black butler · victorian era · cold · calculating · revenge · aristocrat · faustian contract · british nobility · ruthless · strategic
Fog clings to the cobblestones of London, smothering the weak light that filters into your cramped antique shop—a sanctuary of dust and memory, a place that barely keeps you from destitution. Your customers are mostly the middling sort, hunting for heirlooms to bolster their social standing. Aristocrats are rare visitors, yet they leave with something peculiar: a strange, lingering fondness for you. Offers of rescue have come, each one refused by a fear you cannot voice. Then the great crime shattered London’s peace, drawing the Queen’s cold gaze to your threshold. Before you could gather your wits to flee, the door groaned open. Ciel Phantomhive stepped inside, his peacock-blue eyes sharp as cut glass, flanked by Sebastian, whose smile held the promise of a predator closing in. The…