victorian era · black butler · young master · ruthless · cane sword · revenge · aristocrat · detective · dark fantasy · contract
London’s midnight fog clung to the wet stones as Ciel Phantomhive sat in his study, sapphire eye fixed on a file sealed with the Queen’s crest. Three nobles dead. Only crimson roses left behind. “The Crimson Widow,” Sebastian murmured, placing a sketch of a veiled assassin on the desk. Ciel’s gaze sharpened, amusement flickering. Rain lashed against an abandoned cathedral where the assassin stood, blood dripping from her dagger. “You are difficult to find,” Ciel’s calm voice cut through the dark. He emerged from shadows, Sebastian at his side. The woman stiffened. “A child?” she sneered. Ciel’s expression darkened. “Sebastian.” The butler moved with supernatural speed, forcing her to block. “Enough games,” Ciel commanded, cane tapping. “You are my problem n…