A/N: My first assumed romance fanfic just so happens to be my first Black Butler fanfic too!

It is very Grell-centered since I find that he's a fascinating character. I really loved the Jack the Ripper arc and really enjoyed the dynamics between him and Madam Red. I always thought it possible that Grell was fascinated with her femininity and her blood-red clothes. Here, I offer you my vision of what may have happened in Grell's mind, or at least, what I'd have liked to have happened...

Hope you enjoy ^^

Madam's Scent

Grell liked to wear his Madam's clothes. That was just one of the things that a butler should never do and that he did nonetheless. No other butler in the world would even dare touch their master's clothes. None but him.

For his Madam was Beauty itself and everything she owned was hence bathed in the Beauty's glow. For everything she's ever worn was marked by her scent... The scent of her body and the scent of blood. She could've washed her clothes as much as she wanted, the sense of the smell that the grim reapers possess was much more pronounced than the one of the humans. And the scent of blood was the reapers' favorite. But her clothes... Her clothes not only smelled of the blood of their victims, her clothes also had her passion incrusted in them. The passion she had for killing stayed in the clothes in which she killed and lingered around the clothes in which she thought about her murders. Then there was her passion for revenge. And her passion for hatred. The passion with which she hated all those people who were given everything and who wouldn't appreciate it, while she would kill to have what they did. It was beautiful. Even more beautiful was the fact that she did kill for that. She would kill the ungrateful ones. She would kill hoping to reduce her pain. But the passionate fire of hatred could never be extinguished. Its pain could only be diminished by allowing another fire to burn. The fire of love. The passion of hatred could only be paralleled by the passion with which she was able to love.

Grell didn't know at that moment that it was love that would kill Madam Red. Now that he thinks of it, he could have expected it. She sincerely loved her nephew. And Grell knew the strength with which she was able to love. Grell smelled it on her clothes. Grell felt it on his own body. Then why didn't he see the imminence of her death?

So many times he would have gone in her closet when she was soundly asleep, and he would put on her clothes. He would prance around the room in her bulky and extravagant dresses, he would hop around in her more casual clothes, he would act like a lady of good company and sometimes, just sometimes...

The thought of it made Grell smile. Who in this world and in the other one would have the audacity to do what he did? Who in the realm of the humans and reapers would dare... Who could... Who could ever dare... Strangely, those were the memories that made Grell's throat tighten the most frequently. Not their Jack the Ripper escapades. Not the tea parties. But those... Sometimes, Grell would wear his Madam's nightgowns. She had many of those. Each one more beautiful and more feminine than the other. Some of them were made of satin. Others were made of silk. Some were plain. Others had elaborated embroidery or lace decorations over them. Contrary to all the heavy clothes that his Madam wore, her nightgowns were light... Incredibly light... Light and soft like feathers. And all smelled beautifully. Some were transparent. Some touched the ground and some others were as short as no skirt could ever be. Wearing those, he looked almost like a woman himself. In those moments, he was happy.

He would come in her closet night after night. Sometimes, he wouldn't wear her clothes. Sometimes, breathing in the scent she left in them was enough. But when the passion within the scent would become too present and weighing too heavily on Grell, beckoning, beckoning, beckoning... He would give in and wear his Madam's clothes. Her dresses were for when he missed her figure... No... They were when he wanted her figure, when he wanted her figure to be his, for him to be like her... And her nightgowns were for the nights when he wanted her.

Could a grim reaper fall in love with a human? And was it love or desire that he felt in those moments?

At first, he decided to describe that feeling as passion. Passion was something that he knew very well and, as for Madam Red, it made perfect sense to be associated with passion. Madam Red was the human representation of passion. She was burning with passion and, one day, she would be consumed by that passion... Besides, Red was the color of passion.

Red was the color of love...

One day, his Madam woke up in the middle of the night. I felt you calling me here, she said, once he noticed that she was watching him. When she arrived at her closet, before he could know that she was watching him through the slit in the door, Madam could see what her butler was doing when she thought her asleep.

That night, Grell was wearing a transparent red nightgown of hers. It was her shortest gown. It would make his Madam look sexy, he thought. Yet Grell looked so vulnerable in it. He was standing in front of the mirror, looking at the shape of his body. No hips, no breasts. His red hair was falling in a wild cascade over his shoulders, and yet... Yet he looked somehow sad. His hands started to fiddle the bottom of the gown. It barely came to the middle of his tights. He then raised his left hand to his lips and touched them, closing his eyes. He couldn't know that Angelina was assisting to the scene and was watching him through the semi-open door of the closet. He breathed a deep and loud sigh, his right hand holding the edge of the gown even tighter. He opened his eyes. He lowered his left hand from his lips down to his neck. The next thing that he did was hugging his own body with his arms, moving them slowly, slowly, slowly, until the embrace was complete.

- That's my gown, take it off.

Grell jumped back. Madam's voice burst the bubble he created, only that he wasn't sure what was that bubble anymore. For the first time in his lifetime, he felt ridiculous.

- Y...yes, Madam.

It wasn't in Grell's habit to stutter once that he was in his reaper's form. Yet now, he didn't feel like putting an act on. He took off the gown, but before he could look for his own clothes, Angelina stopped him with another comment.

- Your teeth. They're too sharp. Too sharp to be worn with that gown.

Grell passed his tongue over his sharp fangs and the shark-like teeth took a human form.

- That's better Grell, much better — Angelina now spoke with a slower, almost sensual voice, as she was moving closer.

- Now tell me the truth — she became serious once again — What are you doing in my closet? Why were you wearing my gown?

- I'm an actress! — said Grell, resuming his extravagant act — and Madam has so many beautiful costumes! I was experimenting...

- Liar.

Grell stopped with his act. Madam Red looked furious. She started walking towards him.

- Liar! — she spoke louder as she approached — Liar! Liar! Liar!

She was almost shouting by the end. She sprang towards him and grabbed him by the hair on both sides of his head. She angrily pulled him closer to her face, but once that he was close enough, she released the hold on his hair and slid her hands toward his cheeks, cupping his face.

- Your teeth, Grell — she said, the anger suddenly leaving her voice and her tone dropping to a whisper — they're sharp again. They shouldn't be sharp right now.

Grell felt hypnotized by Angelina's look.

- Your teeth...

As soon as Grell passed his tongue over his teeth and smoothed them one more time, Angelina kissed him.

His Madam was wearing a long nightgown kept closed with five buttons. A nightgown that her curves filled much better than Grell filled her other one mere moments ago. A nightgown that soundlessly fell on the floor once that its buttons were undone. That night, Grell could breathe Madam Red's perfume directly from her body.

Madam Red was resting over Grell's chest on her bed covered with red sheets. Since that night when she discovered Grell trying on her clothes, they became lovers. In situations such as these, Grell's teeth would not have their typical, razor-sharp look, for despite how much he and his Madam loved the sight of blood, Angelina didn't want that blood to come from her own lips. Yet from time to time, when the kiss of the night would put their bodies on fire, Angelina Durless would end up with some bloody red marks on her skin. She would make Grell pay for every single one of them, but it was more of a gift than a punishment. Red was the color they both loved.

Red was the color of passion.

Sometimes, they would go out and paint the city in the color they both loved. They would go out and paint the bland and unfortunate faces of ungrateful women in the color of their dreams and passion. That was the least they could do... Those women all carried Grell's and Angelina's dream within themselves, and they all chose to toss it away... The price to pay for their ungratefulness would be death. Death and the taste of the color of Grell's and Angelina's /other/ dream...

When Madam Red would be covered with the blood of her victims, blood dripping from her clothes, blood soaking her hair, Grell found her at her most beautiful. The Color she made splash around her, the Color she bathed her hands into, was as vivid as the sparkles in her eyes. In those moments, she was fierce; she was almost like himself... Almost...

And yet, at other moments, she would seem to fade away. She spied on him that one time, when she caught him wearing her clothes, but he, he could spy on her even more often. Oftentimes, he wouldn't even need to look at her when she was unaware to notice those things that she would want to hide. Grim reapers were superior to humans in more than one way... Grim reapers could sense the mortal people's moods; they could know those things that people wanted to keep hidden. Madam Red was a woman of good company, always present during the big events and parties, never missing on a social occasion... On her face, she was always wearing the mask of a jolly and eccentric woman, the one who would always find a way to have fun. Her face and her attitude were saying that, at least. But her scent, oh... Her scent was telling a whole other story. She could wear perfume, but this scent perked through... On her body, she was carrying the smell of wounds, the smell of an unattained happiness and desperate clinging to the little that's been left to her. It was almost touching. But above all, there was that bloody ghost of melancholy that was looming over her at every moment of her life... Even when she was at her fiercest, even when she was killing, there she was, the great Melancholy... Her, and her friend Sadness would keep their eye on his Madam Red at every waking moment of her life, and Melancholy would often stay even longer, entering her sleep, covering her in the place of the sheets in her bed. That melancholy made her inexplicably attractive to Grell. Once, he has heard her weeping in her room. Even if he was forbidden to enter, he opened the door. That night, the smell of sadness, grief and that great mistress Melancholy was overbearing. So he decided to wipe it away himself. Even killing couldn't make Melancholy fly away and leave his Madam at peace, but he... He would try to make it go away. It became not only a challenge for him, but also necessity. And just as the time where his Madam chased Melancholy away from Grell when she found him trying on her clothes, this time, he will make Melancholy go away from her.

But despite everything that he tried, Melancholy was still there. Its distinctive aroma stuck to Madam Red's skin and would...could...never vanish. Even their lovemaking was always bathed in Melancholy. So instead of fighting it, Grell learned to embrace it. He learned to love the scent of Melancholy, because Melancholy was one of the great components of his dear Madam's scent. And he loved his Madam Red. He first started to love her in those moments when she was killing the ungrateful whores who were throwing away God's gift to them... He then loved her act... The world was a great theater and Madam Angelina was a great actress. Not one in the high society would have seen through her game, not one could have accused her of the murders... Not one... Until the one she loved the most and his pitch black butler caught them... He loved her even then, he loved her even now, all those years after that dreadful moment, when the blood-red curtain of life fell on the stage, ending their time together. Melancholy, sticky as honey and loving as his own Madam had been was now looming over him as well.

When he started loving her for everything else, he could not remember. He was already in love in that time when he looked over her killings from the high roofs of London... He was already completely enamored at the point at which the bittersweet pain was sweeping over him at the regular intervals in that time when he used to enter her closet and try on her clothes... Those moments... Those will still remain some of his most powerful memories... He wanted to merge with her scent, to be one with what he loved so much, he wanted to imprint as much of her as he could into his skin... And she found him there and allowed him to bathe in her perfume in ways he never thought he could imagine. A woman, she was... And what he felt towards her was love indeed. Yet, for so long, he hadn't felt such a physical attraction to a woman. He'd see himself as one of them, rather than trying to merge with them. But with Madam Red, everything was different. She was no ordinary woman. And what he felt for her surpassed mere physical attraction; what he felt for her surpassed even love. What he felt was longing. Longing such as he has never known. Madam Red was all his and he would get drunk on her perfume.

One night, he led his love to her death. She was painted in red. Yet after she had failed to carry the deed that night, red didn't fit her anymore. That was the only moment when he couldn't bear to see her wearing red... Whenever else he'd remember his love, his lady, his Madam Red, she would be wearing garish red clothes. Today, he couldn't even remember what she looked like naked. He has seen her wearing nothing but her bare skin more than once, he has seen her at her most vulnerable, as her most beautiful... But of those moments, he remembered nothing. He couldn't remember the look of her naked body, or the feel of her curves against his. Of those moments, he could only remember her scent. All the other memories with Madam Red would have her dressed in red. All, save for that one, in which she would appear to him pale and ghastly... That one memory, in which he snatched her coat away from her, the coat carrying in it all the power of her perfume, her thirst for blood, her unconditional love for that nephew of hers and for him, Grell Sutcliff, as well as the ever-powerful feeling of Melancholy. All of those were there, marked in her scent, imprisoned in her coat.

Red was the color of passion. Red was the color of love. Oh how she loved her nephew... That little boy was very lucky, Grell had always thought that. Not only he always had all the cute guys protecting him, but he also had her, his loving aunt. He would have mocked that base human feeling of love if he hadn't tasted it as well. Maybe he was angry at himself for having fallen so low? Love... When he cut through Madam Red's body, killing her on the spot, did he want to kill every remnant of his own ability to love with her? If Madam Red was no longer to roam the Earth, then there would be nothing to remind him of his own downfall. In that moment though, in that moment when Madam Red acknowledged her inability to kill the boy, it all came to him. She couldn't kill the boy because she loved him. Love makes people weak. They aren't able to kill those that they love. But he, Grell Sutcliff, he isn't human. And he can kill with no regret. And so he killed the one that he loved the most.

The red curtains fell on the scene. Red with his Madam's blood. Red as the token he stole from her.

He killed her. He killed the one that he loved. Love makes men weak, but he's no man as such. Love wouldn't make him weak. Yet, as he stood there, contemplating the corpse of the one he once loved the most; he realized that he could not abandon her. Not completely. Not a moment after his death scythe cut through her flesh, he started feeling a deep cut through his own being, a cut much more painful than the cut of death. The cut that ran through him was one of pain, one of guilt, and, more frighteningly, one that foreshadowed Melancholy. When he laid his eyes on Madam Red once again, hoping to see her standing up and slap him, he was hit once again with terror. What has he done? She was laying there in front of him, vulnerable, weak, and all painted red.

No...

His eyes widened at the spectacle before him. Madam was dead. Time seemed to slow down, every spark of a moment taking an eternity in its own right. He had painted her red.

No...

This couldn't be. Madam Red was dead. Madam Red was dead! By his fault! He had killed her! He was the one who had painted her red. Anger stormed through him one more time. She was not fit to be clad in red. She was not fit to be painted in red! She was not made to die like this! In order to stop himself from screaming and falling over her red body and start shaking with sobs, he started sermoning the corpse. Telling her that he has no need of her, when she's just another ordinary woman. No, no, no... While he only wanted to take her in his arms once more... To bury his head in her chest and to cry all the tears of this world into her bleeding bosom. But he couldn't take her with him. Not one piece of...

He could! He could take a piece of her! At least one thing... One... One little thing that he will have to remember her. Her coat, stained with her blood. Oh, the blood would wash away, that's for sure! Besides, he couldn't allow himself to wear blood-stained clothes! The blood will wash away... But the scent will remain.

So Grell could flip his hair and run away, or try to. The boy his Madam loved so much ordered his butler to kill him. That night, Grell too almost lost his life. Had he died then, things might have been different. He might have joined Madam Red in the Afterlife, begging her to take him back in her service, begging her to forgive him, to offer him a look, a touch, anything... He would say that he loved her, something that he never said, and he would say that love makes people and grim reapers do stupid things alike. He doubted that she would have forgiven him, even if things had happened that way. But at least, he would be able to be close to her, to see her, even pale and ghastly. But it didn't happen that way. He lived. He was saved. He didn't get to die and meet his Madam back in the Afterlife. He lived! And he had a piece of Madam's clothing to forever remind him what he had done, but also what he had lived for, these several months of his eternal life, the best that he's ever had.

Grell always loved wearing his Madam's clothes. Back when he was her butler and when she was still alive as well as today, years after her death... He still wore her coat, that coat that reminded him so dearly of his love and of the day of her demise. He would carry that coat with him until the eternity kisses the end of times and when men and grim reapers alike meet their final rest. That coat will stay with him up till then and then forever, even after the Eternity's final goodbye. That coat that, within its folds, will always hold his Madam's scent.

END

A/N: Long after her death, Grell keeps wearing Angelina's coat. This is but my insight of why it may be so. I like to think that there was love in their relationship.

What do you think?

Don't forget to drop me the review telling me what you thought about the story, whether you like it or not ^^ As for me, I love every single of my readers, and I'm really curious as to know what do you think about my writing ^^

I really liked writing for Kuroshitsuji, so stay tuned, new fanfics may come :)

~ Lots of Love from LooneyZampy ~