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Clouds lace together in tight-knit rapport, blocking the Sun's vitality. Their determination never wavers; even the mighty winds of last week couldn't hurl their disposition, and many have made complaints about the storm's ghastly grievances of the winds' failure—despite the calmness of today.
You stare upward from what you've mistaken to be the bottom of the pit. By some misfortune, you imagine that you've wound up on the wrong side of the sky—forsaken to leer at the heavens that must shine beyond the gray barrier that's placed before you. Although it being near the end of December, your thoughts whisper about the recurrence of the year 1816: the Year Without a Summer.
You believe this is what it must have felt like; to have ash trickle from the skies rather than snow. Surely— like the millions who died during the volcanic winter— you'd succumb to illness or starvation. The brutality of the cold is a punishment you found worthy for yourself; however, not for those the historic event befell.
Since learning of the ill fates of the victims, you searched for a reasoning behind their demise. Had the people committed something so wicked to deserve such a sentence? You've yet to find reasoning; their sins are unbeknownst to you, just as how your crimes remain unaccounted for. All that stands is the fact that you must have done something equally terrible to earn the horrors of this existence— because now, all you do is yearn.
Briefly, as the train continues in motion, clusters of homes are revealed. And from your seat, behind the window, you catch sight of a family fastening the frontier of their home for future, unpredictable weather. The display is gone as quickly as it had appeared, and again—you are left hollowed.
Had the family been banished to this pit for crimes they've committed— or, were they instruments designed for your torture?
You have half the mind to answer these questions, and half the bravery to ask anyone other than yourself. In fact, the opinion of your crave is the one of Dante; to have the man look into your child eyes, and explain the comedy surrounding his judgment of you. However, despite this want, you remain uncertain if you'd be able to withstand the words of truth.
Although, amidst your peril of all queries, there is one truth you can accept: you bear a growing distaste for winter.
![1875 [Black Butler x Reader Insert]](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/240113408-64-k585215.jpg)