Reader One-Shots {Anime}

Black Butler: Ciel Phantomhive {"Let them Eat Cake!"}

☆WRITTEN IN UNIVERSITY DURING THE YEAR 2016☆

🍰"Let Them Eat Cake!"🍰: A Ciel Phantomhive one-shot, as requested by
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A/N:
So, I know I'm a bit late in responding to this request, and I want to thank requesting it! It's a sweet, simple story, which involves you (the reader) and Ciel Phantomhive, as the two of you get to know each other one spring afternoon. Well, without further explanation, here goes! I do hope you like it, and to everyone who reads it, feel free to request more concepts/characters/situations/etc. that you'd like to see.

Much love. 💙👑
- Britta
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The last drops of the early morning frost were slowly, yet eagerly being absorbed by the fresh green grasses of spring as you sloshed your way through snow flecked with the smallest of freshly bloomed flowers, who in their great genesis had generously shed some of their outer layers, decorating the peaty, moss-lined streets of the richer sections of London. The cobblestone roads reflected the crystalline shining of pearly white contrasting off of red and purple petals fluttering down off shrubs, trees and vines creeping down the ancient buildings, black grey smoke curling out of newly kindled fires in the hearths of the manor houses and mansions. You passed several stately homes that loomed over the narrow streets in a hauntingly beautiful fashion, making your way to a smaller, less ostentatious shop near the heart of the city, one that sold the only tea that lifted the dampened spirits you felt once you knew winter had ended.

Irony accompanied the icy rush of arctic wind as you pushed opened the ornately decorated glass door that led the way into an Irish pub that had recently been refurbished into a type of cafè, one with less whiskey, bourbon, bangers and mash and more Lady Grey and orange scones. You had felt a jolt of pleasure with the cold wind at your back, and you fought back a leer as you looked on at the partitioners in the place, many of them bundled up in two overcoats, some of them almost unrecognisable from moths cocooned in their impenetrable leaved garrisons. You shook the damp snow and two or three light purple wisteria petals off of your clothes, removing your traveling cap as you roughly ran your fingers through your previously French-braided hair, leaving it looking rather unkempt, but you felt a bit of unwarranted pride as you identified yourself to be only woman brave enough to face the cold not only alone, but also with a degree of pleasure. Winter wasn't London's most beloved time, but in your heart and soul, it wasn't that far off from the best time of the year, either.

Being a student with money back home left you a bit isolated when it came to experiencing fun and entertainment. Sure, you were in university, and being the first woman in your family to do so ignited inside you a spark of motivation unlike any you'd felt before. The priests at your church had told you to be cautious near London's center, but you'd had the time of your life scraping by those deemed dangerous with little more than scratches where scars and open wounds should've been. Many didn't know of your resilience; no one knew of the contents of your heart.

Not yet, that was.

"Oi, you're lettin' in the cold, lass!" One of the mothen men barked from under his many folded outer coats. Several grunts of assenting approval followed his demand.

"So sorry." You lightly laughed and paced over to the closest seating location, one nearest the once frozen windows, the faces of the Angels etched graciously into the glass slowly becoming more filled with the light of the brightening day, the afternoon sun causing chinks of thin, watery ice to slip off the face of Raphael, landing on Gabriel's horn and then glistening off the tip of Micheal's violet and golden sword. You were counting the drops of water that cascaded down the wings flanked by roses and glass of the deepest blue and red, as you waited for the lengthy queue to allow you a chance to order what you had came for: dessert for breakfast. You'd never had much of a sweet-tooth before coming to study in London, but learning about medicine and the entrails of the human physique tempered your once seemingly rabid fascination for meats. Hunting wasn't your forte, but you could eat the stags your family's men brought home just fine. You didn't notice the other patrons in the shop slowly peer through their veils and caps at you as you dreamily sighed and slipped your roomy, fur-lined traveling coat lower around your shoulders. A few of them looked at you with a sort of mixed disgust and admiration, one looked downright envious, and a few chuckled and sipped their glasses repeatedly, the alcohol warming up their cores only seemingly: you knew the real effects of what constricting the blood vessels could do in the coldest of winter nights, when the stars were the clearest and the winds blew over the hills under the light of the fullest, most serene moon...