Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji.

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You gaze upon the world with sapphire eyes that glimmer with a thousands years. Eyes that have seen everything, be they possible or impossible, inextricable or avoidable. Eyes masking tragic tales twisted in darkness. Eyes rimmed with such childlike innocence only your butler can penetrate to reveal the caustic ugliness within.

Of all gemstones in existence, sapphire is likely to have the most connotations of sagacity and mystique. It whispers of wisdom and royalty; of prophecy and divineness; of resplendence shrouding hopes of protection and fortune; and most aptly, of promises meant to be kept shattering along with lives long lost.

One of the two eyes has been traded for a life condemned to incarceration in the pits of hell.

Try all you will to conceal all signs of your contract with death. An eye-patch the colour of night splays across your right eye, hovering protectively over the orb that sports the intricate seal like a guardian angel, but it does little to deceive yourself of its absence. The aforementioned outcome will ultimately remain inevitable, after all.

Bathed in the silver moonlight, your eyelids flutter close and you instinctively brace yourself for the flash of pain. For the mélange of indescribable emotions that always surface whenever you acknowledge how weak you truly are. For the feeling of pure emotionlessness as you remember traipsing across the room towards the unfeeling darkness, palpitating heart matching its impassivity as your feet trod on motionless body after body of your assailants. For the shrill sickening screams that reverberate in your head for hours and hours on end, only for you to jolt awake, drenched in cold sweat, realising with a thud that they are ghosts of your own.

Young Master. A look of almost revolted contempt never fails to flit across your face at the phrase of verisimilar affection. Perhaps you are forgetting, Young Master, that the contract is irreversible. Or perhaps your soul has grown to be something you hold dear. Either way is inconsequential. Shortly after you have succeeded in achieving the revenge you so desire, I will consume your soul.

I am your butler, a stalwart pillar of support constantly lingering by your side. By the light of day, I am but a mere servant, flittering swiftly through mundane daily chores, always seen but not heard. But by the darkness of night, I transform into a ruthless being of nature, a coldhearted demon imbued with the ability to kill without the bat of an eyelid.

Self-control is of utmost importance for a butler of a noble household. A butler must never, under any circumstances reveal his true colours, even if the threshold of his resilience is tried and bile rises in his throat. Every split second is spent waiting for the simple refined lilt of your command to pierce the silence and call forth the demon that lurks within the depths of my soul.

And I shall continue to wait for your command, as life is a chessboard, an ominous black-and-white-checkered battlefield, permeated by the eternal encumbering fear of the unknown. Hesitate for even the most infinitesimal of moments, and the golden opportunity to deliver a fatal strike will slip from your grasp, leaving the only possible path the option of forging ahead courageously, past gilded defences, until the king clatters against the cool surface of the board.

You are a double-edged sword honed by bitterness, not a pathetic, frivolous lump of self-pity. Your ever-disintegrating world is framed by a sharp fence of power, not the acquiescent, blurred edges the healing abilities of time have reduced it to.

As a loyal pawn in your hand, I will not allow you to fall into the web of decrepitude.

Now, lead me into checkmate, Young Master.

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Published 12 August 2013

[Vignette: n. a small illustration or portrait photograph that fades into its background without a definite border.]

A/N: Most random and nonsensical drabble I've written to date. Canon-compliant. Occurs around episode 22 of season 1 of the anime, in which Ciel pisses Sebastian off, causing him to question if he's starting to treasure his soul/regret selling his soul.
(also, this isn't my usual writing style - I just made it darker/deeper because it's set in the 19th century)

Thanks for reading! Please review.

~TLoC