My Butler, His Master

9. Guêpe

-9-

Guêpe

He could have slept a millennia and not cared. Every time he stirred from his sleep, he stared at the pillow; white roving hills of soft warm tenderness, and closed his eye again.

He dreamt of days that once where; obnoxious laughter chorusing though the mansion, unwelcome guests, bothersome lessons, and ridiculous assignments. Things that he had considered so futile and obstructive, now gone forever. The halls of the mansion remained silent and cold, the guests came, but not to see him, and the assignments from the Queen were stilled. No longer his responsibility, yet he desired the days when he was the one the Queen looked to to ease her weariness for her people's welfare. Now and again, flashes of that fateful night when he 'died' floated in and out of his subconscious. He recalled seeing the Queen's body; decrepit and rotten, eyes dead like a fish and body lying sprawled on the bed. He remembered the brutal, yet brief, sting of a bullet sent through his side; tearing his flesh open and sending him to the floor in a heap of shock and warm pain, and he reminisced the moment when Sebastian appeared at his side, telling him that he could not die there.

Sebastian.

He remembered staring at that back; the broad black clad shoulders, agile long legs, strong, yet elegant arms that could catch a bullet in midair. How he had watched with breathless awe as he performed...

Ciel buried his face into the pillow, fingers clenching at the soft, yet prickly object as he tried to suffocate the lingering feeling of sadness that emerged in his throat. Had those final moments they shared together been all a sham? How could he have gone from a doting butler who had offered him a quiet death, to a tyrannical creature that took delight in his misery?

He supposed that it had always been apparent; the many times he had suggested his true feelings of his little master. Only now, he held the straws and Ciel had none; being kept alive by the demon for the sake of 'marinating', as he came to think of it.

He sighed heavily, breathing in the stale scent of the pillow, before he turned his face again, closing his eyes and trying to think of something else other than his new master. However, he found it difficult. Nearly everything seemed to contain either too much pain or images of the butler, always present, in the background of his life.

Then, he found his thoughts drift to the technicolor memories of someone who he had long taken for granted. Someone who had loved him, unconditionally, yet he had shunned for her immature and indelicate nature. Lady Elizabeth seemed to dance through his mind, offering up soft images of in a whirl of orange, yellow, and pink, with a faint scent of daffodils in the breeze, and the delicate taste of white tea fused with lemon and honey, paired with freshly baked sugar cookies. He could hear the sound of her laughter as she danced in the ballroom, grasping his hand and blushing softly as he looked at her.

His one eye opened slowly, staring off at the space between the floor and the bed, as if she could materialize before him should he picture her perfectly. He could remember the softness of her peach toned skin, the warmth of her fingers entwined with his own, her butter yellow hair drifting in the wind like silk banners.

Often he had treated her rather harshly. Despite her meaning well, he had thought of her primarily as an annoyance, and secondly as a painful reminder of the life that was taken from him. Regardless her efforts, he refused to break his taboo and smile for her. Why couldn't he have managed something as simple as a smile? It would have let her heart ease, and probably given him a little more peace of mind (free from her relentless tries to coax him). His mind continued to drift to another thought; his own funeral. He had forgotten to inquire how his end was celebrated, if at all, and wondered about Elizabeth's reaction to the news. Had she spilled tears down her rosy cheeks for him?