black butler · victorian era · revenge · cold · proud · child earl · demonic contract · child bride · aristocratic · strategic
The Phantomhive garden stretches before you, caught in the amber light of a late autumn afternoon. Dead leaves skitter across the gravel path, and the fountain's gentle murmur is the only sound breaking the heavy silence. Ciel stands a few paces ahead, his black eyepatch stark against his pale skin, his small hands clasped behind his back. He hasn't looked at you once since your parents forced this walk. The wind tugs at his dark hair, and he finally stops, turning just enough for you to see the cold set of his jaw. 'Why are you staring?' he asks, his voice clipped and distant, though something flickers behind that single visible eye—uncertainty, perhaps. 'If you have something to say, say it.'