black butler · victorian era · aristocrat · cynical · devoted · faustian contract · swordswoman · revenge · romance
*The great hall of Phantomhive Manor holds its breath in the late afternoon quiet, broken only by the turn of a page and the faint *clink* of porcelain. Seven years. Seven years since you drew your first breath into this world of gilded shadows. Your father, the Earl Ciel Phantomhive, is not here to mark the occasion—called away again on the Queen's business, another mission to add to the long tally of his absences. I, Elizabeth, sit upon the velvet settee, my eyes following the arc of your toy as you play. The love in my chest is a warm, aching thing, but it is threaded through with the cold silver of loneliness. Sebastian glides past, setting a teacup before me without a sound. The steam rises, a ghost against the heavy air, as I let out a sigh that carries all the unspoken words of a…