end up like the way it did, why did he even bother to marry her? Although she understood, day after day pondering about it. It was the only way Ciel knew how to show her he loved her. Then she was angry at herself, because how could she be so happy just because she knew Ciel did love her when he had left like that?

So she waited for her mourning year to pass and not to extend it like everyone had expected. She had mourned too long for him when she was a child. She would not mourn for him anymore. She would show him—his soul, ghost, spirit, whatever—that she could do better. She would leave London and then—

And then…

Elizabeth sighed. She probably should have planned it out more. She would leave London, maybe visit the country for a while, but she wasn't sure what to do after that. Even as a lady of the ton, widows didn't have much prospect. Either she remarried, be alone until she was old, or to be someone's mistress.

And Elizabeth didn't feel like to be either three.

She glanced at the rustling sound across her—a wrinkly, old man with sprinkles of white stubble and a monocle on his left eye, turning a page of his newspaper. She sighed again. Of all people she could be sharing her cabin with. "What are you doing here?"

The old man paused, glancing around as if looking to make sure that she was addressing him, but no one was there except the two of them. "I beg your pardon, miss?"

He had the gall to be surprised? As if she was fooled! "That disguise is terrible. No one has that kind of red eyes, you know."

The old man stared as if he did not understand, and for a second, Elizabeth thought she was mistaken. Then he hid his face behind his newspaper and a younger, familiar face, with darker stubble and a monocle, appeared with a chuckle. "My, my. As expected from the master of disguise. I cannot fool you."

She frowned at his words and crossed her arms. She did not care if she appeared unladylike at the moment. "Let me ask you again. What are you doing here?"

He blinked innocently. "Is it not obvious? I am going somewhere. This is a train after all."

"As if a great demon need to travel with a train to go anywhere."

Another blink, but a startled one this time. Then his lips curled in the way she recognized the first time she saw him. Mocking. "Well now. He told you that much, did he? I did not expect that."

Her body straightened at the mention of Ciel, a bodily reaction she had trained herself to have after a few months of his death, so they all could stop pitying her. Even without a mirror, Elizabeth could imagine how she looked like—spine not touching the seat, shoulders straight and nose upturned. She raised her eyebrow haughtily for further effect. "Yes, he did. A few days after we were married, in fact. It is very hard not to notice the markings on his back and the one on his eye, after all."

He did not give any comment, but that mocking smile deepened and Elizabeth knew he knew that she was pretending to be strong. She knew too, behind that mocking smile, he felt annoyance. Most of the time she knew why—she was always acting flighty that it even annoyed Ciel most of the time—but she was not acting flighty now. His annoyance was unfounded.

Hmph. Let him then. His feeling was not her business.

There was a curious silence between the two—one, adamant in appearing uninterested while the other waited persistently for the other company to break the silence. Elizabeth could only hold her appearance for so long until the gentle sway of the cabin made her sleepy. Suddenly, she heard a deep voice said, "I had heard that you were leaving. It piqued my curiosity to see what you will do."

She huffed, half glad that he interrupted her nap—she didn't want to put her guard down in front of him—and half annoyed that he was still beating around the bush. Ah, but the kettle shouldn't call the pot black, because she had used this roundabout tactic with Ciel so many times to get what she wanted, didn't she? "Yet, you could have done that from afar. It still does not explain why you are here."

"To fill the time—"

"You can find another client for that."

"For amusement—"

"As if the great demon could not find a poor boor for that."

He chuckled. "You certainly have grown this past two years, haven't you, milady? What a sharp tongue."

By the tone he was using, Elizabeth should have felt insulted than pleased by the compliment, but she was too busy examining the visage of his face, his red eyes and the smile that was still hovering at the corner of his lips to feel neither pleased nor irritated. Confound it, the annoyance behind that smile really do intrigued her and she wanted to know why. "Is this Ciel's final request?"

He glanced at the passing scenery beyond the window. "No. Any order he pertained after the contract was fulfilled is not valid. He knew this, so he did not say anything. Even if he did, I wouldn't bother, because it is not my duty anymore." He smirked arrogantly at her. "Are you disappointed that he did not, milady?"

"No." He raised his eyebrows and Elizabeth felt silly that she was pleased she could still surprise him. "Are you here out of guilt then?"

He laughed as she had expected, but it sounded hollow and fake that it sent chills to her bone. She was startled when he suddenly clacked his teeth and watched her solemnly. "Yes, but it is not mine."

Her fear was quickly forgotten as those words rang in her ears, their implication felt heavy in her chest that when the heaviness lifted, she was flushed with so much joy, she couldn't help but laugh.

"I am delighted you are amused, milady," he drawled sarcastically. He sighed impatiently. "Normal souls usually last for a day till a week. The tasti—strongest one I ever had had lasted for a month. But this," he clenched the front of his waist coat as if in pain, but his glare said otherwise. "This soul has been persistent for two years; it's ridiculous."

Elizabeth chuckled. "Well, Ciel was very stubborn."

His huffed in irritation before looking at her again. "This…feeling is making it hard for me to enjoy other souls as freely and the only way I know how to ease this nagging feeling is to determine the root, which happens to be you."

"I see."

"Until this feeling is gone—now that you have understood the circumstances—I hope my presence by your side will not be an inconvenience. How about it? Shall we shake on it?"

She stared suspiciously at the open palm offered to her. "You are not tricking me to make a contract, are you?"

His face scrunched as if insulted. "You belittle me, milady. I have a better taste than that."

Now, she was insulted. "Even so, a male servant and a lady of the ton together, even if she was a widow, is unseemly. I do not wish to taint the Midford's name out of selfishness. And how do I know that I will be safe from you when that nagging feeling you have is gone?"

"Yes, yes. I know society's decorum, milady," he dismissed with a wave of his hand. "but it is not as if I cannot change my appearance. I can be your lady's maid or your companion. I can even be your long-lost grandmother that you suddenly discovered these past two years who are on her death bed. As for your life, I cannot guarantee its survival during nor post-deal."

"Your silly idea irks me."

"And your nonsensical attitude in greeting and talking to me so casually irks me," he snapped at her through tight, polite smile. "Have you forgotten, milady, that I killed your husband?"

Elizabeth smiled, satisfied that she finally knew what was irritating him. Then, she relaxed her shoulder and let her back rested on the seat as she looked beyond the window. Her smile turned wistful. "He cried, you see. On the night before he left. He kept on asking me for forgiveness and cried my name over and over when I didn't answer him. How could I? When he could have prevented all of this if he simply did not make a contract with you.

"But that is even more silly, when I think of it, because I was glad—happy when he came back and I still am happy that you did bring him back that day, no matter the circumstances. I think of you as Ciel's friend, and you, of his, even when neither of you regard the other as so. Ciel was…peaceful when he was with you. You surrounded him with a lot of people who loves him. Even if the feeling was not as mutual on Ciel's side, it was still better than living alone. You allow him to be what he could be and helped him to reach his goal. Other than what he could have with me, I don't think he had any other regrets as much as other living beings or the dead ones and that was all thanks to you."

Elizabeth turned to look at him. "I do hate you for taking him away from me, but I do not despise you for what you have done for him." Her lips curled impishly. "Furthermore, Ciel isn't exactly gone, is he? Since you are here because of him."

"Ah, yes. Do make fun of my situation as much as you please." He glared threateningly when she burst into laughter. "Does that mean you do not forgive me for kil—ehm, taking him away?"

"Whatever made you think otherwise?"

"Nothing."

Elizabeth pouted. He still liked to be vague about everything, didn't he? Then, she suddenly perked up when an idea crossed her mind. "Say, how about we pretend to be husband and wife?"

"I beg your pardon?"

There was a trace that looked almost like disgust on his face, but Elizabeth was too excited to care. "Well, if you are still determined to follow me on my journey, I think it is a brilliant idea than having a servant following me around. You shall be a devoted husband who likes to fulfil his beloved wife's every whim, like purchasing every bonnet from the milliner, or taking a walk during unfashionable time at Hyde Park. That way, I will have more freedom to do what I want."

"And I will be the meek, obedient husband?"

"As all husbands should." He murmured something about a divine punishment as he tried to bury himself into his seat and for one moment, Elizabeth thought he would retch right there and then. Then, there was an imperceptible nod and Elizabeth clapped happily. "Great! Then we shall be Mr. and Mrs. Funtom."

"His company's, eh? What an ominous name."

"A befitting name for a demon's family. Oh, I suppose you could call me Lizzy."

He waved his hand distastefully. "No. Calling you so familiarly does not sit well with me. I will call you Elizabeth, and only when we are in public, if you don't mind, milady."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, fine. What about you? Are you still Sebastian?"

"Names are not important to me. Whatever you wish to call me, I shall be."

"Well, I am very tempted to call you 'Simon'. It has quite an irony in it considering how obedient a husband you will be." Despite what he had said, his lips still curled in displeasure and Elizabeth giggled. "Ah, but 'Sebastian' is still a better name."

He sighed, resisting the urge from telling her that that name wasn't much better, considering its origin, but he nodded nonetheless.

A carefree laugh escaped from her lips and Elizabeth offered her hand for a shake. "So, we have a deal?"

Sebastian took it but turned her upward, with his lips hovering inches away from her fingers. "As you wish, my dear Elizabeth."

He kissed her fingers with a smile and was relieved that the nagging feeling in his chest had resided.

. . .

He did not ignore the fact that their fingers were still entwined together even after they had arrived their destination, but neither of them bothered to let go.