rphantomhive:

Rachel was not the least bit surprised by the shock and confusion that flit across the Earl’s face. In fact, she might have been apt to worry if he had not reacted in such a way. She didn’t move, didn’t dare to speak just yet, simply letting the boy take in her presence and work out for himself that this was a very real situation; not an illusion or dream. Identical blue eyes to his own flicked across his pale face, taking in his features. He’d grown in the few years since her departure and she was both proud and saddened by that. Proud because her  little boy was growing up, and sad because she could see the negative effects of it that lingered in his posture and the dark circles under his eyes. The job of the Watchdog was not for a child.

As Ciel continued to stare at her wordlessly, she chanced to take a step towards the desk, the ends of her dress barely brushing against the floor like gossamer. 

“Ciel…” she uttered his name in the softest of whispers, as though frightened she might shatter the moment. “It has been a long time. You’ve grown.”

The boy gasped a little when she took a step forward. Her footing was quiet, harmless. But it frightened him a little because she shouldn’t be able to do that. She’s dead. Or, was. He didn’t know what to think of anything right now. He couldn’t even remember what he was doing before she shattered every piece of information he’s ever known. “How..” he croaked out, his eye never lingering from her form.

The Earl grew so strong in the time of his parents’ death, the burning of the mansion, the day he lost everything that his life circulated around. He fought to recover, to become stronger and defeat whatever his parent’s couldn’t. But, now that he thought about it.. he never really recovered, did he?

No.

Instead of moving on, he took up a position that no child should have to handle. He gave away his soul to a demon to fulfill a wish that seemed meaningless now. If he wanted to find and kill those who murdered his parents– then what was the point now? Was all Ciel fighting for lost? Was his soul and efforts wasted? The thought made him tremble. He stood up slowly, and gripped the edge of his desk with both hands. “Mother?” he whispered, and swallowed a lump in his throat. How could he ever explain what he’s done? How could he explain to himself? Vengeance, despair, agony… were they all false emotions to a false truth? What was real? 

How?

His body shook against his will, and he could feel his eyes stinging with tears. He felt so weak, and he felt helpless. He thought that he had left these emotions behind, because they were pointless. He thought he was past this, but apparently not. Not all the way.

Ciel wasn’t sure that his lack of motion was out of pure shock or because he didn’t know where to go. Should he run up and hug his mother, and accept that she was back? Or should he reject what he thought impossible? It only made sense to go with his heart, but his heart was cold and blackened by hatred. So many questions floating around in his head, the answers he so craved elsewhere. He didn’t want to ask, and he didn’t want to speak. His body shifted, and he turned around with his back facing toward the woman. “My mother is dead. She burned down with my father and my home two years ago,” he stated, firmly. The tears spilled from his eyes as he looked out of his window. The words were only half meant for her, the other half to himself; to remind him of the truth. My mother is dead. She burned down with my father and my home two years ago. The sentence repeated in his head multiple times. This was truth. Not what was behind him.