Chapter One

Running. That's all I've ever known these past few years.

It's all because of them.

They're coming.

They're always coming.

After me.

I don't know who they are, or who they work for, all I know is that wherever I run, they can always track me down.

I have no options left.

I have to return. To there.

They were the reason I left in the first place, to keep everyone safe. So they only went after me. But I've been everywhere these past four years, and everywhere they have found me. That's why I need to go back to the only home I've ever known. That's why I now sit in a carriage, awaiting my arrival to the very place I ran from. Back to everyone I used to know, who won't even know me anymore.

I'm jolted awake from a restless sleep by the carriage wheel hitting a stone on the road. It is barely a carriage at all, perhaps deserving the name of cart instead. I don't have have much money at all; 5 shillings, 10 pence and 1 farthing to my name. I can't remember how long it has been since I have been in possession of a mere pound, which is a great difference to what I used to posses before I left the very life I am now returning to.

I dress in simple men's clothing; a loose shirt and a pair of trousers and boots, all in rather unextravagant shades of brown.

The ride has been long, I have journeyed from Bristol in the past day, mostly by train, and I caught the carriage ride from London, as the train does not venture close enough to my destination.

I look out across the fields passing by. Clusters of trees clutter the relatively flat ground, and sheep and cows are clustered in the fields. It is late afternoon, and I can see the faint dusting of pink on the horizon, signifying that sunset is approaching soon.

I look behind myself, a habit I have developed over the past years.

I sense we are approaching the destination soon, the trees and the road are distantly familiar, sparking memories of carriage rides to London with everyone, although in a very different carriage than the one I am in today.

The driver, in fact, notifies me that we are nearing there, and that I will need to get off in ten minutes and walk the remaining quarter of a mile myself, as he is turning in the opposite direction to where I'm headed.

As I again look out across my surroundings, my mind wanders wanders to what may happen upon my return. I suppose they'll think I'm dead, having left in the dead of night with not even a note or anything to notify why I had disappeared. I had to do it that way, or they would have found my family.

Everyone probably searched for me, but to no avail. I was probably then proclaimed dead and an empty coffin buried. The prospect makes me feel incredibly guilty. But, I had to do it. It was for their own good.

Although, I can't help but imagine the shock they will feel upon seeing my face once I have returned. I wonder how they are now. It's probably all the same as I left, myself being missing wouldn't have hindered their day to day life. I'm sure they will have long since got over it. My main concern is my young brother. It has been just over four years, he may have even forgotten me. I regret not getting to see him grow over these few years. He will be nearing thirteen now. Close to the age I was when I left. My parents will probably be the same as ever, and I imagine will be glad upon my return. I can see all of their faces clearly still; they haven't faded a day.

Seeing everything as I pass, it's as though I never left so long ago. I fear nobody will accept who I have become. I am not the person they knew anymore. It saddens me, though it cannot be helped. I can't change myself, no matter now hard I try.

Something that bothers me is how much I will have to explain about my absence. I don't want to go into detail about my ordeal, especially them, though I suppose it's unavoidable. Anyone would desperately want to know about their daughter or sister disappearing for so long.

The carriage pulls to a halt. I get off and hand the driver most of my remaining money, and turn around and begin to walk down the road that leads to my old home.
I first see it in the distance, silhouetted against the setting sun.

The Phantomhive mansion. The place I spent the first fourteen and a half years of my life.

When I reach the front gate I realise something is wrong.

It's not an obvious wrongness, unless you know the place extremely well it's impossible to tell any difference, but I could see subtle occurrences that seemed very wrong. The tree that I used to always sit under and read isn't there anymore, and there's no hint of a stump where it could have been cut down. The garden is completely different in all respects, and the most noticeable change to me is the atmosphere; it no longer feels like the family home I once knew, it feels like a strange place I've never been before.

Maybe it's due to my absence for so long, but something is telling me there's some other reason it feels this way. A bad feeling begins to wash over me and nervous butterflies flood my stomach.

It definitely is not the best idea to sit and stew over what could happen once I knock on that door, so I walk briskly over and knock three times sharply on said door, not wanting to waste a second of time.

Somebody I do not know answers the door. Do they even still live here? Is that why I feel out of place?

I look him over. He is tall, pale, has black hair and reddish eyes and wears a butler's clothes. His facial features remind me of my father in a way. I am relieved to find that the head butler pin is attached to his lapel. This is most certainly still the home of Phantomhive. Though, I do not know why Tanaka, the old butler has been replaced.

"Good afternoon," he says. I notice a flash of recognition in his eyes, or perhaps I imagine it. I have never seen this man before in my life."My master is not expecting guests at this time and is rather busy. I am afraid if you want to meet with him, you will have to schedule it for a later date."

If it had been somebody I'd know, it would have been much easier for me, and I would have known what to say, but instead I'm faced with a complete stranger.
I decide to ask for my father. I can explain everything to him.

"Uh," I begin, "Please could you tell him that it's Anastasia. He'll know what you mean."

The butler gives me an odd look. Something that I cannot recognise and shows absolutely no pointers as to what he is thinking. "As you wish."

He steps back inside, and I stand - albeit awkwardly - in the doorway. I don't even venture into the entrance hall. I brace myself for what is to come. The rest of the time I spend looking at my shoelaces. I admit; I'm nervous.

The butler returns in a matter of minutes. "Come this way," he says, and I nod, following him inside the mansion.

As I walk I notice slight differences; the flooring is similar to the previous, yet not the same stuff, likewise for the furniture. The same wrong feeling surrounds me as it did outside. Another thing I notice that is very off, is that the portrait of my mother and father that used to hang over the main stairwell is gone. I realise what the wrong feeling is. The mansion no longer feels like home for me.

We reach my father's study. I take a deep breath, though not even slightly ready for what is about to happen.

As the door is opened by the strange butler that I do not know, I fully expect to see my father, seated there, though that is not what meets my eyes. Instead, my it is brother sitting there, looking straight at me with an expression that I have never seen cross his face before. He looks as if he hates me. Maybe he is right to.

I do not know why he is there, and not our father. I open my mouth to speak, but I am cut short.

"Where were you?" he demands coldly.

"I-" I begin.

"We looked everywhere for you," he cuts me off again. "You should be dead!"

His conviction cuts me like a knife, though it is probably true. Perhaps I really should be.

"I'm... sorry," I force out. "I had to go." The last part is barely audible.

"We looked for six months," he says icily. "We were told at that point it was most likely you had been killed."

"I'm sorry," I repeat. "I'm so sorry. I had to leave, it was the only way to keep you all safe. If I hadn't they would have come after you and I..." I trail off.

"They?" he questions. "Who are they?"

"I can't tell you," I mumble "They'll kill you."

"Why did you come back?"

"I had no other choice. It was my last resort. They'd found me everywhere else I've been."

I'm not sure what he thinks of that. He doesn't reply.

I admit; I'm not used to my brother acting in such a way at all. Maybe it is because he hasn't seen me in so long or that he thought I was dead? I would probably act similarly if a dead person appeared in my house one day. Though still, it seems something has changed in my little brother, though I am not sure of what. I don't excel in reading people.

I finally decide to ask the question that has been eating at me since I arrived.

"Where is father?" Perhaps my mother and father are out somewhere and have led my brother at home. Though, that does not explain why he's sitting playing Earl.
He noticeably stiffens at my question and my blood runs cold. Could something have happened? No... not possible-

My train of thought is cut off by his harsh voice.

"Father is dead."

My heart sinks and I begin to shake.

"You aren't serious!" I exclaim.

"I would not lie about such a thing," he says.

My knees feel weak. I crash to the floor, still in shock. "What of Mother?" I whisper, shakily.

"Mother and Father both died in a fire three years ago. I am the sole survivor."

I haven't cried in years. The last time was when I ran away. I cried because I missed my family. I cried because I was scared. The only thing that kept me sane on dark nights when I was all alone was the prospect of one day returning to my home, of seeing my family's smiling faces once more. Tears spill from my eyes. The tears I cried before were of loneliness. These are a different type of tears. These are of devastation; something I have never truly felt before in my eighteen years of existence. Everything I told myself was lies. I never would see my family again.

Was there even any point of me leaving? I had left to keep my family safe, but in my absence I had done the very opposite of that. If I'd stayed I could have prevented their deaths. It was my fault. I had killed my parents.

Tears stop falling. I can't cry anymore, I have cried every tear possible to cry. I now lie face down on the ground, unmoving. It's strange how in one split second everything can come crashing down on oneself. I never imagined how this could happen. I never thought that one day everything I cared about would be torn away from me with one word: 'Dead'.

They're dead. Dead. Dead. They're dead. Mother and father. They will never come back. I am alone in this world, aren't I?

Do I have anything left to live for? Maybe I should let myself be taken by them once and for all. Now, all I am left with is my brother, who is practically a stranger to me.
I lift my head up slightly, my vision blurred. I look at him. He sits back on the chair, his face showing a look of regret. He's watching me with careful eyes. I couldn't begin to imagine what he has gone through, all alone and thinking all his family was dead. Thinking I was dead. I could have been there for him, through it all, but instead I'd left with seemingly worthless intentions and left my brother all alone, with everything to carry on his shoulders.

I was wrong. I am not alone, and I do have something to live for; Ciel.