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He doesn’t notice the callouses, even when she stops wearing gloves to conceal them.
(He sees nothing, if it is not his butler.)
She has always been afraid he will see her lie. When she first meets his butler, she becomes terrified of what will happen if she ever sees his.
She makes daisy chains and brings him baubles and sweets (he only likes things that are sweet) and tries to get him to smile.
Smile.
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She wears hers bravely as she goes through his things, as what passes as his closest of kin. She isn’t sure if she really finds what she is looking for, but she finds something.
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She wears high heels to his funeral.
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When she asks the Undertaker for help, she pays for it by telling him what she intends to do.
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The Queen, she thinks, doesn’t need a watchdog, so much as a tiger. She bows before Her Majesty and slides the only ring she’ll ever wear onto her left ring finger.
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She hears a voice behind her and is unsurprised at it’s familiarity.
Don’t turn around.
She listens. Understands the choice. Understands what there is to be gained. Oh Ciel... Ciel...
And lost.
She thinks Sebastian is surprised when she says no.
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Years later, swords limp in her hands, she sees a familiar face and manages to smile.
“I’m glad it’s you,” her fingers brush, catch, smear red on red, “I always thought you were beautiful.”
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Paula wears bells to hers.