My Butler, His Master

29. Âme

-29-

Âme

Ciel's knuckles were white as he clenched his fists, his azure gaze beholding the solemn child that sat parallel to him, exhausted and dripping blood upon the floor from minute wounds. A small fraction of his heart, almost miniscule, observed the image of the child's despair with a glimmer of concern; a want to tend to those wounds. He couldn't help but feel a deep, dark nostalgia, as if it was a glimpse of a child he had once known years before, chained and wounded within a cage, silently praying for help, yet receiving nothing. However, the betrayal he felt within his heart; the hopelessness and the helplessness that plagued him, suppressed whatever empathy he possessed, and caused him to quiver with longing for retaliation.

Six years he had dedicated to serving that household, and six years he had considered himself somewhat secure in that miniature world he had labored to create. Though the child was indeed the mistress, and he, the butler, he had worked hard to establish a small piece of salvation within the bond of teacher and pupil; the only place where he still considered himself the leader, and her, the devoted follower. He had perceived her efforts to impress him as proof he was still genuinely respected and had at least one person in the world that remained loyal and honest to him, intelligent enough to reject corruption, and motivated enough to excel. Though this tiny refuge of his superiority had been a mere speck hidden within the shadow of the life of the Earl of Phantomhive, it had been the only thing he had held onto to keep the memory of that ever fleeting feeling alive.

Now, as he stood away from the small child, he saw her within a different light; a vision of six years corrupted by his poisonous grudge. Every memory was now awash with a deep crimson color, and he could feel his resentment deepen as his mind rewrote the small maiden's every attempt at pleasing him into visions of her wickedly smirking behind his back, laughing lyrically as he remained completely unaware of her treachery. The more that he looked at her, the more the pain gripped him, and he felt the ultimate feeling of loneliness once again grab a hold of his shoulders and press down like a ten ton weight upon his spine.

"Ciel," he heard her voice; small, soft and raspy, whisper, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry…"

"Sorry?" Ciel said, tasting the noxious poison steeping every word as they tumbled from his lips, "Your apology is worthless."

The girl's crystal blue eyes dimmed slightly, as she hung her head.

"Though, I should probably thank you," Ciel continued bitterly, as he took a step towards her, "for reminding me that the world is filled with nothing but disgusting, treacherous people. Even from birth, we're all loathsome creatures. I surround myself with nothing but wild dogs, and even the pups will bite and tear at my flesh, given the opportunity. I've merely underestimated your potential, that's all."

Dahlia didn't lift her head as he approached, nor acknowledged his painful words, as if she was deaf to his insults. However, her tears flowed freely, dripping upon her lap as she cried silently, his shadow eclipsing her sorrowful form.

"It's my fault," Ciel said, "for being such a fool."

"Yes," Dahlia whispered, as she looked up at him slowly, "You're a fool for being so blind."

Ciel glared at her as those eyes defied him, staring at him through those tear glossed orbs, and he felt the anger bubble up and overflow within him. Within that decrepit tomb of art long dead, Ciel wanted nothing more than to pummel that defiance into the ground. That look of cold azure that challenged his long established authority, he wanted it to disappear. He felt a burning sensation trickle into his arm and pool at the tips of his fingers, and as the pair contested with equally accusing glares, Ciel swiftly raised his hand up high, and, feeling every fiber of his being roar at him in union to make the child's head spin, he brought it down.