Chains of Silver Lace: A Pandora Hearts Fanfiction

Chapter Four: Ancient

Chapter Four: Ancient

A magpie perched on top of the carriage, his shimmering blue eyes meeting its gaze before he stepped inside and sat with his family. A beautiful wife and daughter, two handsome sons, and financial security. He smiled sadly, knowing just how fortunate he was, yet despite that he still wished for one more thing. Gazing up into the sky, he whispered his wish, inaudible to those around him. The carriage arrived at Sablier on time. His chain, Fate, had been unusually quiet. Coughing into his handkerchief quietly, he watched stepped down and offered his free hand to his wife. Her golden gown rustled as she daintily exited the carriage. He hurriedly tucked away the handkerchief while she looked around, smiling as she turned to look at him. Her black hair was tied back in a braided bun, a few tasteful wisps caressing her face. Her charcoal-colored eyes were full of life. To him, she was the picture of elegance. She was as beautiful as the day they'd met, years ago at his coming of age ceremony. Back then, she had worn a crimson dress. When he attended her ceremony the next year, he gave her a crimson rose which adorned the pure black gown she wore as the next Lady of House Shadowbrook. Her hand cupped his cheek as she leaned in and placed her lips against his. Her warmth brought a soft pink tinge to his pale skin. It was as if his body had been coated in flour, he lacked all the warmth and color he once had.

"Cecil, my dear, I know you're tired but do you think you could take the children? I am supposed to meet with Lady Zara Ghostwood to finalize that deal you had been seeking," She gently reminded him. He nodded with a smile, watching her give him an apologetic smile before hurrying off. He then helped his fifteen-year-old son, Oswyn, down from the carriage. Oswyn had his mother's dark eyes. His light blue suit contrasted greatly with his father's black and royal blue attire but side by side it was clear any who saw them in that moment that Oswyn Graylace was Cecil's son. They walked the same way, followed by Little Anne Graylace who was identical to Cecil in every other way aside from her gliding walk which she inherited from her mother. Her little white dress was held up by her small hands as she ran up to her father, dropping the skirt in order to grab his hand. He looked down at her, their matching blue eyes meeting. She gave him an angelic smile and he laughed, picking her up and carrying her inside.

Within the hour, his little angel had stopped smiling. She was sitting next to him, holding his hand, and refusing to break eye contact.

"Papa, do you want some water?"

"No, Annie, I'm okay. Thank you though," He said with a smile, giving her a gentle pat on the head. She didn't laugh.

"Oswyn will come back with MaMa soon. Then can we go home?"

"Why do you want to go home? I thought you were having fun."

"I was but you don't look okay. When I don't feel well, MaMa always says to take a nap. You need to go home and take a nap."

His heart sank and he held her close, giving her a kiss on the forehead. "Okay. Let's go look for your mother and Oswyn. Afterward, we can go home. I'll take a nap, but only if you read me a story. How about your favorite one, the one about the princess?"

"Okay. Does that mean I can sit in your bed? It's so big and warm!" She exclaimed, looking hopeful as she hopped down and waited for him to get up.

"Of course you can, Annie," Cecil teased as he followed her through the crowd. He wove through people, keeping an eye on his daughter as he stumbled along. He felt feverish and weak. His vision was swimming, his head throbbing, and face glistened with sweat. He dabbed at neck with that delicate silk handkerchief, continuing to push through. He could see Anne, only a few feet in front of him, excitedly looking for her mother. Someone bumped him and he tripped, gasping. The sudden inhalation resulted in a fit of coughing, his handkerchief preventing those around him from seeing the blood, his other hand over his throat as he fought for air. He felt a hand on his shoulder as he straightened up and turned around to see Luz Ghostwood. The white-haired, grey-eyed man looked worried.

"Cecil Graylace, is that really you? Are you alright? I heard you weren't well but that was months ago!" Luz said, stunned.

Cecil nodded, hurriedly glancing over his shoulder to make sure Anne was still in sight. She was, just barely, "Hello Luz, I have to get going, would you excuse me please?"

"Of course, my apologies. Go home and get some rest, Cecil. You look awful. I'll send my regards!" He stated with a wave.

Cecil hurried away, looking for Anne, but he couldn't see her anymore. He called her name but received no answer. He fought his way out into an empty hallway, leaning on the wall for support as he walked along. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw himself in the mirror and closed his eyes. He was so pale, so fragile looking now. His eyes, usually vibrant and warm, were dull. It looked as if someone had smeared charcoal beneath them. When he opened his eyes and turned to continue on, he was met by a Baskerville hood and a sharp pain in his chest. The familiar eyes beneath the hood were full of sorrow as the figure helped him to the ground, then whispered an apology and hurried off. Cecil's hand, outstretched, reached for the cloak. Fingertips brushing the fabric, he watched as the figure quickly vanished.

"Glen...?" He asked, struggling to his feet. He stumbled about three steps before he doubled over, his hands on his knees as he gasped for breath. One hand went up to his chest. He felt it then, sticky and warm. Glancing down, he bit his lower lip and closed his eyes. "Fate, come here," He whispered. His throat was burning and tears were welling up in his eyes. It was everything he could do to stand back up and look his chain in the eyes. Golden and filled with tears, Fate's eyes reflected him like mirrors. "You knew, didn't you?" He asked, the chain now refusing to meet his gaze. The ground was trembling beneath his feet.

"Cecil... I... There was nothing I could do. I'm sorry. Please..."

"No, I understand... I would have died anyway, Fate. I know that. But... while you are still my contract... I have something I'd like you to do."

"What is it?" Fate asked, watching the tears begin to fall from Cecil's eyes. He could feel his own, warm and wet, dripping down his cheeks.

"Kill me, make it quick. Then... please protect Anne and Oswyn," He requested. The stab wound was not enough to make it quick. He watched, waiting, as Fate's power made the thousands of threads visible to him. So many were already severed. Fate, with a delicate pair of golden scissors, moved to snip Cecil's thread. He hesitated and soon felt Cecil's hand on his. Together, they cut the thread. Cecil smiled sadly, his breathing slowing. Fate held him close, lowering him to the ground.

"Goodbye. Thank you for everything, Cecil."

"I'm going to miss you, Fate... now go. I'll fade away within a minute or two, you know that," He whispered. Fate nodded and began to walk off, just barely hearing it as Cecil looked up to the ceiling and whispered his final words.

"I suppose it was too much to ask, to live to see Anne get married... wasn't it? I should have known better..." He said quietly, his eyes closing.

His breathing stopped seconds later, but Fate hurriedly picked up part of Cecil's thread before it could disappear, slipping off his glove and tying it to his finger before hiding it under the glove once more. He dropped to his knees, a shriek ripping through the air as he shut his eyes and fought to keep conscious. Then, shakily opening his eyes, he stood and ran. Wiping the blood away from his left eye, he glanced into the glass, looking at his own reflection. There was blue in his eye...

"I will grant your wish... somehow. I promise."