Black Butler: I Never Asked You

I Never Asked You: Chapter 11

Sebastian disembarked from the train. The journey had taken half a day and he was eager to get to the village. What had been left behind?

He went to a local pub and hired a driver. The driver let him out at the outskirts of the forest. Sebastian took his bag and walked into the forest.

The paths were overgrown with brambles. The miasma of poison gas that had covered the forest had lifted. He heard birds singing and small creatures rustling in the fallen leaves. His garnet eyes swept from side to side. He didn't sense any humans. Perhaps the stigma and superstition of the "Werewolves' Forest" lingered, keeping locals away?

He kept walking until he came to an opening in the ground where there were remains of a concrete bunker. From the top, looking down, he saw that the bunker was filed with dank rainwater. He grimaced. It was clear the records and files he was looking for were gone.

He kept on until he got to the village. Everything was deserted. The simple houses were falling to the ground.

Crash!

It came from the brush behind him. He whirled, knives in his hands. Three deer charged past him. He spun as they bounded away. He exhaled a cloud of steam, sweat beading his brow. He was still shaken by the events here five years ago.  Everything the Phantomhive household thought they knew about the world had been stretched to the brink of rationality. Witches. Werewolves. A magic curse that had afflicted Master Ciel and even himself, who had shed tears even though that was not possible. 

They had figured it all out in the end, with no time to spare. There was no magic, only the illusion of it. And Lady Sullivan and Herr Gelzer were the only refugees left from the madness. In a way, they were Sebastian and Ciel's refugees.

Sebastian worked his way through in an orderly fashion and combed through all the debris, finding little of importance. He reached the back of the village and came to a large tree. It was larger than the other trees, not large enough to draw notice with the hustle-bustle of a village, but noticeable when the village was deserted, and you had a hell of a butler there to see it.

He walked up the trunk and pushed. It was a hidden door. 

Inside was a small room hollowed out in the trunk. It was more like a cage than a room. He had to kneel and crawl in. There was barely enough room for him to turn around. On the circular floor there were pieces of cloth. He picked them up. Silk, and brocade. There were wooden toys and a lacquer tray with a empty bowl with chopsticks poised on the edge as if waiting for a meal. There was a child-sized bed with a bedspread on it. There was something under the covers. Sebastian cautiously drew the bedspread back.

On the bed were six dried flower bulbs. Sebastian frowned. He could draw three conclusions: whoever lived here was a child, had left in a hurry, and was from the Orient. The flowers he did not understand.

He was thinking he had to tell Ciel when someone came up behind him. It was an Oriental woman with striking yet sad eyes. She wore a kimono that had seen better days. But she carried herself with grace.

She made her arms into a cradle and rocked them back and forth.

Sebastian being a demon understood many languages. <"Kodomo?"?>  he queried.

Her eyes lit up. <"Yes, I am searching for my child. Where is she?">

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Sieglinde moaned as Ambrose pressed his lips on her neck, sucking the length of it. He pressed her back on the couch.

She wanted him. She moved to take off her blouse. He assisted, pressing the flat of his hands against her small breasts as they pulled her top over her head. Her long hair generated static electricity. He was on top of her. She spread her legs and he pressed kisses along her inner thighs. His long hair sent delicious shivers where it swept against her bare skin.

Her body demanded him. She felt something hard against her softness. Then a sharp pain that was replaced by strokes of pleasure.

"Ohhh..."  It was as if an itch inside her was being scratched. It went on for a little while, then she heard him groan. He stopped moving. He lay over her for a minute, then propped himself up on his elbows.

Ambrose had to catch his breath before he could speak. "Whew. I'm speechless for once."

She grinned.

He kissed her and she kissed back, closing her eyes and feeling as if she were floating. But he broke off the kiss first. "You know what this means, don't you?" he said. "We have to marry. Now that we know each other like this."

Sieglinde struggled to sit up. She hadn't thought of that. She hadn't thought at all.

"It's the right thing to do. We'll announce it tomorrow," he said. He got up and put his clothes on.

"W-wait. Where are you going?"

He kissed the top of her head and walked out the front door.

Was that it?  thought the young woman. It was wonderful but too short.

She went to the mirror. Did she look different? She didn't think she did. Sieglinde felt different. It was like parts of herself had been awakened. "Experience. It's just experience gained. No reason to get attached," she admonished the girl in the mirror. But she was attached. Somehow Ambrose had gotten under her skin in the short time since they'd been acquainted. And soon she'd be his wife. It all sounded preposterous – and yet it made perfect sense. Her head was splitting. She needed to get to sleep. Morning would surely bring clarity.

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Elizabeth jabbed the rapier forward and then lunged back. She did it over and over until her thighs ached. Next she attempted her new move she had been working on but not yet achieved: a backwards cartwheel while leaving her 'weaponized' arm straight out. She tried again and again until she was soaked with sweat. She completed the rotation but at the last minute her sword arm went up in the air and followed her progression backwards. She dropped her sword and clutched her shoulder. The joint was too stiff.

Her mother clutched her arm. "No. No mama. Don't," sobbed  eleven-year-old  Lizzie. Her breath came in rapid gasps of panic.

"Repeat after me: A defender of the queen's watchdog will endure all."

"A defender ... of the Queen's Guard Dog will endure all," she whimpered. Her mother nodded in satisfaction.

Crack! Lizzie let out a piercing wail.

"All," repeated Frances.

The deliberate dislocating and relocating of her joints had made Elizabeth flexible in combat. She just needed to loosen up. With a face of stone, she punched the wall until she felt her shoulder give. With a pop, she replaced it. Though her knees felt like jelly, she tried the move again. It worked.

"God help anyone on the end of Elizabeth Midford's sword," said Frances, who had been watching. Lizzie allowed herself a tiny smile.

TO BE CONTINUED