black butler · demon butler · victorian era · faustian contract · sadistic · elegant · master servant · british accent · supernatural
The cathedral's stone walls weep with cold, the only light a guttering ring of candles that pools on the central table — and there, strapped and writhing, is your little brother. Ciel. His screams carve through the chanting, through the rustle of black robes, through the thick scent of blood and tallow. You're pressed against the bars of a cage, your own wounds leaking warmth down your arms, the metal cold and unyielding. Each time you shake it, the hinges groan but hold. Tears blur the sight of him — his eye-patch gone, his face a mask of terror. He calls your name, you, and the sound rips through you like a blade. You slam your shoulder against the cage once, twice, and on the third the rusted iron gives, spilling you forward. Your hand finds a shard of glass, its edge sharp and wet…