defying reason - kuroshitsuji

birth // DRAFT 4

My father became bitter when mother left us.

He wasn't the rational, kind man he used to be.

It was coincidentally my birthday when mother died.

My first in fact.

My first birthday gift was a realisation,

The effects of grief.

My second,

My first murder.

"I'm sorry my lord." The priest separated his hands and raised his head, in reluctance. The soft french rolled off his tongue in a melancholy tone.

"Don't apologise for it."

Philip creased his brows, and held tight on the oak doorframe, splintering some of the carefully crafted material. The tall man, with the coldest of grey eyes, a thick moustache resting on his ever-present frown and waistcoat growing tighter against his expanding and collapsing chest.

"It has no right- no right to do this!"

The midwife pulled the string tightly against the umbilical cord, finally separating the newborn child from its mother, after nine months of interim. She rested a sheet of white linen atop of the woman resting on the bed, all aquiver, her fingers shook with sorrow. She cried lightly, as did the priest and winced at his resolute tone.

Philip took a step forward "Marie."

The maid turned and dragged her teary hazelnut orbs to his, swathing the child in her arms and patting it's back protectively, but she tore them away from his vision.

"Yes my lord?"

Again the priest bent down And uttered passages from his holy guide, dipping his fingers into the bowl that sat by his side and dancing the water across her pale forehead as he did with the baby.

Philip wouldn't have asked the priest, pastor Edwin, to attend today, for he was not a religious man. Juliet, however, was a strict catholic and insisted that one be there to bless her, for health and happiness.

Philip had lost his little faith in god that day, which wasn't the greatest choice. Since he now widowed the daughter of a prestigious duke and Military leader, the babe's grandfather who was currently fighting in Malasia; in union with the British army.

"Hand me the baby."

Even after the blatant command, Marie pulled the baby closer to her bosom and sobbed between her words. Philip spoke darkly and roughly, she knew his cruel intent. No one would expect such aims from a kind and sanguine presence.

Inevitably useless, Marie tried to prevent te inevitable with words.

"I believe that the misstress wished to call her Adrianna, I think.."

"It was Adriane." Corrected the priest, "Adriane Moreau Whitely, is what Juliet wanted."

Philip held out his hands to hold the small crying bundle of youth. Like many fathers would a child, but his gaze was hateful and cold, like a frozen cuss.