#she grew up in an aristocratic household so we can assume a few things about her upbringing

[notepadsandtealeaves]

Molly O’Shea x GN!Reader in: Loving You With All of Me

From the van der Linde Ladies, With Love 💌 || VDE 2021

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT || 18+ ONLY ||

|| ao3 version | event m.list | rdr tag | main blog ||

|| rdr vde (gents) | batboys vde | bnha vde ||

In learning how to truly love myself I found something just as precious in you. ____, my love, you are everything I’ve ever wanted, needed, but never even knew to ask for. Kindness and patience and caring and so many, many more lovely things that I would run out of ink before I could even list a quarter of them.

In finding herself, she’s found something just as precious in you…

↠ Requested By: My burning desire to receive a love letter lol ↠ Reader Gender: Neutral ↠ Content Type: SFW fluff ((but my blog’s 18+ if minors want to consume my sfw stuff while still respecting my wishes of them staying out of this space, they can head over to my AO3)) ↠ CWs: None ↠ Betas? Nah, we don’t do that here. ((tho we should, honestly)) ↠ Total WC: 1k~

Full disclosure time: I don’t much care for Molly.

Now don’t get me wrong, she’s well written and a sympathetic character (for the most part, it’s not like Dutch put a gun up to her head and made her leave her cushy life to be with him) but her attitude just rubbed me the wrong way. There was a haughtiness about her that I guess was left over from her days before joining up with the gang, and the way she was content to sit back and watch all the other ladies help to keep things going without raising a hand herself was a big no from me, dawg. Like you��re in the shit now, might as well get used to it, ya know? She held herself apart like she thought she was better somehow and… yeah, just no. I could be misremembering things as I haven’t interacted with the game since the year it came out, but there had to be a reason I picked up those vibes…

All that being said, I did my best by her. She’s not the first character I’ve had my biases against, and she won’t be the last. Hell, if I can write for Dutch who I side-eye the absolute fuck out of then I can write for her lol. By my estimation stuff like that shouldn’t keep a person from writing a character with as much care and depth as any other. And it’s not like she’s beyond redemption, though I do believe that if she were to have any hope at having a good and healthy relationship she (like p. much everyone in this gang) would have to do some work on herself otherwise things would only ever end in disaster—and so that’s what we see here. But now I’m rambling so–

Here, have my take on Miss O’Shea. I like to think I did her a good…

|| Loving You With All of Me

To my dearest love,

I know that I am giving this to you as part of your Valentine’s Day gift, so forgive me if this letter is a little self-indulgent, but there are some things I needed to tell you, some things that I feel as if you deserve to know.

Before we met, I was… Well, you actually know how I was because I didn’t change—improve—until well after we were acquainted. For so long I based my identity and worth on external factors. Much of this I blame on my upbringing; every sphere has its struggles, and while mine might seem irrelevant when put up against those of people less fortunate, they were struggles nonetheless. I always had to be this picture perfect girl—no flaws, no unsightly behaviors or beliefs or anything else that would make me seem remotely human. I was taught to hold myself apart– No, above, and I’m sad and ashamed to say that for a long while I actually bought into all the lies. It was easier that way, to just lean into the curve and let my life flow along its predestined path. It wasn’t until I met someone who was at once both a part of that world and not that I began to question things.

Even after escaping the confines of my old life I still believed myself to be better to a degree. Looking back on it now I cannot for the life of me say why; it is not as if I ever faced any true hardships, as even after leaving my family behind there were still people about to look after me. I was not content to just borrow the struggle of others, I needed to own it, and in doing so I felt as if it were something more for having been ‘mine’. After all, how can one miss something they never had? I was convinced that the others around me didn’t understand lack or loss because they never had to leave behind all that I had. A foolish—and not to mention highly narcissistic—notion, I realize that now, though I truly wish I had done so sooner.

In fact there are a great many things I wish I would have realized sooner such as how to differentiate between who and what meant me good. I thought I had it all figured out, but in actuality I had only succeeded in shifting the bulk of my self-wroth from one set of hands into another. I won’t go into the details of my sole, previous relationship as you got to watch the majority of that disaster unfold in real-time, but suffice it to say I was much better off once things ended—once you stepped into my life.

I know that makes it sound as if I just shifted myself about again, but that is something you would never allow. You were always interested in Molly O’Shea, even when she herself was not entirely sure who she was. The few traits that I had managed to foster were not at all great, and yet you stuck around anyway. You made me question things that I never thought to, made me reflect in a way that was actively discouraged by so many around me for so long. You held up a mirror to my existence and made me take a long, hard look at who I had become and it hurt, badly, but it was the wakeup call that I needed. I didn’t like who I saw looking back at me, though I did not know what to do about it, but there you were, offering me a lifeline. You told me that it was never too late to change, that I could find myself, that I could blaze my own path. Your words, while simple, were the starting point; the faith you’d placed in me was among the first set of tools I needed to rectify things.

Through it all you stood by my side and for that I am forever grateful. So many before you loomed over my shoulder, offering ‘advice’ that was more akin to mandates. They directed me down paths that would ultimately benefit themselves with little regard as to the deficit that would be created in my soul. It was as if I were little more than a plaything to them, a toy to be manipulated and discarded whenever it suited them, but you…

You…

You never wanted anything other than the best for me. You offered advice, yes, but never anything more than that. You let me stumble about when needed, though you were quick to offer a helping hand before I fell too far. You were a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, and most importantly a friend when I had none. You became so much to me, so dear and cherished, is it any surprise that I fell for you?

In learning how to truly love myself I found something just as precious in you. ____, my love, you are everything I’ve ever wanted, needed, but never even knew to ask for. Kindness and patience and caring and so many, many more lovely things that I would run out of ink before I could even list a quarter of them.

What I can at least try to convey, however, is just how deeply I care for you. In the time since we’ve been together I’ve done my best to let you know just how much you mean to me, but as I’ve long since learned there’s always room for improvement, and what better day to start than Valentine’s Day? To this end I’ve planned several things to help get us into the holiday’s spirit, ranging from the mundane (I hope you enjoyed your breakfast in bed!) to the more, let’s say involved (the specifics of that I shall leave as a surprise for now). I truly hope you enjoy it all, love, because if there’s one person that deserves to be spoiled today—and everyday—it is you.

But this letter is getting rather lengthy, so I’ll end it here so that we can get to enjoying the rest of the day with each other.

Loving you with all of me, Molly xx

© notepadsandtealeaves, 2021 || Please do not repost, translate, or otherwise alter or distribute my works without my express permission. And for the love of god keep it away from Youtube and TikTok lol…

[seasaltmemories]

Mors Debitionem Onem Retribuit: Chapter 2

Rating: T

Summary: In which Alm gets acquainted with the rest of the household [Start at the Beginning]

~

Waking the next morning proved to be a difficult venture. Alm was used to thinking of himself as an early bird after having to rise before the sun often in his Ram days. Compared to the his urban-dwelling classmates, he had easily made all the early lectures Engel offered.

Yet here in Vaduva, returned to the waking world felt like mucking through a flooded field. Each step grew more and more difficult as the mud clung to your boots. When they were young and Kliff had shared a book of fairy-tales his mother had bought him, Alm started associated the sticky clinginess of the mire with the tight grip of mermaids dragging sailors below the waves.

It’s funny, he thought by now that he had outgrown those stories. But as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, it was difficult to escape those flights of fantasy. The outline of his room was hazy and difficult to make out. It would be easy for him to assume he was still dreaming some strange and dark nightmare and slip back into slumber, but just as Alm was about to close his eyes, a flash of sunlight cut across the room.

With a start, Alm rose, pulling back the curtains. Outside the sun hung high in the sky, burning bright and fierce. Good lord, how had he slept in until the middle of the day!? He wanted to just curl in a ball and die of embarrassment right there, but shame wouldn’t save what goodwill he had managed to cultivate last night. In a rush, he tried to make himself somewhat half-decent. Ugh, he hadn’t even changed out of his clothes from yesterday before falling asleep.

He stumbled out into the hallway prepared to get on his hands and knees to apologize for his faux pas. However as he scanned the hallway he remembered he had no idea how he got to this part of the manor. That revelation made him pause long enough for him to also realize just how quiet the manor was. No wonder he had been able to sleep for so long. The few noble households he had visited were bustling things with servants of all kind. The only sign of life he had observed so far had been the Countess herself and that silent maid of hers.

Before he could dive down more rabbit holes of conjecture, his stomach growled. For now, getting food was a good next step. That would likely involve people and help ease his nerves.

With all the courage he could muster in the moment, Alm went to the work exploring the manor. To his relief though, the task proved to be less harrowing than he feared. In the light of day, Vaduva Manor proved to be less gruesome than it had appeared the night before. It might be a little run-down, but it was far from the monster he had imagined it to be. There just never seemed to be enough light for his taste. As he descended down the staircase, he noticed just about every window in the place was curtained shut with heavy drapes. The fact even a flash of direct sunlight had been able to slip inside his room now felt like a miracle after seeing how carefully the rest of the manor was arranged to stave off the sun.

As Alm stepped down to the first floor, he could suddenly hear the faint sound of someone singing. Carefully he followed the voice further into the manor. As he sneaked past locked rooms with imposing mahogany doors, he found the interior blend into the plain, efficient trappings of a servant’s corridor. Unintentionally, Alm began to relax. He was much more used to handling servants than he was aristocrats. As fascinating as the latter were, with the former he didn’t need to use extremely formal language or keep track of any list of rules around them. It would be a nice break after last night.

The singing was louder as he approached the end of the hallway. As he pushed opened the last remaining door its hinges gave a loud creak.

“Excuse me, I--shit!” Alm dodged just in time to watch a knife whiz past him and land in the door, mere inches from his head.

“Oh?” He turned to find a woman with a messy strawberry blonde bun and stained apron studying him. “You must be the new guest Miss Celica mentioned last night.”

“Why did you just try to attack me?” He was doing his best to keep his voice level but couldn’t stop his gaze from drifting back to the knife.

“I wasn’t trying to kill you, I was just startled,” She explained as if talking to a small child. Without a second thought she walked up to him and grabbed the knife. “It’s a good thing I wasn’t holding my sharpest one, it could have gotten damaged.” Idly she plucked it from the wall before extending her other hand. “Name’s Mae Eder.”

“Um...Alm Scafer...” Still a bit shell-shocked and unsure of what else he should do, he shook it. “I really should be going...”

“Pfft, don’t act like you weren’t peaking your head around here just a minute ago. Trust me I don’t like spilling blood in my kitchen, so I won’t be throwing any more knives.” She grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and lead him to a stool next to the counter. “But why don’t you really try to stay on my good side and entertain me while I prepare lunch.”

So she was the cook. That wasn’t too unexpected given her attire, but for all her matronly nagging, she didn’t look that much older than him or the Countess--although he couldn’t help but spy a wedding band on her ring finger. It was difficult to focus much on that though because he was still having trouble ignoring the blade in her hand. If he was anywhere else, he’d demand a more sincere apology, but Vaduva Manor continued to prove to me more than just any other place. For now he’d do is job and try and untangle this curious mystery of an estate.

As he thought to himself, suddenly Alm came to a starling observation.

“Wait a second--” He turned back to the cook. “--you’re speaking German!”

“Oh, Miss Celica told us last night you struggled with your languages and asked that we accommodate you.”

Alm bristled at the backhand insult, but did his best to hold his tongue. “Does the entire household know German? I’m impressed. Does Countess Vadvua have family in the Empire?”

Mrs. Eder laughed, and Alm had trouble telling exactly what she thought was so funny. “Wow you’re exactly like Genny described you--just all hopped up on questions.” She pulled out what looked to be a fish and began preparing it.

“Is there something wrong with that?” Again his eyes were drawn to the metallic edge.

“I just have questions about you too.” She studied his figure without a degree of subtlety. “You’ll answer them, won’t you?” Her smile should have been friendly, but something about it continued to unnerve him.

At this point, Alm should have probably just listened to his self-preservation skills, but social conventions and the need for civility had hijacked his brain at this point.

“I suppose you’re interested in what I’m studying!” He forced on a smile. “I’m very fascinated by aristocracy, particularly in how it functions in newly-born modern nation such as Romania, and how the nation-state in turn influences--”

“--yeah, yeah--” Mrs. Eder interrupted him with a wave of her hand. “But anyway, I’m not the one to ask if you want to go digging in Miss Celica’s past, but German wasn’t that too hard too pick up. There’s only my husband and Genny besides me working here, so she doesn’t mind teaching us stuff when she has the free time.��

Only three servants? For this manor to be so understaffed, either the Countess was a neglectful mistress or there must be some serious financial problems. Damn it, he wish he had brought his journal down with him so he could take notes.

“Now it’s my turn to ask you a question.” She moved from her work and rubbed her hands together excitedly. “Just what type of weirdo would travel across the continent for that mouthful of a reason?”

This time Alm’s laughter was genuine. “You think I’m weird? My buddy Forsyth wanted to travel all the way down to the South Pole. He tried to sell it as part of some zoological research, but the man is a law student.”

To his relief, Mrs. Eder’s giggle seemed to be just as real as his. “I swear you university boys don’t have a lick of self-preservation in you!”

“I think he came up with it purely because his best friend dared him to.”

She descended into another fit of laughter before leaning in towards him. “What’s your excuse?”

A shiver went down his spin. He couldn’t have been more caught off-guard. He did his best to keep smiling and not break eye contact, but when he tried to open his mouth to speak, he found he really only could do those two first things.

Just when he was sure he was gonna faint from it all though, his stomach growled, answering for him.

“Well I’m here because I’m hungry. Hope that clears things up!” He scrambled off the stool, pawing at the counter for some sort of snack to grab onto. However just as his fingers grazed a bowl of some soup or another, Mrs. Eder lunged toward him.

No!” She grabbed the bowl from his hands and held it as far as she could from him. “Don’t touch that!”

Looking back, Alm had to admit he had forgotten his manners in his panic, not even asking if he could have whatever reddish thing was in it. His first instinct was to apologize, but as he looked Mrs. Eder in the eye, he found himself completely bemused. Even when at her most incomprehensible, there had always been a playful glint in her eyes--like a cat playing with a mouse. But now all that had been replaced with a naked fear. And with the way she bit her lip, she was starting to resemble more an animal with its back against a wall.

“I’m sorry,” Alm murmured. “Is there anything I can have?”

“No, it’s...it’s--” She glanced between the soup and the fish. “This is the servant lunch. It would be completely improper for you to eat with us.”

“Well when do you serve Countess Vaduva her meals?”

Mrs. Eder gave him a blank stare. “Umm, come around six? That’s the fastest I can whip you up a meal.”

“Alright, I’ll see you then.” He did his best to leave with some semblance of dignity, but he couldn’t help but look over his shoulder one last time.

He couldn’t help but wonder she might find herself “startled” again.

~

Once Alm made it back to his room, he fished out a loaf of bread from his satchel. Absentmindedly he tore at it as he recovered from the encounter with Mrs. Eder. Clearly she was not just any regular cook. He was trained never to make assumptions and inference without concrete evidence, but a knife in the door didn’t get anymore solid. Royalty had historically employed servants who could also serve as bodyguards, so in theory he could see lower nobility doing the same.

With his meal done and more questions than ever before, Alm went venturing again through the strange labyrinth of hallways. After he somehow managed to find himself outside he located a young man with light brown skin and a shock of white hair managing the stables.

Mr. Boey Eder seemed just as surprised by his appearance as his wife had, but thankfully this time no sharp objects were thrown. But then he seemed like a guy used to getting scared a lot. His interview was less than ideal considering Mr. Eder had been concerned about getting his work done as soon as possible, but while brushing a midnight-black mare, he let an interesting personal story slip.

“I’ve always had weak nerves. My family is prone to graying early from fright.”

“Oh have they tended to work with the Vaduva family?” Alm could see himself following a similar path if he had grown up in a manor like this.

“No, we’ve been fishermen all across the Mediterranean mostly. I was only hired after Madam Vaduva came to power.”

“I can see why a young noblewoman would need a stable-hand.” He focused on the second mare, this one a pale white, hoping to make his questioning less obvious. “She must enjoy traveling.”

“The Madam is too...” Mr. Eder paused, as if searching for the right word. “...fragile for much extensive travel.”

Alm couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. The Countess he encountered last night had seemed many things--powerful, arresting, but certainly not fragile. The only possible hint of sickness he could imagine was her alabaster skin, yet such a complexion he had written off as common here. For the life of him, he had trouble discerning why it seemed so natural, but the nagging insistence still persisted.

“I honestly would have never guessed...” Alm stroked the white mare absentmindedly. Somewhere he had lost the thread to this conversation; he didn’t quite know how to weave it all together. “Still it must be nice to have a mistress who doesn’t demand too much of you. I know some folks who would die for a position like this.”

He thought he was being civil by pushing the conversation in that direction rather than suggesting his job was unnecessary, but suddenly he felt Mr. Eder’s previously evasive gaze heavy on his body. Alm looked up to find dark brown eyes staring at him.

“Service isn’t something you perform halfheartedly. Madam Vaduva doesn’t demand much of me today, but tomorrow I could get assigned to run to the end of the earth. If all it took to buy my loyalty was coin, I wouldn’t be here. Her wages are made from something much more valuable.”

Previously Alm had been eager to write Mr. Eder as the more harmless of the couple, but suddenly he was aware that while there were no knives in the stable, there were plenty of shovels and pitchforks. Even in the hands of a well-intentioned person he had seem them do a fair share of harm.

This time he didn’t even bother to conjure up an excuse.

Back in his room, he tried to make sense of everything. His previous theory of court intrigue and clandestine meetings had completely collapsed. If the Countess wasn’t traveling to dangerous balls and other aristocratic outings, then who would she need protection from? What would she need protection from? Had this household once been more than a deadly loyal couple and a nearly mute wisp of a girl?

He started wondering how long it would take to schedule a trip back to Berlin, but pride steeled his nerves. What would he tell Mr. Herrman, that a few unsettling servants had scared him away before he had been there twenty-four hours? He hadn’t even had a proper conversation with the Countess yet!

The Countess...remembering her calmed his panic From a purely intellectual standpoint, she was a catch. He had chosen Count Lima as his case study because from the little information Engel had on him suggested he was a fairly average. Sure the fact he was a countryside recluse wasn’t ideal, but even in the Empire, nobility had been fading into the background. He did his job, kept his head down, and had the potential to be plied through intellectual curiosity.

Countess Vaduva was an entirely different creature. Just being a young woman was enough to set her apart from other potential subjects, but it was more than her gender and age that enticed him. She carried herself with a regal sort of authority. Nobility seemed to be more than just a title she had been given, but a quality she knew like the back of her hand. The few disowned aristocrats he had come across in Berlin had been underwhelming and disappointing. She felt like the real thing--something worth crossing the continent for.

Is she truly your Platonic ideal or are you simply infatuated? What kind of researcher are you to end up with a mess like this?

Alm rubbed his eyes. He wished he could unscrew his head and discard his brain for just a few hours, be thoughtless and free. It seemed even his overly long slumber last night hadn’t fully erased his exhaustion from travel it seemed. It would be indulgent to nap again, but he needed something to occupy himself until dinner. Might as well let his body rest after all piling all that stress on it.

As he snuggled back under the covers, he thought of the letter he had been meaning to write to Grandpa. If he craned his neck, he could still spot it peeking out from his overcoat pocket. He had started it thousands of times, now that he was here would the words finally come?

Alm pulled the blanket over his head. He’d save the mysteries and conundrums for a version of himself that might actually have the mental capacity to untangle them.

Although as he drifted back to sleep, a little voice inside his head questioned if that would ever be the case.

~

When he awoke a few hours later, the darkness of his room frightened him. Not because he was still a child scared by shadows, but because as he blinked away the sleep from his eyes, he remembered Mrs. Eder’s promise of a meal. As he barreled out of his room, he ran across the first clock he had noticed in the entire place. Its plated face informed him that, yes he was not only late, but about an hour late. In a made rush he scrambled down the stairs, only realizing he wasn’t sure where this meal was supposed to take place.

Panic perched itself on his shoulder, as if it was an old friend by now. He had heard Forsyth describe an American game where the player was give three chances to hit a ball. Alm didn’t want to test his own luck and see if it would take more before the manor itself decided to throw him out. He couldn’t fail. Not now, he wouldn’t go back to Berlin empty-handed and lost.

With one last burst of energy, he pushed aside a pair of mahogany doors. As he caught his breath, he found something that managed to be both exactly what he expected yet completely different. A splendid dining table laid before his, cloaked in a pristine white cloth and perfectly set. Candles lit the meal, and in another world the formality of it all would have taken his breath away a second time. But when he looked closer to examine the actually dishes laid out, he found them perplexing. There were no meats, vegetables, or even simple bread-stuff. Jars of all different shapes and sizes were arranged across the table. Inside them he found different jams and preserves. He didn’t know what confused him more, that Mrs. Eder had pulled out an entire dinner’s worth, or that she hadn’t even deemed it necessary to remove them from their cases.

“Is everything to your liking sir?”

This time, Alm couldn’t stop himself but jumping at the sudden sound. He swiveled around to find the quiet maid from before, now speaking full sentences.

“Of course!” He fawned like an idiot. Internally he cringed, wondering how he was expected to survive on jellies alone, but then he noticed one important detail. The Countess was nowhere to be seen.

“Um...Miss Genny?” It seemed he had caught her in the middle of one her stealth escapes, because she was already half out the door when he spoke. In a bird-like manner she cocked her head back to look at him with those wide eyes. “I was told that I was to attend the Countess’ meals. Is this not her dinner?”

“Dinner?” She repeated, as if it was a foreign concept.

“Is she eating?” He tried in his best Romanian.

“Oh, the Countess won’t appear. She says she is feeling under the weather.” With that, Genny made her get-away, leaving him alone with the odd meal.

Not knowing what to do, he plopped down in a random chair. Idly he grabbed a reddish-colored jar. It looked to be a strawberry concoction of sorts, but as he tried to scoop out a bite, its rank scent turned his stomach.

With a sigh he pushed it away. It seemed he was better at finding questions rather than any true answers.

A.N. A bit more exposition and letting Alm get acquainted with the rest of the cast, he's already not having the best of times, but unfortunately he still hasn't seen the half of what's in store for him

[silyabeeodess]

Kuroshitsuji Chapter 129 Analysis: Gaging the Morality and Possible Lack of Self of R!Ciel

Now that we've got the twins, many recent posts within the Kuro fandom have debated whether or not R!Ciel can be classified as the "evil twin," following the event of Agni's death and in comparison with O!Ciel.  While it is possible to generalize him as such and it is most likely that he was one of the two killers that had attempted to murder Soma and killed Agni, it also opens up a lot of questions in how we might interpret his behavior and why he is the way he is. 

For now, let us start with the most recent chapter and the true introduction to R!Ciel's character.  As O!Ciel and Sebastian enter the manor, we find that R!Ciel is already inside and has already interacted with the other servants: Finnie, Meyrin, and Baldroy.  He greets his brother calmly, and even shows concern regarding O!Ciel possibly suffering from his illness as a result of being out in the rain knowing the latter's weak constitution.  He also tells O!Ciel that, "There is no need to worry anymore.  I will never leave your side again."    

Based on this, if we don't assume he's faking, we can interpret that he truly does care for O!Ciel, his brother.  There's no telling how much he knows as of yet in regards to what Ciel has been doing over the past three years, but he's not surprised and doesn't seem to care if he does know that O!Ciel has been posing as him.  He's acting almost as if everything is perfectly normal.

So what constitutes as 'normal' for R!Ciel?  First off, the obvious: He loves his brother.  If we reflect on R!Ciel's appearances throughout the manga prior to his reveal in this chapter, O!Ciel has always depicted him as this protective, comforting figure that he was always able to turn to.  During the Green Witch Arc when he was suffering and basically trapped within the confines of his own mind, it was his twin--out of all people--that he envisioned being there to console him beyond the guilt O!Ciel carries as a result of the other being sacrificed.  Now, while we can't fully trust those flashbacks due to the possibility of O!Ciel placing his brother in high regard as a result of familial love and as a result of his fragile state of mind, Chapter 129 would also support that R!Ciel is more of the protecting, loving sort where it concerns O!Ciel.     

Now, stepping into the Phantomhive manor, R!Ciel shouldn't have had any idea who Meyrin, Finnie, and Baldroy were as only Tanaka was among the original staff before the attack on the Phantomhives.  However, based on the fact that the three had no idea about the case of their being twins until the very end of the chapter, R!Ciel just accepted the fact that they were there and already knew who he was.  If he knew about O!Ciel posing as him, that just makes it worse, because then that means he purposefully led them to believe he was O!Ciel instead of explaining things to them before O!Ciel's arrival to the manor.  Why is this important?  Because he's the aristocrat: They're the servants.  As Tanaka had said during Book of Murder, "The head of the Phantomhive household should not be shaken by something as trivial as the death of a servant.  I never once saw the master lose his composure due to such trifles."  Now, we're talking about a human life here.  Being called "trivial" and "a trifle."  On top of that, they're servants of a dangerous family--always left at the risk of getting killed and being replaced.  This is how R!Ciel views Finnie, Meyrin, and Baldroy: Another trio of replacements for their last batch of servants.  Their presence is just something he accepts as a grim result of the attack.  This shuffle is normal to him.

Take that note to how the Victorian society placed a strong focus on social class, and it gets worse.  Even well into the Edwardian period following the Victorians, your class dictated your education, your social behavior, the places you were to go, the people you were to spend time with, and everything in-between.  For example, on the Titanic, its maiden voyage was celebrated by allowing 2nd class passengers to get a taste of the luxury of 1st class passengers by allowing them within certain areas of the ship for a short while that would normally have been excluded to them.  3rd class passengers were not allowed in these areas and the differences between the three of them were striking.  There was an African-American family on board that, while having enough money to purchase a 1st class room, was only allowed to purchase a 2nd class room because of their heritage--which leads me to my second point of what I'm about to say later.  Victorians, as a result of international colonization, also strictly differentiated each other by culture and heritage: They actually tried to come up with studies that dictated how human a human being was based on where they came from.  The elites of this era always tended to try to dehumanize others globally and among their own society.  They were elitists. 

R!Ciel shows strong hints of following that elitist mindset--in part, because he's a Phantomhive and then also because he's an aristocrat.  It's strongly hinted that he views himself as being better, or more human, than the Phantomhive servants--as well as with Soma and Agni due to their being from India.  That's why, if that's him from the previous chapter (which it's a guarantee, I just don't want to call it that since we didn't actually see a face) he says to Soma, "Don't you presume to touch me."  Soma may be a prince, Soma might've been living at the townhouse, but Soma's a stranger and is Indian to R!Ciel, and the latter doesn't view him as an equal.  He doesn't seem to be affected and even smiles when he's called out as an imposter, but he glares at Finnie when Finnie speaks up.  Because Finnie is a servant, who in his mind shouldn't have a place to voice himself: He just works there and should know his place. 

O!Ciel is a brat, but even so he treats the servants more like his family.  He tries to help Soma and protected Agni's identity when he could've just thrown him to the Yard.  He spares Sullivan instead of killing her and trusts her enough to be his ally while helping her in London--all while making sure the Queen doesn't get that deadly gas she has the ability to create despite it giving him more work and leaving him to be forced to rely on her faith and good nature.  He let Snake into his house, just the other servants, despite the attempt on his life and the possibility of Snake finding out the truth--because then Snake would really have to die.  He could've had Sebastian kill Doll right as soon as she showed up, but he didn't give the order until she attacked.  He's an Evil Noblemen and will sacrifice innocent people, but more often than not he does what he can to avoid it and he doesn't judge others solely by their origins.  The only time he's ever really killed someone for the sake of destruction was when he killed the children in Book of Circus--and I personally largely blame that on PTSD rather than an actual judgment call of "yeah, they couldn't be saved" made with complete sanity because he wasn't in his right mind at that moment and he himself is a living example of moving forward beyond tragedy, whether he believes it or not.   

"We're strangers, so of course we're different.  What is there to be ashamed of?  In any case, I'm free to choose my companions." --Ciel to Snake, in Chapter 52

R!Ciel though... He might take to the title of an Evil Noble far more than his brother.  He doesn't have to force people away, because it doesn't seem like he cares for them anyway.  He cares for O!Ciel because their aristocrats and their family.  If we take it that R!Ciel was also the one who said "I don't need any fake brothers," in the chapter Yana Toboso created in the second fan doujinshi, we can also assume that he likely even views other aristocrats as being less than him--highly possible considering the Phantomhive family's strong ties to the Queen and the amount of betrayal among the elites. (Who could you trust?)

This elitist mindset, this idea of "I must look after my brother," and the numbness to the deaths of others and the willingness to kill should be perfectly normal for a member of a family of Evil Nobles.  It fits well with R!Ciel's character, because this is what he probably grew up being taught to believe and act upon.  "I'm likely going to take up the work of a dangerous family that is involved in horrible things. Tragedy is going to happen both ways: Better get used to it."   He also fits well for the mantra of advice that the Undertaker claims to have been telling each generation of Phantomhives:

 "Even though I told him to hold each and every soul dear.  Because you hold great power you gradually fail to understand the importance of things that cannot be recovered.  You will realize that once it's too late.  How many times have I told you and others the same warning?" --Undertaker, Chapter 35      

The problem is, R!Ciel clearly has not learned that lesson yet. Granted, Undertaker is a hypocrite, but he basically is saying to cherish life.  R!Ciel shows no signs of doing that beyond a select few.  And that's jarring for multiple reasons: One because it reflects on the kind of person he was prior to his being sacrificed, and two because it can also reflect on the fact that he isn't human anymore.  What would he care about the precious fragility of life if either A.) He doesn't even have a soul to guide him and is truly just another puppet like all of the other Bizarre Dolls, or B.) Undertaker did by some miracle manage to save his soul, but he was revived anyway so what could it matter?  He's alive and so is O!Ciel.  I prefer A, however, because B would allude to him not caring for his parent's deaths either. 

Going off all of that... Let's get back to talking about how R!Ciel greets O!Ciel.  There's no talk of the tragedy or of their loss.  There's no warm, cherishing reunion of "I'm alive!  I'm alive and I'm here for you: I'm so glad you're alive!  Demon, get the heck out before I shoot a harpoon through your face: You're not touching the little cinnabon muffin that is my twin!"  Instead, it's just, "Oh, your back!  Welcome home!  You shouldn't be the rain," as if nothing that they went through happened.  A normal person does not act this way.  There should be emotion.  There should be an acknowledgment of what happened.  There isn't.  R!Ciel treats the situation as business as usual.

This hints very well to the fact that R!Ciel isn't human anymore and likely doesn't have a soul.  He's more like Agares, and is just another mindless doll under Undertaker's command.  You can't fake humanity.  You can try to recreate a person, but once they're gone, that's it.  Even if you cloned them perfectly, or saved the body, with a copy of their memories, it's just as Undertaker said: There's only one immortal soul.  One of them in the entire world.  Without it, everything else is just parts of a machine.  R!Ciel, this doll, remembers how it used to be before his death, and clings to that: It doesn't have the power to learn and change its morals beyond that.  (And I'm calling R!Ciel an 'it' now because of the high chances that 'it' is no longer a person.)  Really, it probably doesn't have any true essence of freewill.  If there's any actions done on its own accord, it's because it knows was the true R!Ciel would do and acts on that, or else what Undertaker--and maybe even O!Ciel--would want for it to do. 

I'm going to bring up the anime just for the sake of comparison: Drocell/Drossel Keinz.  Drocell was the anime equivalent of the Bizarre Dolls before they showed up.  The difference was though was that he didn't need to directly be fed commands as the others need.  Both of the Bizarre Dolls on the Campania and at Weston, while gradually being advanced, had to be basically kept on a leash whenever Undertaker didn't want them to go after a soul.  They knew some part of them was missing.  The first batch were like mindless beasts.  The second batch could talk so long as Undertaker fed them them right words, or they repeated words that their former selves would say and still attacked without otherwise being restrained.  This time, however, R!Ciel is likely a doll like Drocell, convinced that it's human and it's alive.  That it has a soul.    

"To think all this time I thought I was human." --Drocell, Kuroshitsuji anime

Unless Undertaker actually thinks he's giving O!Ciel more than just a walking, empty corpse, unless he's lost his sanity that badly due to his pain, returning R!Ciel like this... I can barely even begin to imagine how tortured and torn a person--O!Ciel--would be over that.  That a doll, a figment of someone you once cherished, could look and act exactly like the person you lost without ever being more than a husk.  Seeing that, knowing that it's a problem, and being faced with a sudden choice: "Do I accept this even though this isn't real or do I kill this lookalike? Do I destroy the one essence left of someone I cared about, or do I let this continue for my emotional benefit?"  People grieve after a loss and then they move on.  They heal.  Bringing R!Ciel back like this does not allow that for O!Ciel, Lizzie, or Undertaker. I don't know what is going through Undertaker's head right now, but this is the beginning of a downhill spiral of pain and misery...                        

[firesidevisions]

The Funeral

If Sarah had known there would be so many people attending the funeral, she probably won’t have come. She hated funerals, hated the whole idea of death. It was something she had wondered about, of course, on an abstract level – what would it feel like to die? How would she face that moment? Would she be afraid? Would she be able to face it head on? - but it was also something she was happy to avoid. As Woody Allen once said, ‘I’m not afraid of dying; I just don’t want to be there when it happens.’

The reason she was here, on this cool but sunny day, wasn’t for the fun of it, it was for her neighbour.

Mark Gregory had been, she’d always thought, a lonely old man with few friends. She never saw anyone visit his house, and he rarely went out himself.  She had always assumed that, given his age, any old friends would have either been too infirm to visit or would have already passed away. He lived alone and had told her that he had been perfectly happy to do so, but now, standing by his graveside, she realised she was wrong.  

There were a lot of people here. All seemed well off and made up for the occasion. They were mostly older; ranging from, she guessed, the late fifties and up. The man next to her was beautifully presented, elegant even. His shoes had a beautiful shine to them, his trousers were perfectly pressed, his coat, which reached down to his knees, was dated but immaculate. He was one of the younger members of the mourners, clean shaven with a perfect haircut beneath his charcoal coloured trilby. He held a cane in his manicured hands, and there was an ornate ring on his pinkie finger on his left hand.

He noticed her looking at him and smiled warmly, revealing his dazzling white teeth. He looked like a proper, old fashioned gentleman.

‘As nice a day as we could expect,’ he said, nodding his head toward the pale blue sky. ‘A beautiful spring day.’

His accent was quite thick, eastern European, Sarah thought. She couldn’t narrow it down further as she didn’t know anyone from that part of the world and had never visited herself.

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Very beautiful.’

She wondered who this man was. Mark hadn’t been a rich man and he certainly didn’t look like he’d had rich friends. His life seemed very modest, very ordinary.

The man shifted his weight until he was facing her directly. Sarah tried to feel relaxed but knew that it was impossible. She didn’t really want to be here. She liked her neighbour and when he died she had felt pity for him. Pity that was obviously misplaced.

‘May I ask, miss,’ the man said. ‘How do you know Marku?’

‘Marku?’ she asked, ‘Was that his name?’

‘Marku Grigore,’ he confirmed.

Sarah smiled. ‘I knew him as Mark Gregory. He was my neighbour.’

‘Ah,’ the man smiled. ‘I, alas, have not seen Marku for some time, not since he retired. I can see he had good company.’

Sarah sniffed and suddenly felt a wave of sadness wash over her. Perhaps more than sadness –perhaps guilt that she hadn’t made more effort when he was alive. Perhaps called round to him with a meal every once in a while, instead of just talking over the garden fence.

‘I’m afraid I wasn’t good company, just a neighbour who spoke to Mark on occasion.’

The man shook his head. ‘Do not think that. When you reach a certain age, you are used to spending time alone. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t need human contact - some warm blood to remind him he was alive.’

Warm blood, Sarah thought. What the hell does that mean?

‘He was a nice man,’ she said. ‘Very quiet. A very good neighbour.’

Another man approached them and shook her companion’s hand. He spoke a language that Sarah didn’t recognise, and at one point nodded suspiciously to Sarah. He didn’t acknowledge her directly at all, although he was obviously talking about her.

Her companion smiled reassuringly and answered the newcomer in the same language. He smiled then turned to Sarah.

‘My dear, I was just telling my old friend here that you were Marku’s neighbour.’

‘Oh,’ she replied. To be honest she was a little pissed off by this intruder. He seemed a bit put out that she was there at all. As if she was an interloper who had interrupted something very private.

‘I realise I have not introduced myself, I am Constantin Drăgan, an old business associate of Marku's. This gentleman is Romana Negru. For many years, we all worked together.'

He turned to Negru again and spoke to him, this time with a bit added of steel in his voice. Negru shook his head and with a final flurry of words (insults maybe?) he stomped off to speak to others.

‘My apologies,’ Drăgan said. ‘Romana is a good man but a little behind the times.’

‘He looked like he didn’t want me here,’ Sarah said.

Drăgan chuckled.

‘I must say, we are surprised to see you. We didn’t expect Marku to have known anyone enough to attend today’s sombre proceedings.’

‘I almost didn't come,' she confessed. ‘I just felt pity for him. I thought he was alone.'

‘He was never alone. He never will be.’

There was a murmur in the gathering and Sarah noticed that even more people had turned up now. She counted at least twenty people. All immaculately dressed and all with a steely look in their eyes. It wasn’t the look of grief, more like determination.

And some of them were looking at her. They had the same look that Negru gave her a few minutes before. It was the look of undisguised hostility. A woman, in her fifties judging by her face but possibly in her nineties judging by her clothes, stared at her. The woman’s eyes were wide, her lips were pursed and she gripped her handbag so tightly that her knuckles were white. Sarah tried to keep her gaze for a second but then looked down at her feet. She knew when she had lost.  

Where was the priest? She wondered. As soon as they can start this thing, the better. Her good deed had turned into a bizarre intrusion.

She wondered what relationship these strange and hostile people could have had with Mark. He was always polite, never intrusive, and always ready with a smile. When she saw him, he would exchange pleasantries and ask her about her day, although he rarely said anything about himself. She couldn’t remember him ever telling her what he had done for a living; not that she could ever remember asking him, she thought with that pang of guilt again. She always got the feeling he was waiting for something. As if he was always looking at the horizon waiting for some the tiny silhouettes of strangers to appear. Something from his past returning to haunt him, she had always thought melodramatically.

Whatever it was, it never arrived, she thought. Unless, of course, the thing that he was waiting for was death itself.

‘What did Mark – Marku – do for a living,’ Sarah asked Drăgan, suddenly. ‘I’m sorry but he never told me.’

Drăgan smiled again. It was an attractive smile, Sarah thought. With his white hair and out of date clothes he reminded her of a grandfather. Perhaps one giving sweets to his grandkids as they sat on his knee. There were knowledge and experience in his eyes, not all of it happy.

Drăgan sighed.

‘Marku was, I suppose, a servant.’

‘A servant?’

‘In the most basic sense, that is correct. However, he was so much more. He was like a grand butler. He was a private secretary and a treasurer, a footman and an aide. A lord chamberlain.’ He said this last word with what was almost a flourish.

‘Have you ever heard of the Upper Ten?’

‘No, sorry.’

‘No need to apologise, my dear. Times have changed. The Upper Ten were the most senior servants in a household. Imagine a noble aristocrat living in an opulent mansion. The Upper Ten were the ones who would run the house.  They were as grand, respected and as feared as the master. It was a position of great power. Marku, my dear, was in a league above them.’

‘You speak about him with affection,’ Sarah said.

Drăgan nodded.  

‘He worked for me for many, many years. He worked for all of us here.’

Sarah glanced around, seeing again that people were staring at her. She felt almost naked beneath their glares.

‘Not everyone seems as happy to reminisce as you do,’ she said glumly.

‘We are a small society of people. We don’t see strangers very often. Trust is never strong among us.’

‘You don’t seem to have a problem with it.’

Drăgan’s smile grew wider. Then his eyes seemed to grow in size too. They looked down on her and suddenly Sarah felt a trick of fear run down her back. His friendly demeanour seemed to have changed abruptly and he looked as if he was a ravenous creature, and she was his meal.

He reached out and grabbed her wrist tightly. His hands were like vices and almost immediately she could feel pins and needles in her fingers as the blood flow was stemmed. She tried to pull back but couldn’t move, his grip was too tight. She looked desperately around her but the faces of those who had only a few minutes ago looked upon her with disdain, now seemed almost gleeful. Their eyes were wide, tongues licked lips; malevolent smiles revealing sharp, animal teeth.

She could feel the panic rise in her throat, and her heart beat with such ferocity that she thought it might explode from her chest.

‘Of course, I don’t have a problem with it,’ Drăgan said, pulling her close to him. She became aware of a putrid smell that came from his mouth. And as she looked up at him, she could see his razor-sharp teeth. His eyes were bright yellow and his pupils looked more cat than human.

‘After all, what is a funeral without awake, and what is awake without a feast?’  

Then she knew that it was over. She didn’t know why – there was no way she could ever understand something like this, something that she would have only ever dreamt about in her darkest nightmares - only that whatever life that she had - a quiet life with few accomplishments and little ambition - was to end that moment It was such an unbelievable way to go. Had he implied that they were going to eat her? Even as the truth of it laughed at her, it made no sense to her, whatsoever.

Some people had heard that, when faced with the inevitability of death, some people became calm; that a serene peace would have fallen on them like a comfort blanket. But this didn’t happen. The fear rose inside of her and she screamed. The sound came from the very pit of her stomach and rose with anger and resignation. She could feel it vibrate through her as it left her body.

Drăgan made no attempt to stop it. He didn’t clamp his hand over her mouth or sneer at her, hoarsely telling her to be quiet. It was as if he didn’t care. Maybe her fear just made it all the better for him, a seasoning to the appetiser.  

Sarah’s legs gave way and she slumped down. Not to the floor, as Drăgan’s grip was too tight, but she could feel her strength slipping away. Drăgan lifted her up and pulled her so close that she could feel his breath on her neck. He opened his mouth wide and turned his head in an angle to help facilitate the bite that would kill her.

Then he stopped.

He pulled back and Sarah saw a look of utter confusion on his face. His grip loosened on her arm - although he did not leave her go - and he turned his head sharply to the right, looking towards a copse of trees on the side of the hill.

Sarah turned to look at the others, more to get some distance from her captor and his repulsive breath than a desire to see them. What she saw confused her further.  

Romana Negru was on his knees. He howled with pain and Sarah saw the arrow that was sticking out of his chest. Blood stained his white shirt and spilt onto the grass. The woman who had, only moments ago, looked at her with undisguised disdain, fell over onto her face and Sarah could see another arrow sticking out of her back.

There were screams and wails of pain, and all semblance of a funeral was gone, replaced with the cacophony of caterwauling like a panicked zoo.

She turned back to Drăgan as his hand dropped from her arm and he too fell to the ground. An arrow had gone right through him and blood squirted fitfully from his wound and over Sarah’s shoes. She stepped back to protect them but it was no good. Her legs with painted with blood and horrible viscous material. As she stepped back, she tripped over and fell backwards, letting out a yelp of pain and surprise as she hit the floor.  

Then she saw the others.

A group of men, all armed with crossbows, stepped out of the trees and walked towards the graveside and the fallen mourners.  

Sarah tried to scramble backwards away from them. She didn’t know who they were and didn’t care that they had just killed the man who had threatened to eat her. They approached slowly, with confidence and caution, their eyes darting back and forth to the bodies in front of them, like snakes getting ready to strike. They held the crossbows in front of them, as if they were expecting to see another target, but nothing moved.

She didn’t think she could take any more. She wanted to get home, to wipe all this terrible gunk off her; to have a shower that was so hot it burned her skin until it was red raw, then put on her PJs and drink a bottle of wine. Maybe three.

The men walked over to the bodies of whatever vampire creatures she had attended this funeral with, and, with one hand, they reached into small bags that hung over their shoulders and took out small sticks. They acted as if listening to orders, each moved synchronised. The crossbows droped so they pointed towards the floor and they snapped the sticks in front of them.  

Flares.  

Bright orange flames erupted from the end of the flares and Sarah could hear the crackling sound which added another lever of otherworldliness to this situation. The men held them solemnly for a moment, then dropped them in unison onto the bodies. Each creature erupted into flames, bright flashes which lasted only a brief moment. There was no screaming, no writhing, nothing that she would have thought would happen – not that anything as bizarre as this had ever crossed her mind before. The bodies burned quickly and it was as if they were nothing more than the paper magicians sometimes used, shining brightly for a second, and then disappearing completely.

There was a brief moment of silence as the men bowed their heads as if in prayer, then turn on their heels and, without even glancing at Sarah, they walked together back into the woods.

It was as if they were never there.

Sarah sat on the wet grass for minutes, maybe hours. Her dress suit was soaked from the dew of the grass and the blood had started drying on her legs. Her mind raced, as did her heart. She was afraid to move, not of out injury but because she didn’t know if the whole incident was real or not. She didn’t want to know. So, she just sat there.

Soon, birds started chirping and the sounds of nature returned. It was as if nothing had happened.  

After a while, realising that she couldn’t sit there forever, she stood up carefully, feeling a slight rush of blood to her head, and looked around.

She was alone.

Completely alone.

There was no sign of the men with crossbows. They had come and gone without sound, without fanfare. As if they didn’t exist at all.

The bodies of her fellow funeral goers were also gone. She looked before her to where Drăgan had stood but all that remained was the cane and the ring he had worn on his pinkie. She stooped down to look at it but didn’t pick it up. It held the image of a growling, violent wolf. It looked old and expensive but Sarah didn’t take it. Apart from these two items, it was as if she had been here alone all along.

But of course, that wasn’t the case. The sticky mess on her legs testified on behalf of her rational mind which was almost losing a battle with the part of her that wanted to believe it had all been some kind of waking nightmare.

Sarah slipped off her shoes and threw them aside, not caring that they were her only good pair. She then pulled down her tights, careful not to touch the blood, and tossed them aside too. She then walked slowly away from the graveside, and away from the old man she had pitied. She saw some dock leaves and reached down and plucked the biggest one she could find and used it to wipe her legs clean. It took three leaves to complete the job.

She didn’t want to look around. She didn’t want to have any last memories. She wanted nothing more than to succumb to that protective part of her mind that could pretend it didn’t happen. She knew this would never really work and that she would be reminded of it all repeatedly in her dreams. The memory would stain her, but that was for later. Not for now.

The wind blew on her bare legs and it made her feel good. It was a feeling that she understood, that was familiar and that was ok. She could live with that and that was important. She didn’t know what had happened or why, only that she was still alive.