Chapter Text
OCTOBER O9TH, 49O7 — 1O:39
Hunger in its rawest form, he drools an unbearably lot; the whimpers of a starved stray become incoherent whispers alongside the wordless tenacity of an endless search for what he longingly fiends. Ciel Phantomhive recognizes no manner that would prove its worth in satisfying this devotion to discover profound interest in something in his —more than— fairly drab life that continues to slowly drag on, a need so insatiable it claws away at his rotting insides.
Sometimes, he still feels it—normalcy. Sacriligiously so.
In spite of the fact that the many years have grown on him enough to consider losing hope for these certain notions, Ciel doesn’t quite recall what it feels like to have the wants of a greedy human. However, he craves something similar to human warmth; chewing on the bloody tenderness of a medium-rare cooked steak that has long ago lost its assuaging flavor, tongue swiftly extending to lap at the bloody juice which trickles down his chin when he miscalculates where his mouth is; then tapped away by a cloth made of supreme silk. ¿Has even eating become a dull task he must complete to still feel as though he is still himself? Woeful eyes gleam a tainted hue of guilty red, for that is the color of his confined greed, exchanging glances with the raven silently perched at his shoulder. Not in a physical sense, but it almost feels that way by how annoyingly close he is.
There is no room to breathe, and although he does not need air to live any longer than he’s already tediously lived, he suffocates on the other sole presence in this spacious, nonetheless hollow, dining room. Ciel’s digits clutch at the cutlery as he retaliates towards the hounding demon using daggers born of his angry eyes to scowl at him, before shoving them aside as he abruptly stands from his seat. “I’ve lost my appetite,” he mutters with a huffed sigh. Rather, he recalls he has stupidly and undoubtedly lost everything in itself, unable to truly whine without appearing childish; as all is his fault. “I shall retire for the evening.”
In the distant past, he would have most likely begun to document whatever research he could find in such a short amount of time on a new case assigned by Her Majesty, the Queen, but there is no longer any Queen to serve. The United Kingdom is no more. Earth has divided, torn as numerous new nations sprouted from its predecessors, and all there is now are three powerful Kingdoms—as well as one dominating Empire which formidably reigns over all else that he has ever known.
With many failed attempts to invade the certain Empire, it's no wonder such a grand place rules its commendable continent with such esteemed power. Ciel has made it his eternal life mission to find whatever means to enter safely into this Empire, for he has yet to explore its abundance of limitless landscapes.
Heavily guarded by a loyal lot of robust knights standing guard under direct orders of one woman known as the commander of its sentry, who additionally only listens to one person after the fact —Her Imperial Majesty, the Sovereign Empress Mariella Fata Estelle de Amaterasu. A reigning monarch who took the throne from her father at the ripe age of eight who stands at the center of his denied entry to scavenge the large world. A dominant Empress who has authoritatively reigned the Empire for the past three-thousand years without fail, one who has stood grand with her rightful crown on her head in matters of opposing nations who wished to steal the right to the throne.
The sought-after woman who has yet to be married, nevertheless betrothed. He’s heard of countless marriage proposals which have been constantly rejected and ignored for the simple —rumored— reason that she has a very specific reason for why the thrones alongside her have sat in idle solitude for many long years. Regardless of the fact that Her Imperial Majesty has many paramours in an odalisque she keeps at arm’s length for the —other— fact that she’s expressed her evident dislike for true love. In its stead, Ciel has figured out the real truth behind her reason for denying the many requests of her hand, although they’re more than suitable to stand alongside her.
Her Imperial Majesty has a type.
Not the kind of thing he would expect from someone who does all she can for her Empire, such as producing a powerful heir to the throne as well as many high-standard children that would, without a doubt, help her influence strengthen further within her Sovereiginity. However, he guesses there’s something about her that certainly gives her the right to act this way in front of her loyal subjects. Not that he has ever even seen an image of her, for he has no interest in such matters as well as what little sense it makes to even think so mindlessly about a woman he does not know, but he assumes she must be an outstanding beauty to have these principles of such caliber.
Despite that, the letter which his hand holds as he readily skims over its letters hooks him, piquing his interest. “Sebastian,” he calls, and the devil shall be summoned at once. Locks of an onyx hue sway within the cold of the breeze venting from the open window behind his master, a gloved hand where his heart should be. Though, Ciel knows better than to think that. “¿Have you forgotten how formidable an opponent Her Imperial Majesty, the Empress, is?” Wrinkling his brow, the boy habitually throws a trinket at his demonic butler, who easily evades the flying object.
“I’ve not, master.”
“Then,” a single, cerulean iris welcomes the abrupt change of color. A strong crimson, slightly fuchsia, resonating deep in his reflective gaze. “¿Why wasn’t I informed of this urgent letter upon its arrival? Its wax perfectly represents the important seal of the Empire itself, ¿and you dare hide it from me?” Ciel grits his teeth as his jaw tightens, arm swinging to throw yet another item towards his abused butler, an envelope-cutter, to which the certain servant captures before its to prick him in the face.
Sebastian feigns an apologetic smile, regardless of how he perfectly recognizes how Ciel Phantomhive knew him more better than himself. “Forgive me, master, for failing to produce great end results with our new hires. I’d entrusted the handlings of all letters to Sable, yet I see he’s proved to be less than dense in his only objective,” bowing at a perfect angle, he then straightens his posture, “allow me the chance to redeem both myself and this fool who caused this mishap by reprimand.” Shut eyes, and one would think he’s to be subject to his master’s immature blunder of a third gadget thrown his way, but the sharp edge of Ciel’s favorite dagger almost striking him in his chest is caught right before any cloth material is torn.
With a roll of his eyes, Ciel agrees with a nod, “Bring him to me when you are done, as I wish to hold him accountable as well.”
“Very well, master. I shall see to it, then,” then watching the boy fetch a blank piece of paper and a pen, Sebastian watches him carefully ponder over a correspondence to the letter. “¿May I ask what the letter pertains to? Its contents must be astonishing to have my Lord smile so very grandly.”
Presenting a smug smile, “It seems Her Imperial Majesty has been left with no other choice than to host a bloodbath,” a cackle exits his roseate lips, curling to form a deeper smirk when he imagines the scenery itself inside his depraved mind. “A bloody battle it shall be for her hand in marriage, it seems,” as though a sudden notion has lightened his world, Ciel eagerly jots down his response with urgency. “Sebastian, we have a new mission.”
Cocking his head aside in wonder, “¿Master?”
Ciel offers a cheeky grin, “¿How about serving Her Imperial Majesty as her husband’s personal assistant?,” A depiction flashes his eyes like colored film, almost making his heart thaw, but Ciel knows his organ no longer beats for anything, much less anyone. “I’m to become de Amaterasu’s Emperor—and that is an order.” He cannot help but break out into odd snickers, reminding him of his childhood. However older he gets, he’s yet recalls the golden days as though they were yesterday.
He intends to keep it that way.
“Yes, master.”