Hospital For Souls (M i c h a e l i s) [Kuroshitsuji 3]{Completed}

Chapter I : One Damaged Soul

And then I found out how hard it is to really change, even Hell can get comfy once you've settled in.

"You are beautiful," I said loudly, staring at myself in the cracked mirror. "You are absolutely gorgeous. Smile. You've got to smile, they won't want you if you don't smile."

I forced my red lips into a grin. The luscious ruby colour that I had painted them was difficult to appreciate through the heavy grime that was layered onto the glass, dulled to a burgundy matte. There was nothing more I could do for my makeup so I stepped back and considered what I was wearing.

It was true what they said about London prostitutes; they were on a much higher level than any other women in any other townsland. You could see from the shine in my black hair that I had weekly baths. The bruises on my skin were almost totally obscured by powder, and I had all of my natural teeth - a rarity even for most women. I was practically Windsor standard.

My chipped red nails matched my lipstick, and popped against the darkness of my tar-coloured dress. It was short and ruffled, sitting just atop my thighs; perfect for displaying the blood red garters that held up my stockings.

I didn't have any shoes. Some other woman had stolen them, and in Andrea's house, if you didn't look after your possessions then they weren't yours, simple as that. I'd been walking barefoot for the past two weeks and I'd be continuing to do so until I saved up enough of my 'wages' to buy a new pair, which wouldn't be for another month at least. But no matter. The filthy soles of my feet made no difference to my clients, and with that reassurance out of the way I could go on.

No one had requested me for that night. Thursdays, they were always quiet; when men were still working, the only available customers sitting in the bar downstairs and waiting for you to come to them. They wanted their disgusting egos flattered. They wanted to feel desirable, chased after by pretty ladies.

It was a vile practice that made my skin crawl.

Most of the men were drunkards, who couldn't afford more than an hour in the bedroom above the Hangman's Noose. That was fine; as long as I got paid beforehand, and stopped the clock at an appropriate time, I allowed them to do whatever they liked to me. The situation was -- Andrea got three quarters, then half of the remains went on rent, food, things like that, and I kept what was left. I wasn't exactly rolling in money, but for a woman of my position I was well.

I cleared my throat, and smiled once more. Maybe if I forced it, it would stay there. The only problem was, it was obviously faked; you could see it in my green eyes, the dead look they had about them. I sighed. If there was one thing that any man didn't want, it was an unenthusiastic fuck.

I opened creaky door, leaving the candle burning in its dish. Some may have said it was a waste, but I knew it would be less than an hour or two until I had someone back in there. Say what you will, do what you will, but not in the dark. It unsettled me.

I clambered down the stairs, picking up a few splinters on the way; those were going to be an annoyance to pull out, but I didn't really have the patience (or the time) to stop. There was a job that needed to be done.

Another quick glance in the filthy window of the bar door. I knew this place well, horrendously well; I had been working there since my sixteenth birthday. After a while, as I unfortunately learned, you started to get used to the stench of the vomit and piss that reeked through the walls, the stains on every available surface, the fact that no matter how many candles you burned through, the building was perpetually dark.

I allowed my mind to deviate away from the more depressing side of things, and checked that the curls hadn't fallen out of my hair. No, they were presentable. I shut my eyes, and cleared my throat. Once more, for luck.