Chapter Text
Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion’s paws,
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger’s jaws,
And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood;
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,
And do whate’er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world and all her fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:
O, carve not with thy hours my love’s fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;
Him in thy course untainted do allow
For beauty’s pattern to succeeding men.
Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong,
My love shall in my verse ever live young.
- William Shakespeare, Sonnet 19
The whole ordeal began not with a cry of distress or a demand of attention, but with a question of whether or not demons have feelings.
Ciel Phantomhive, a boy-recently-turned-demon of seventeen years, had turned about in his chair so he may better watch the raindrops throw themselves at the glass window of his study. His question made the butler currently dusting the bookshelves near the doorway, also a demon, stop in a state of puzzlement and cock his head in his direction.
“Forgive me, my lord but—what?”
Ciel sighed but didn't tear his gaze from the window.
“I said: Do demons have feelings? Obviously you feel things like hot and cold, but, emotions on the other hand—Do we feel them?”
The young lord had been in a state of almost skin-numbing blankness for the past week or so, unsure of where his life would go after the Trancy incident and his recent change of—species? He didn’t know, and that merely added onto the ever growing blanket of fog that warped and shadowed his usual clear conscience and decisive nature. It was pathetic, really.
Sebastian, the aforementioned butler, had laid down the feather duster by now and made his way to just a few feet before the desk where his charge sat pondering. He was at a loss for words at the question-- something that rarely happened – but cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak anyways.
“Emotion, my lord, is human at its most basic nature, and, seeing as you are no longer human—“ He stopped and caught himself. “We can feel anger and indignance and the like but—“
“Love. Sadness. Loss. Humiliation, Sebastian.” He stated sharply, cutting the butler off.
“We feel only the most selfish of emotions; the emotions that benefit our ego and ourselves alone. Anything else is a waste of time and energy. If I may, why do you ask?”
Ciel thought for a moment and only then spared a glance to the carpet. “No reason. However, there is another thing I wanted to speak with you about.”
Sebastian stepped closer and kept his eyes trained on the back of his master’s head. “Yes?”
“I believe it won’t come as a surprise to you when I say that you won’t be receiving my soul. Not in this state; not unless I die, which can no longer happen.” The boy stopped and righted himself in the chair to face the butler in front of him. “I suppose what I’m getting at is that you’re no longer bound to me. I release you from the contract.”
The sound of rain filled the room as Sebastian stood there in a stunned silence, claret eyes fixed on nothing but Ciel’s gaunt and sober expression. The young Phantomhive flicked his eyes up to the butler and held him there, the contractual seal pulsing and flickering like a dying ember.
Sebastian would have been a liar had he said he didn’t feel an overwhelming sense of elation and liberation at that moment, but he kept it buried beneath his stoic façade. He tore his eyes from Ciel’s and nodded once before bowing and leaving the room.
Ciel stared down at the desk for a second, or maybe an hour—he didn’t know-- before slowly turning back around to watch the rain.