The glass was effortlessly batted away by a white gloved hand, forcing it to deviate from its intended path before exploding upon contact with the marble floor.

"HOW DARE YOU!" Chest heaving, teeth bared; the Marchioness made her temper known with enraged eyes and raised voice. The Earl remained still, meeting her gaze calmly.
"Auntie, I had hoped you would understand. Your husband is not only a Marquis, but a loyal Knight of Queen Victoria." Ciel began coolly. "You should know all too well the burden of duty and how sacrifices must be made."
"You act like my brother," Frances glowered, "as though your words and actions are to be admired by others- as though you are being gallant and heroic. You are nothing but a coward, do you hear me? A COWARD!" The last insult hurled at him the way she had hurled the crystal glass moments before.
"Queen Victoria has notified me of approaching danger now that the Spider's line has been destroyed." He continued, ignoring his aunt's outburst. "I need to go into hiding so I may not only preserve my life, but continue serving Her Majesty and the Empire."

"She is your betrothed, need I remind you that?" The fearsome Lady sat down once again, controlling her anger enough to put up her icy veneer. "A Lady will follow and aid her husband, whatever the cause. She will be his strength and his refuge- have all your mother's teachings been for naught?"
"Please understand, Marchioness- Auntie, that I am doing this for Lady Elizabeth's safety. If we were to be wed, danger would stalk her shadow at every turn."
"And you think as the wife of one of the Empire's most respected Knights I am a stranger to such risks?" She looked at him, expression a mask of disbelief. "That when Rachel married my brother- your father, she was oblivious to your father's role as the Queen's Watchdog? Or that Angelina felt completely at ease with the knowledge the Baron was French royalty directly connected to the Revolution?"

The Marchioness stood, as though idleness only aggravated her further. She paced, her heels clicking against the cold marble in an erratic rhythm.
"We women are not oblivious, oh no, we see everything and what I see before me is a disgrace not only to my husband's title, but also to mine." Her voice remained level, though her eyes seethed. She drew her sword, pointing it at him both in an accusatory and threatening gesture. "You are not the heir of House Phantomhive. That child died in the fire all those years ago, along with his parents."

You are correct, Marchioness. The boy stood, his ever loyal butler leaving his side to fetch his coat. No words needed to be exchanged- this conversation was clearly over.

What surprised him was not his aunt's outburst, but Elizabeth's silence. She remained seated beside her mother's now empty chair, blinking slowly at him. There were no panicked words, no hasty steps that led to tight embraces and not even any wailing sobs. Just silence and a level, unflinching gaze.
"I must take my leave, Lizzie."
"Elizabeth," she corrected, "for 'Lizzie' no longer befits a young Lady."
"Then farewell, Lady Elizabeth Middleford." Ciel fell into a deep bow. "My sincerest apologies for breaking off our engagement. I wish you all the happiness in the world." What a sweet smile- oh he knew how to pretend so well! Elizabeth almost laughed if not for the hot tears clinging to her eyes as she fiercely bid them no permission to fall.
"Farewell, Earl Ciel Phantomhive. Good luck with the Queen's orders." She smiled brightly; ladies were far better liars than little boys and twisted men.

The Middleford women watched as the Earl took his leave, his butler but a pace behind.
"We will find you a better man, Elizabeth." Frances vowed, never taking her eyes off the boy until he descended the steps and boarded his carriage. "One who is not a coward and a liar. One who would never shame his Lady."
"Then you would have me married to a saint, mother, and saints do not exist in these bleak times." Elizabeth leaned tiredly against her side, hand clutching her mother's skirt and betraying the strong image she presented. "Let me winter two more years before you and father seek another family."
"And what of these two years we shall grant you?" Frances turned her eyes to her daughter, inwardly beaming with pride at her pursed lips and stiff chin. Just like that, her child was grown; her spirit forged from betrayal.
"I will become a Lady worthy of standing at her husband's side, and not behind him with her eyes cast at her feet." Finally, finally she let a few tears have their way. She sank into her mother's embrace, the usually stoic woman gathering her heartbroken daughter close to ease her pain with maternal love.

"Marchioness," the soft voice of a maid by the door, "Lady Elizabeth's tutor is here." A nod to dismiss her. Gently she coaxed Elizabeth from her embrace, procuring a kerchief to clean her face.
"You best be off to your singing lesson, Elizabeth. We will discuss this with your father tonight."
"Yes mother." A formal curtsy before she made her way back to her room with her shoulders squared.

He hated this body and every time he slipped into it, he felt so ill he wanted to crawl right back out. Ah but this game was proving far too delicious, this drama unfolding far too well to abandon. He would put up with this disgusting, trembling body if it meant he could watch another spiderlily slowly unfurl its spindly petals.

"Grell sir?"
"H-hello Lady Elizabeth." A clumsy bow (gravity never did tend to agree with him when he was trapped in a mortal shell).
"Before we start our lesson, may I ask a favour of you?" The little blonde held something behind her back, keeping it hidden from his sight as she approached.
"I-if it is within my a-ability, of c-c-course." He stammered (God this mouth was so small!).
"Can you cut my hair like Auntie Angelina's?" She offered him a knife and he could not help but stare at her (rudely!) with his mouth open.
"L-l-lady Elizabeth! I couldn't possibly- why, your mother would- and your father-" The stammering was genuine this time as he watched her remove the ribbons and pins from her hair, letting the tightly wound curls to fall about her shoulders limply.
"It will get in the way." She declared stubbornly, urging him to take the knife in her hand. "Mother keeps hers tied back under her helm, but I always liked Auntie An's short hair. She always made the other ladies jealous of her bravery." And I want to be brave too.

"Y-y-you are sure?" Grell swallowed thickly as he accepted the knife. "Ladies will ridicule you..."
"Ladies already ridicule me." Elizabeth laughed, the sound so hollow and foreign. "They ridicule my mother for allowing a daughter to indulge in sweets and parties at thirteen years of age when she should be grooming her for marriage."

The girl lunged suddenly, grabbing his wrists and yanking him closer. Desperation mixed with the tears in her eyes.
"He didn't leave me for my safety, he left because he didn't want me!" Elizabeth, for all her resolve, couldn't stop herself from crying. "He left me because I annoyed him and I was too much like a child-"
"You are a child!" Grell interrupted.
"NO!" She screamed, pushing him away. "I don't want to be a child anymore! I want to be a Lady, strong and respected like mother and Auntie An! I want people to admire me, not pity me! I want to earn their love instead of seeing false smiles! I am tired of being lied to! I am tired of pretending I don't know he values that butler more than me!"

Her voice dropped to a whisper and she slumped against him, hands clutching his coat.
"So please...please cut my hair and kill that awful, useless child once and for all?" Grell could scarcely believe himself to be awake. Was this the same child who dressed everyone in bonnets and lace? The same child who ordered banquets of sweets and pastries? The same child who waltzed to his opera and smiled so innocently for her fiancee?

Taking the knife, he grasped her fine locks and sliced the curls away. They fluttered to the floor as she wept, sobbing openly as though willing herself to weep now and then never again for herself.
"He chose a butler." She choked for breath, hands pressed to her chest. "He chose a butler over me."
"He chose a life in Hell." Grell laughed darkly, shaking his head. He felt a hand tug his ponytail.
"Teach me La Traviata today?" There before him stood a young Lady with hair shorn close to her head, cut sharply to frame her face even more boyishly than Angelina's style. "And then take me to the fencing hall. I wish to learn how to handle a rapier like my mother and father."
"Yes, my Lady." And though his smile was far sharper than she was used to, Elizabeth found she much preferred him when his green eyes dared to hint at mischief.

"You aren't human, are you?" Soft fingertips tracing the curve of his jaw.
"No, and neither was he when he left you." Why hide such facts from her when she had long earned the truth? Grell smiled, baring his sharp teeth as she forced a tired laugh.
"So he did truly choose Hell over me."
"He chose power and the Devil helped him attain it." The Reaper corrected, helping his Lady into her stark white uniform. She had kept him and he had let her keep him a decade on from her rebirth. He didn't mind, not when her courage and determination reminded him of his Madam Red all those years ago.

"I hope he regrets every waking moment." Elizabeth unsheathed the rapier at her side and held it upright before her. "But I thank him for breaking my heart so I could forge a much stronger one to take its place." Grell chuckled, dutifully handing her the helm to complete her uniform.
"Chevaleresse." Grell addressed her formally, falling to one knee in respect. "The mantle of bravery befits you."

A sudden, girlish laugh.
"Mother! Father is home! Quick quick!" Just like that, her steely, determined expression fell away to reveal a smile lovely and kind.
"Come Angelina, lead the way!" Elizabeth laughed, ushering her daughter out of the room. Grell stood, watching her shepherd her child down the hallway towards the grand doors. His job here was done for the night.

He shed the frail, mortal disguise and it was with great relief that he ran a hand through his red red hair. Opening a window, he leapt out onto the neighbouring rooftop elegantly. Arching like a cat stretching, he tucked his hands in his hair and aired the carmine locks in the chilly night. It felt good to be himself once more.

A flash of red out of the corner of his sight. The Reaper whirled suddenly, Deathscythe in his grasp. A moment to assess the situation, another to relax and a third to laugh.

Ciel Phantomhive- or what remained of him after Hell twisted his soul. The forever young Earl stood atop a spire, blinking owlishly at the Reaper. Grell's laugh relaxed into a fit of giggling as he put together what had been happening- the boy had been watching her all these years, for what semblance of humanity remained in him was attached to her.

The Red Reaper said nothing, only curtsying to the young Demon and blowing a kiss to the Demon lurking in the shadow of the spire, before taking off into the night.

Ah little Earl, what a fool you are. You let the most delicious soul of them all slip from your very fingers and now you cling to your memories and the ghost of what could have been.