A Young God (P h a n t o m h i v e) [Kuroshitsuji 4]

Chapter IX: The Lightening Strike

'He says, 'ooh, baby girl, you know we're gonna be legends...'

Note: I have a very very very long author's note at the end of this chapter. I would deeply appreciate if you would take the time to read it. As it's over 1000 words, read the condensed version at the very bottom! Please, please PLEASE take the time to comment. I want to get feedback from everyone who's willing -- even if it's just a few lines -- and I want to explore the possibility of rewarding your comments with potential short written pieces of certain anime characters!

"Too much is happening at this moment... what with the fire in East Anglia, I've lost another two warehouses. The search for these mystery arsonists is proving entirely fruitless." A single pause. "No...I shall come visit soon." A pause. "Of course it isn't a social call. You know where my loyalties lie, but I will do my service to her majesty, do not mistake it. Mhm. Alright. Give my best to your wife and your father. Good evening."

Once I heard Lord Phantomhive clicking the phone back into the receiver, I knocked very meekly. With the most exhausted sigh, he cleared his throat and called out.

"Come in."

I let myself in carefully to the study. It was a place I had never entered before; up until now, Sebastian and Sebastian alone had borne the duty of cleaning this beautiful monstrosity. Keeping in with the master's personal colour scheme, what little you could see of the walls were painted in a glossy, silky blue that was deeper than the night itself. Bookshelves screamed to the ceiling, stuffed to the brim with leather bound tombs and thick, knotted folders, full of what I presumed were company documents or...case files. It was a secret – a quiet, seldom whispered secret, but one that all of the nobility of the country knew – that Lord Phantomhive was the Queen Victoria's Guard Dog, the taker out of the trash that threatened the ruling of a peaceful (somewhat) society – everything from the dregs in the street to the scum in the houses of Parliament, he dealt with. No one knew how, or why, exactly. But they all knew who to fear.

The floor, instead of boards, was carpeted in thick grey; I sank ever so slightly, leaving timid footsteps behind, a bird in unfathomably deep snow. All of the furniture was of the same rich mahogany. I loved that wood and its honey coloured notes.

The lights were low. There was a set of papers on the grand desk, a pen and a record book in front of a visitor's seat that was partially upholstered in navy. I felt a lump beginning to form in my throat; was that really all that I was good for? To tease and torture, slaving over menial household tasks until I couldn't find any worth in my soul? Maybe this was punishment, purgatory on earth for my sins.

A lamp – which at first I thought was oil – was burning in the corner. It gave off a thick, piquant smoke, with a dizzying scent; and the strangest shade of light silver. My master caught me staring questionably at it, and spoke.

"Opium," he supplied. "It helps with the pain. And the smoke... this particular blend is known as the Yixing Handmaid... because it curls, like ringlets. Most distinctive."

And the young man sighed. "Estelle... what do you expect from me?"

"I confess that I cannot be entirely sure," I replied, in little more than a murmur. "You puzzle me endlessly."

"As you puzzle me, I presume." He allowed himself a smile, pushing a long-fingered hand back through his dark hair. "It's a puzzling thing, the attraction between two people. Man and woman. Something that weighs on me. You were correct, last night, when you said that I hadn't attracted my wife. Cousins, betrothed from a young age. It's seldom that you hear of a nobleman and woman, marrying for love, for attraction, rather than money."