July, 1888

"Yield?" Eleanor panted.

"If I say anything else, you'll ram that blade somewhere unpleasant," Charles Grey chuckled. "I yield."

It was a warm summer day, the sun beat down on the two individuals.

One Eleanor Midford, a teenage girl with pale brown hair and lavender eyes.

The other, Charles Grey, a young man with choppy long silver hair and baby blue eyes.

They were dressed similarly; both in pants and a loose shirt, with their hair pulled out of the way.

Despite Charles being on the ground with Eleanor above him and a wooden sword jabbed under his neck, it was Eleanor who was out of breath and trembling from exhaustion.

After Charles yielded, she stepped off him. She looked up at the beating sun, wiping the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand and trying to catch her breath. She had won, but Charles never made it an easy victory. He had her beat in terms of stamina and raw power, only her skill let her prevail and if she ever let up in her training Charles would certainly surpass her there as well. Her hair, which had been neatly braided and pinned, was in complete disarray. She undid the pins and braid, letting it fall freely as she staggered over to a nearby chair.

The two had been sparring in an empty courtyard at the Midford manor. They had been sparring partners for years by that point, even after Charles graduated and went to work in the palace, he still accepted her invitations to train.

As soon as she sat down, Snake stepped behind her and began to run his fingers through her hair. He'd work on taming it once more. It would be unbecoming for a woman to keep loose hair down in the presence of a man that was not family, nor her betrothed.

"I love playing with you," he said, taking out a handkerchief to dab away the sweat on his brow.

"I'm honored you still take the time out of your busy schedule to humor me," she said. "You're an excellent partner."

Charles put away the handkerchief and grabbed the discarded wooden swords before putting them away on the nearby rack. "Oh?"

Eleanor closed her eyes, relaxing. She was physically exhausted, hot, and Snake's fingers running through her hair felt terribly nice. She was itching for a nap. "I'm always pleasantly surprised when you drop by to play."

"Why's that?"

Eleanor murmured, "Some have actively avoided sparing with me recently."

He smirked. "You do go all in—why, it even feels like you're trying to kill me."

"I am," she said, reopening her eyes to find Charles standing in front of her. "If I don't treat you seriously, I feel that would be a disservice to you and your skills."

"And that," he said, "is why I enjoy fighting you and others don't. Their loss." He gestured to her boots. "Your laces are undone."

"Boo," she said tiredly, not really wanting to move. Snake was still working on her hair.

"Allow me," said Charles, kneeling down. He undid the rest of the laces and slowly began to re-tie the boots."

"My, my," she said with a sardonic drawl. "What a prince charming."

He shuddered. "That insult was uncalled for."

Eleanor smiled faintly in response.

"While I have you here," he said, "would you do me the honor of letting me escort you to Marchioness Duval's ball this Season?"

"Oh my. Is the lovely prince charming being forced to attend a Season ball by his mummy?"

He smiled thinly. "She will not shut up."

Eleanor giggled. "And she doesn't already have a date lined up for you?"

"She did. I told her I was already going with you as a favor for Edward since he would not be able to go," he said.

"Aha. And what makes you think I'm not already going with my actual fiancé?"

Charles scoffed. "Everyone knows Earl Phantomhive does not attend these parties. He didn't even attend your knighting ceremony."

Eleanor's eyes narrowed. "He had to go out of the country on business for Her Majesty."

"I'm not faulting him for his choice—I would have chosen her Majesty's orders over anyone's knighting ceremony—merely pointing out that it wouldn't cause fuss," dismissed Charles, uncaring of Eleanor's glare.

Eleanor muttered accusingly, "It felt more like a jab."

"Maybe a small one," he admitted cheekily.

"Why?"

"I like watching you rush to his defense. You're so protective of those close to you," he said. Now finished retying her boots, he stood back up and brushed the dirt off his pants.

Eleanor's brow furrowed. "Isn't that normal?"

"One would hope. I don't suppose I make it into that friend group?" Charles teased.

Eleanor laughed. "I think of you more as a punching bag."

"You wound me, dame."

Dame. The title used for lady knights. Titles were an odd thing that Eleanor only recently got comfortable using. Any noble was addressed by lord or lady—it was the nobility equivalent of Mr. and Miss—or by their rank. Unlike Ciel who had taken the title of earl, Eleanor had was neither a matriarch nor wife; she had no official rank outside what she earned.

She liked that Charles addressed her by dame. She was proud of her achievement. Not many noblemen liked to call her dame. It always brought a reflexive smile out of her when someone she respected used that title. She playfully scoffed. "If that were true, you wouldn't be smiling so happily."

He shrugged, baby blues sparkling with delight. "I'll come to play with you next week."

"I'll look forward to it," she said sincerely.

(✹)

August, 1888

Carriages were bumpy rides. There was an appeal to them, of course, but the novelty of riding around in a carriage wore off early in Eleanor's life. No matter how soft of fabric covered the benches inside, it couldn't accommodate for riding on unpaved roads. It was a lot like being on a school bus going down a gravel road. Hot days were miserable, and cold days were bitter in a carriage.

Because London was a rainy city, too, on top of being a hot day it made things humid and muggy.

It wasn't like Eleanor could walk around in tank top and shorts like she would have in previous lives. Ladies could not show too much skin without being thought of as a whore.

And a lady with marks on her skin? With scars or burns or a demonic tattoo?

Thankfully, that day wasn't too bad. It had rained heavily for three days, drastically cooling the city down, so Eleanor was quite comfortable. Or at least as comfortable as she could be riding in a carriage for more than ten minutes.

Ciel glared moodily out the carriage window.

"Stop pouting," said Eleanor without glancing up from the book she was reading. She was seated across Ciel in the carriage, Snake and Sebastian up front and driving.

"I'm not pouting."

"I can feel your pout. It's distracting."

Ciel sighed. "Why do I have to stay in London?"

"It's normal for nobles to stay in the city for the Season," Eleanor said. "You've missed the last two. You ought to attend some social gatherings."

"Can't you go in my place?"

"I've had to go with my brother the last two years," she retorted. "Suffer with me."

"Feh."

Eleanor turned a page. "See? Pouting."

"I am not—"

"Are too—"

He knocked the book up and out of her hands, it went out the window of the carriage. Eleanor gasped as her book became lost to the streets of London.

"Now look who's pouting," he taunted.

Eleanor reached across and started to pull Ciel's cheeks apart. "You brat! I just reached a huge plot twist."

The carriage came to a halt and Sebastian opened the door. He didn't bat an eye at the scene. "My lady, please be kind to the young master. He gets pouty if you're not nice to him."

"Sebastian!"

"Hah," Eleanor scoffed, releasing her hold on his cheeks.

Eleanor and Ciel stepped off the carriage. Sebastian went to open the front door for them while Snake drove the carriage around back to put it and the horses away.

The Phantomhive townhouse was a sprawling two-story brick mansion. Nowhere near as big as the country manor, but certainly nothing to dismiss.

The townhouse was something Eleanor visited about once a week on behalf of Ciel. It wasn't far from the Midford manor. It didn't have any special servants tending to it, she only visited it to make sure nothing had been broken into or needed repair. Ciel certainly wasn't going to bother.

Stepping into the townhouse, Ciel glanced around. "At least it'll be quiet."

"Unless you decide to host a party."

"Ugh." Ciel scrunched up his nose in disdain. He, Eleanor, and Sebastian headed up the steps to the office.

Although Eleanor teased Ciel about attending a Seasonal party, they both knew that wasn't why he was there.

The Queen had issued an order. It was time for her watchdog to go hunting.

Upon opening the office door, however, the trio were greeted by Angelina, Grelle, and Lau rummaging through the office.

"For goodness' sake, wherever do they keep the tea in this place?" Angelina tsk'd as she pulled out antiques from the curio cabinet.

Lau examined an expensive vase. "I can't find it either."

"Why would you think it's there?" shrewdly asked Eleanor.

"Ahh! Our dear lord and lady have arrived," said Lau with a smile, setting the vase down.

"You two are early," remarked Angelina.

"Why are you here?" Ciel warily asked.

"We're always here to lend a hand for our lord," said Angelina with a smile.

Eleanor sighed. "For now, please stop rummaging through the office. Sebastian, kindly prepare tea and snacks?"

"Right away, my lady."

(✹)

Snake prepared the tea while Sebastian brought in a stack of afternoon treats. The two butlers worked in tandem to prepare the sitting room.

Ciel took a sip of his tea. "Another prostitute was murdered in Whitechapel yesterday. These aren't ordinary murders. They're bizarre. No, you could rightly call them aberrant."

Grelle stood directly behind Angelina, Sebastian stood behind Ciel, and Snake behind Eleanor. Sebastian said, "A special blade was used on the most recent victim, Marry Ann Nichols, and she was torn apart beyond all recognition."

"The Scotland Yard and press are calling the criminal: Jack the Ripper," said Ciel. "I'm in London to ascertain the situation."

Lau smiled teasingly. "Do you have the guts to see the scene of that crime?"

Ciel dismissed, "You already know the answer to that question, Lau."

"Boo. You're no fun today," he said.

"When am I ever fun?" Ciel retorted.

"I'm not sure—Lady Midford?"

"He's fun when he's not pouty," she quipped, eliciting a tired glare from Ciel.

"We'll be departing after tea," Ciel cut in. "Elly, mind the manor."

"Anything to keep you from pouting—"

He reached over and pinched her cheek hard enough to cause her to yelp.

(✹)

Visiting the crime scene was ultimately fruitless, so Ciel and the others had to go directly to a source of information.

The Undertaker.

The Undertaker was an Aristocrat of Evil, although he held no official noble title. The underworld used him to clean up the dead. He had connections with coroners all across Europe. It was hard to explain exactly how he managed it, but the strange man seemed to always know everything about those who have died.

Ciel did not enjoy interacting with the Undertaker, he found his eccentricities tiring. He vaguely remembered the Undertaker being friends with his father—which was how he knew who he was—but that didn't mean much to the young lord.

He preferred to send in Eleanor to deal with him. She had told him she had become kind of(???) friends with him. They got together once a month for a comedy night or some such nonsense.

Despite how integral the Undertaker was to the underworld, the Undertaker himself had a very humble funeral parlor.

Honestly, it was a bit of a dump. The Undertaker constantly had coffins laying about, and it reeked of embalming fluid. It was rarely ever lit, and there were cobwebs everywhere.

"Undertaker?" Ciel called out as he and the others entered the parlor. "Are you there?"

"Heh-heh-heh. I thought you'd drop by before long," wheezed the Undertaker, opening one of the coffins he had apparently been laying inside of. "Welcome, my lord. Is today the day you'll condescend to enter one of my special coffins?"

"Certainly not. Today I—"

The Undertaker raised a hand. "You don't have to tell me. I know. That wasn't the type of customer fit for respectable people. I'll have you know, I made her beautiful."

Ciel calmly said, "I want to hear about it."

"Ah, I see," said Lau. It was the man's first visit time meeting the Undertaker—him, Angelina, and Grelle. "The funeral parlor is your cover business. How much is the info?"

Undertaker beamed. "I have no desire for any of the Queen's coins." He moved closer to Ciel. "Come on, my lord, give it to me—prime laughter!"

Lau let out an oooh, then said, "Leave it to me. Behold the genius of the man that Shanghai called the Sleeping Tiger of New Year's Parties." In Mandarin, he said, "Every calendar's days are numbered!"

The Undertaker stared blankly at him.

Angelina stepped forward. "It can't be helped, then. I, Madam Red, the belle of fashionable society, will tell you her special story." She cleared her throat. "So, his dick was completely flaccid and tiny but when I licked it the tip started bobbing like—"

The Undertaker put a hand over her mouth to keep her from finishing that story. He turned back to Ciel. "Now, my lord, you're the only one left. Anything to say?"

"I wish I brought Elly," he said ruefully. "Sebastian."

"Understood, my lord. If everyone would please wait outside—"

(✹)

A scarce ten minutes later, Sebastian opened the funeral parlor door and said, "Please come in. It appears he will tell us everything."

The four—Ciel, Grelle, Angelina, and Lau—re-entered the funeral parlor. The Undertaker was at his desk, wheezing from his laughter.

"The information now," ordered Ciel.

"Yes, yes..." The Undertaker chuckled. "These days, I often get customers who are incomplete. The wombs are missing. Although the killer makes violent splatter, the wombs themselves are neatly cut out."

"It was done on a public road, even if it was not a high-traffic one... Wouldn't such an excision have been difficult for an amateur, particularly in the middle of the night?"

"That's my opinion as well," said the Undertaker. "First the killer slashes their throats with a sharp weapon, then cuts them open and steals what's precious to them. I'm sure there will be others killed. People like that don't stop until someone stops them." The Undertaker's smile stretched and he added a mocking tone to his voice. "Can you do it, o villainous noble Lord Phantomhive?"

"On the honor of my family crest, I eliminate anyone who defiles the Queen's garden, without exception by any means necessary," said Ciel.

(✹)

It was time for lunch when Ciel and the others had returned to the townhouse. Snake had prepared a lovely meal for them, serving them as Ciel explained what they had discovered to Eleanor.

Sebastian had already prepared a list of suspects and even narrowed it down further to one prime suspect. The person in question was hosting a final ball for the Season later that very night.

Snake refilled Eleanor's teacup, one of his snakes popping out from under his sleeves to flick their tongue at her. Eleanor smiled in faint amusement at the snake.

"We'll need to go to the party then," Ciel decided. "Nobles leave the city after the Season has ended, and I doubt our suspect will be an exception to that."

"You'll need a disguise, my lord," said Sebastian. "Our suspect will be on high alert if the Lord of Phantomhive arrived at his party."

Ciel had a look of misery on his face. "... You are correct."

"Allow me," offered Sebastian. "I will prepare the perfect one."

Eleanor caught Sebastian's gaze, giving him a look.

The demon winked at her.

(✹)

Sebastian had prepared a very lovely disguise for Ciel. The earl had been placed in a corset and fashionable pink Victorian dress, complete with a long black pig-tailed wig. The hair and accompanying pink hat had been perfectly positioned to cover his right eye in place of his normal black eye patch.

He looked every bit a cute, dainty, little girl.

Why, he could even pass as a princess.

He hated it.

He hated it so much. He promised himself he'd burn the dress and wig as soon as they were done with the mission.

That damn demon, Ciel thought pensively.

It was a good disguise, too. That's what he hated the most about it. He was already—ugh—small for his age. He could easily—painfully so—pass as a girl if he dressed accordingly. No one would suspect the "fearsome" and "villainous" Lord Phantomhive would cross dress, which made the disguise even better.

Ciel just knew the demon was elated to see Ciel so miserable.

Damn demon!

It didn't help that his aunt, Angelina, was gushing over Ciel's transformation. She made him try on several dresses, enamored with how adorable her nephew looked.

"You should wear dresses more often, Ciel, you look so precious," she cooed.

The fact that she sincerely meant it and wasn't at all teasing him hurt his pride even more than he would ever want to admit.

"Get. Out," Ciel bit out through gritted teeth.

"Don't be so sour! We'll wait for you in the carriage," chortled his aunt as she took her leave.

"I could have Miss Hopkins prepare a variety for you, my lord—I mean, my lady," said Sebastian, eyes dancing with sadistic mirth.

Ciel was about to snap something nasty when there was a knock on the room. The door opened up before he had a chance to shoo them away, Eleanor stepped in.

Ciel's only visible eye widened in surprise. "E-Elly?"

As Ciel had undergone a transformation, so had Eleanor.

"Every lady needs a humble knight to escort her," said Eleanor, bowing elegantly before him. "Allow me to accompany you."

Sebastian smiled. "I'm pleased the wig fits you well, my lord."

Eleanor's pale brown hair had been bobby-pinned tightly to her scalp, over top was a wig of a similar color shortened and styled to be more masculine. Eleanor's outfit was that of a traditional noble gentleman, in shades of deep plum and black. Her chest had been bound, and the tailcoat she wore was heavy enough to cover the natural curve in her hips.

Ciel had become a lady, and Eleanor had become a lord.

She bowed, holding out her hand. "Please, allow me to escort you, my lady."

Ciel's eye twitched. He reluctantly placed his hand in hers. "You didn't have to go this far."

"Don't be absurd," she said, kissing the back of his knuckles. "We're in this together."

"It's a miserable path."

"I won't let you go down it alone."

"My, how touching," said Sebastian, red eyes gleaming.

Eleanor squeezed Ciel's hand, tossing Sebastian a haughty look. "We're a packaged deal."

"Extra seasoning is always nice."

"Eat shit and die."

Sebastian smiled. "With a tongue like that, you'd serve well in the navy."

(✹)

"Aleister Chambers, the Viscount Druitt. He graduated from medical school but has not gone into practice. He's thrown several parties at his home. However, people say he simultaneously holds secret parties that only his intimates may attend," said Sebastian.

While Ciel and Eleanor had gone so far as to swap their genders for the evening, Sebastian only had to change into a tutor's attire. Snake would not be able to attend—his scales could not be covered up, and everyone important knew the man with scales belonged to Eleanor Midford—so he had to mind the townhouse.

Ciel, Eleanor, Sebastian, Angelina, Lau, and Grelle would attend. Angelina and Grelle did not need any disguises, as Angelina regularly attended such soirées and already had an invitation.

Ciel would be posing as the daughter of one of Angelina's friends that she invited to tag along, with Eleanor as Ciel's date, and Sebastian as their adult escort.

In the carriage ride on the way to the night party, Angelina said, "I've heard rumors that he's into black magic and that sort of thing."

"So they hold secret parities at these events where they perform ceremonies and sacrifice prostitutes? That's our lead?" Lau surmised.

"Since it's the last party of the Season, this is our only night to see," said Ciel.

The carriage stopped.

"Looks like we're here," said Eleanor.

(✹)

The party was already in full swing. Ciel and Eleanor, arm-in-arm, entered as the orchestra played a slow tune. Many of the guests were dancing across the ballroom, with others mingling along the sides. Eleanor had a mischievous thought.

She looked over at Sebastian. "If there is a secret party being held here—you'd be able to find it, won't you?"

"Naturally."

"Then do it," said Ciel.

"As you wish," said Sebastian, bowing before he took his head.

"You don't know how to dance, right?" Eleanor asked Ciel after Sebastian left.

Ciel grimaced.

Because of Astre's health, he had always sat out of physical lessons, including dancing.

"Don't worry," she soothed, moving to place her hand on his waist and steering him to the dance floor. "I can lead."

"Ack—no—Elly!" he hissed out

"Relax," she said with a smile, pulling him around. "You can step on my feet if you want—I am taller than you."

His cheeks turned red. "You—You—!"

She laughed as she twirled him. "Enjoy yourself, my friend. You do look oh so lovely. Like a princess in a fairy tale."

"You're insufferable," he informed her, his face growing redder by the second as she lead him across the dance floor.

"Come now, don't pout," she teased. "You'll ruin your cute face."

"It is not—" Ciel grimaced, accidentally stepping on her toes. "—Never mind. Why are we even dancing?"

"You owe me a dance," she said. "I've had to dance with my father and Edward at nearly every ball before. Do you know what some ladies say about me?"

"No?" Ciel grimaced, a touch guilty.

"Nothing, they're too scared to say anything," she chuckled, spinning him around. She paused. "Well, I suppose I have danced with others besides them."

"Who?"

"Charles Gray—"

Ciel's face twisted in disgust. "I'm sorry."

Eleanor smiled. "Liar."

"Dancing isn't exactly my forte—"

"Yet here we are," she said, leading him around.

He sighed. "You're impossible to say no to."

"Thank you."

The music stopped. Eleanor and Ciel moved off to the side, as the dancing had clearly winded Ciel.

There was a clapping, both children turning to face a young man with blonde hair and gray eyes. "You danced like a lovely little robin, Miss."

That's—

Eleanor and Ciel recognized the man as their prime suspect. The two exchanged subtle glances.

If we keep him here, Sebastian will have plenty of time to look around.

Ciel curtsied. "Thank you, sir."

"Good sir, why don't you fetch us some drinks?" Viscount Druitt said, glancing at Eleanor.

Eleanor frowned, not wanting to leave Ciel alone.

Ciel pinched her side. "Go on. I'm parched."

"As you wish, my lady," said Eleanor, taking her bow. Turning away, she felt a strong urge to immediately turn back around. It took a considerable about of self-discipline not to.

Sebastian would not let Ciel die before completing his contract—he would not be able to consume his soul otherwise. Eleanor knew that Ciel would not die.

That did not mean Sebastian would refrain from saving Ciel too late.

Such as after something triggered his past, or caused him pain. The demon was an eccentric sadist, relishing in the misery of his feasts. Ciel was strong—he had to be—yet he was not whole.

What happened to them left them cracked and bruised, damaged in a way that could not be healed. Scars and burns could fade away from their skin; but they would forever ache in their memories.

Ciel pushed forward without trepidation. No matter the danger posed to him, he would not hesitate. He did not view his body—himself—as something precious to protect, rather it was merely a tool to reach his goal. He was not without fear, so much as without self-regard. To make things worse, he did not even have a strong body like Eleanor to rely on, he only had his wits. He was a small boy, vulnerable to many things, which doubled the obstacles he had to face.

He already started his life with half a deck of cards, and what remained after that bitter December was charred.

Yet he would not stop playing.

Not until he reached an ending he was satisfied with.

He didn't even have the luxury to chance a start over—death could be final for him, unlike Eleanor.

Eleanor believed it admirable that he marched on despite his disadvantages. It took no small amount of courage and fortitude to do that.

He was strong. So, so strong.

She knew that. She trusted in that.

But sometimes—just sometimes—she couldn't accept it.

Sometimes he looked like a scared little boy doing his best just to keep his head above the water.

He was Ciel Phantomhive, Lord of the Underworld and the Queen's loyal watchdog.

But he was also Astre Phantomhive, her kind friend who had to forfeit his kindness to survive.

She hated leaving him alone. She hated walking away from him, knowing she was leaving him with someone dangerous.

She hated it so damn much.

Why won't you value yourself more?

Eleanor had reached the drink table.

I wish you could see yourself as I see you. I wish you would care about yourself as I care about you.

Of course, those were things she could never say.

He would not care to hear those words from her.

She glanced back over in the direction she left Ciel—

Not there.

Anxiety seized upon her, she immediately grabbed the hilt of her rapier as she quickly scanned the ballroom. Ciel's dress was a vibrant pink, so he easily stood out amongst the seas of cool-toned dresses.

When she realized he was nowhere to be found, she strode back over to where she had left them. She saw there was a hallway nearby and she exited the ballroom to enter it. Looking around, she spotted a large set of doors further down that was guarded by two men.

It didn't take much effort for her to conclude the men were guarding something important—likely the secret party.

Eleanor strode purposefully down the hall, approaching the door.

"Stop," one of the guards called out to her. "You can't enter this room without an invitation."

"I'm looking for a friend," Eleanor said, lowering her voice as she carefully watched the guards' expressions. "A small girl in a frilly pink dress."

It was subtle.

Their gazes moved to glance at one another, their expressions stoic.

But Eleanor had been drenched in the underworld for years by that point. She knew how to read that kind of gaze.

She did not say anything else. Quick as can, she ripped her rapier out and slit their throats with one fluid motion. She stepped back to avoid the arterial spray—they both moved to grab at their throats to stop the bleeding—and she took that opportunity to dig her rapier straight through their eyes and into their brain.

Two jabs.

They fell forward, dead.

She stepped over their bodies to open the door.

It was a dimly lit, spacious room. She could see rows of masked nobles sitting in chairs and holding up little signposts with a number on them. At the far end of the room was Druitt himself, and beside him in handcuffs was Ciel. None of them noticed Eleanor entering the room.

"Five hundred—"

"—Five-fifty!"

"—Six!"

Auctioning him off? Eleanor thought. She had anticipated a kind of cult given the murders they were investigating, not a...

Do any of them deserve to live?

She stood at the back, shrouded in the darkness. Only Ciel noticed her.

She held his gaze, silently asking him what he would like her to do.

"Eight!"

"Eight-fifty!"

"Maim. Arrest," Ciel mouthed.

Eleanor placed her right hand over her chest and bowed. As you command.

There was only one door to the room—one exit. She had closed the door upon entry.

Where's Sebastian?

"Demon," she whispered, and she felt the hidden tattoo around her hand tingle. "Keep the door closed, don't let any escape."

He must have been nearby, somewhere. Eleanor found this party room quickly, and he was ordered to do so long before she went looking for it. Not to mention, it was where Ciel was currently being held prisoner.

"Yes, my lady," she heard him whisper in her ear.

She readied her rapier, and—then—she—

Danced.

Step by step, she danced through the rows, her footwork light and breezy as she jabbed and slashed across joints. She was mindful not to hit anything prudent or vital, but really did any of these scumbags need to walk again? Did they really need their knees? Their Achilles tendons?

Eleanor did not think so.

They screamed. A few had hidden guns, but in such tight quarters, Eleanor was so much faster than their panicked fumbling.

They were pigs up for the slaughter.

She stepped up onto the stage, her footsteps quiet as a fog rolling across a graveyard. Druitt had fallen back, panicked and pleading for her to spare him. He was crawling away from her, a vile worm meant to be squashed.

She stepped on his hand, hard.

She heard the bones crunch.

Eleanor glanced at Ciel, nodding curtly. "My lady."

"My lord," Ciel demurred.

"Forgive my tardiness," Eleanor said, offering her hand. "Allow me to escort you home."

Ciel placed his hand in hers. "If you insist."

He was poised and seemingly unbothered by the groans and whimpers of the filth before them. The blood seeped heavily into the carpet, leaving a foul stench. She knew it was not a pretty sight. It was not something for the faint of heart. He did not react to it further than a slightly-tighter-than-normal grip in her hand as she smoothly escorted him out of the room. The nobles were quick to scramble out of their way, their eyes wide as they stared in abject terror at her rapier that dripped with crimson ink.

Upon leaving the room, Sebastian barred the door. None could escape until the Scotland Yard arrived.

"I have already taken measures to notify the hounds," Sebastian said.

Ciel nodded once. "Then we should leave. I don't want anyone else to see me like this."

"I have already prepared the carriage and told the others," said Sebastian.

"Good. We'll return to the townhouse."

(✹)

Snake greeted them as soon as they returned home. "I have two hot baths prepared for my lord and lady."

"Good," Ciel grumbled. "Sebastian, I order you to destroy this entire outfit while I'm in the bath."

Sebastian sighed heavily in false disappointment. "Yes, young master."

"You know," Eleanor said, feeling mischievous at seeing how disgruntled Ciel was, "after a young lady has been properly escorted, she's meant to give her escort a chaste kiss on the cheek as thanks."

Ciel gave her a dry, tired look. "You've never done that for me."

"You've never escorted me to a ball. Oh woes, poor me. So unloved that my best friend won't even offer proper etiquette for me," Eleanor mockingly sniffled.

Ciel's only visible eye narrowed. "Stop sniveling. Look, even your butler is giving you a look of disbelief."

"Wha—" Eleanor turned to look at Snake who was definitely not giving her any such look, and as she did so she felt a very brief sensation on her cheek.

She blinked.

"There," said Ciel haughtily. "Don't say I don't treat you well."

"You know I completely made that rule up to tease you, right?" Eleanor asked.

To her immense amusement, Ciel's expression was that of picture perfect shock, followed by his cheeks turning a brilliant shade of red as he spluttered, "You—You—!"

"Oh my dear friend," Eleanor giggled. "Thank you for being so gullible."

"Pfft," Sebastian quickly looked away, faking a cough.

Ciel kicked her shins, hard.

(✹)

September 1888

There was one month of peace in London as the attacks stopped after the arrest of Viscount Druitt.

One month.

Ciel lingered in London, taking the time to manage some business affairs that were easier to do in person rather than through letters. He intended to head back to his country manor at the end of the month before it got too chilly.

Unfortunately, things did not go according to plan because on a rainy September day, the newspapers reported another Ripper kill.

As it was done while the Viscount was still in prison and awaiting trial, which meant they had zero suspects. Ciel scowled as he read the paper, not looking up when Eleanor entered the room. Eleanor had been shopping with Snake, but upon noticing what the headlines were at a local stand she returned to the town house early and let her butler handle the rest of the list.

Sebastian smiled cordially. "Good day, my lady."

"If it was a good day, I wouldn't have needed to return so quickly," she retorted. Ciel let out a quiet snort at that, looking up from his desk. His study at the town house was filled with paperwork, and his desk had a stack of expenditure reports pending his approval. "Ciel, I find it hard to believe that uncovering a human trafficking circle was purely coincidental."

"Coincidences do happen," he said dryly. "We must have missed something."

"What?" Eleanor shook her head. "Even Sebastian only came up with one suspect."

"There is one other thing the victims had in common," said Ciel, shuffling through paperwork. "They all had a hysterectomy done at London's Central hospital."

"A hysterectomy—wait, they had their uterus removed before they were killed?" Eleanor exclaimed.

"One coincidence in a case I can excuse," Ciel's eyes narrowed. "Those who were aware of the surgery have perfect alibis."

"Correct, no humans could accomplish this," agreed Sebastian.

"No—" Eleanor felt a chill down her spine.

She had a thought.

A terrible, terrible thought.

She stood up abruptly, her stomach dropping. "Sebastian."

"Yes, my lady?"

"What if—what if they had an inhuman friend?" she whispered, dreading his response.

Ciel sucked in a sharp breath, raising his head to look at her in shock.

"That would change everything," said Sebastian with a smile.

"Then..." Ciel stood up. "Sebastian, do you have a list of all the women who had a hysterectomy at London Central?"

"Yes," he said.

"Any still alive?"

"Only one."

"Let's go," Ciel ordered sharply.

(✹)

It started to rain.

Eleanor took off her overcoat, draping it over Ciel. He gave her a look, but accepted it. Between the two of them, Eleanor could better handle getting a cold in the rain than he could. Pride would not stop an asthma attack, and if he insisted on being there in person, he had to take a certain amount of precaution.

Eleanor had not yet informed Snake about the... supernatural side of things. She did not know if it would accidentally violate some part of the contract between Sebastian and Ciel, and so to be on the safer side of things, she left a note behind at the town house for when Snake came home saying they'd be back soon.

Ciel and Eleanor lingered in the shadows of a dingy back alley. Their supposed target lived in a shack just around the corner. They, plus Sebastian, would lay in wait for the supposed Jack the Ripper.

There was a scream.

Eleanor dashed forward first, Sebastian and Ciel right behind her. The door to the shack swung open.

And out stepped Grelle, covered in blood.

Eleanor let out a long, slow breath, as Angelina stepped out behind him. Ciel stiffened in anger beside her, his only visible eye blazing with rage at his aunt's betrayal.

I didn't remember, Eleanor thought, feeling oddly dizzy. Everything was numb and far away. They were talking. A confrontation of sorts, but she could barely hear it.

What else have I forgotten?

What if there is someone else?

What if there's another hidden enemy?

Eleanor had experienced a lot of horror in that life. Waking up from night terrors caused fear to cling onto her like a wet blanket in a winter storm. Her thoughts wiggled in her head, burrowing into anxieties she did her best to repress.

She could not even feel the rain that fell upon her.

Her world only resumed when Ciel loudly said, "Sebastian, I order you: get rid of them."

She no longer had the luxury of drowning in her thoughts because Grelle was leaping at Ciel with a chainsaw. Her body moved. Sebastian leapt in front, catching the chainsaw with his bare hands, and Eleanor grabbed Ciel by the waist and threw him to the side.

She ripped out her rapier. Sebastian kicked Grelle away, moving to apprehend the reaper.

Angelina said something but Eleanor could not hear it above the chaotic symphony of the rain pouring, and the sound of her heart hammering in her head. The lady cloaked in red pulled out a knife, rushing to them—rushing to them—rushing to Ciel—

—She was going to hurt Ciel—

Eleanor moved down, her rapier slashing up and across Angelina's hands. Blood sprayed out of the woman. Eleanor did not stop as Angelina cried out in pain, moving to stab her straight through one of her eyes to pierce her brain.

"STOP!"

Ciel's shout froze Eleanor, her rapier's tip an eyelash away from Angelina's right eye.

Angelina fell to her knees, tears pouring out of her.

Ciel approached her, holding onto Eleanor's jacket that was still wrapped tightly around him. His voice shook as he said, "Madam Red, you are under arrest for crimes—"

"Ciel I—"

"—crimes against the good people of London," Ciel did not.

"Ciel, please—"

"I suggest you stop talking now, or I will let Elly finish what she was about to do," he said curtly.

Angelina bowed her head.

"No, no, no!" Grelle scolded her as they leapt away from Sebastian. "You can't give in—giving in would be your death."

"I cannot fight them," Angelina whispered. "I cannot."

"I'm disappointed in you, Madam Red!"

That was the last thing Eleanor heard right before a chainsaw pierce straight through Angelina's chest from behind. Blood sprayed out of her, splattering Eleanor in its warmth. Eleanor spat out the blood, wiping at her eyes, grateful that the rain was so heavy that night.

Upon re-opening them, she saw something ethereal.

Reels of memories shot out of Angelina with the blood.

They were memories of Angelina's life.

"Our job as a reaper is to replay and examine the memories of those on the To-Die list distributed by the Powers that Be. We determine what kind of person they were, what kind of life they lived, whether they should be killed or left alive," Grelle trailed off.

"Their life flashes before their eyes," surmised Sebastian, stepping in between Grelle and the two children.

"Don't say something so dull," Grelle tittered. "It's the Cinematic Record!"

Angelina collapsed to the ground, red spilling out of her.

"I loved you when you were dyed crimson with your victims' blood, Madam Red," sighed Grelle. "I'm disappointed you turned out to be such a trite woman." Grelle stepped forward, approaching the still-warm corpse. Eleanor stepped back, warily watching them. Grelle grabbed what used to be Angelina, pulling off her coat. "You don't have what it takes to wear red. Your cheap little melodrama ends now." Grelle slipped on the coat—Ah, so that's where they got it from—and said, "Farewell, Madam Red."

Ciel brushed past Eleanor, kneeling before his aunt. His expression was stoic as he reached down to close her eyes. "Sebastian. Why are you standing around? I gave you an order, didn't I? Go kill that reaper."

"Yes, my lord."

The rain stopped. Ciel slowly straightened back up, his gaze impossible to read.

"Elly," Ciel said quietly as Sebastian leapt at Grelle.

Eleanor startled, turning to face her friend. "Yes?"

Ciel pulled out a handkerchief, offering it to her. "You still have blood on your face."

Eleanor quietly accepted it.

(✹)

Eleanor was not prepared to sleep that night.

They returned to the town house, quiet. Another reaper had come to fetch Grelle, saving them from being torn apart by Sebastian, but in the process preventing Ciel from avenging his aunt's murder. Ciel did not speak much on the matter, only sighing tiredly and ordering for Sebastian to take them home.

Snake welcomed them back, his brow creased when he noticed the blood soaked in Eleanor's clothes. He followed behind her as she went to her room.

"Not mine," was all she said to him as he helped her get cleaned up.

"Is there anything I can do, my lady?" Snake asked.

"Prepare my horse," she said. "I need to leave as soon as I'm out of these clothes."

"Yes, my lady."

She left the townhouse fifteen minutes later, riding quickly through the streets of London.

(✹)

What other important details could I be forgetting? What if there is a hidden enemy? One that I have forgotten and is now amassing power?

She had to know.

She could not—she could not rest.

There was only one way she could think to find that information—the way that had been revealed that night.

Cinematic Records.

A grim reaper's scythe could pull out the memories of a soul to be examined. Eleanor had to assume it would include all memories—even things the soul had forgotten—which meant—

She arrived at the funeral parlor. The door was locked, but she would not let that stop her. She jimmied it, stepping in and calling out, "Undertaker! I need—I need to speak to you. It's urgent."

"Ye-e-e-e-es?" croaked the Undertaker as he hoisted himself out of a coffin that he may or may not have been sleeping in.

"I—I think I trust you enough to, um, talk to you," she said.

"Oh wow! Hooray for me," cheered the reaper. "What are we talking about?"

She nervously swallowed. "I think it would be easier if you, um, cut me with your scythe."

"Pardon?"

"Your death scythe—the thing that sends out a projection of the soul's memories?" she said hesitantly.

The Undertaker smiled at her. "And you think I have one?"

"I really hope you do. Because I—I need to find some memories. I need—I need you to see my memories and look for any hidden enemy. Please. You're the only one I can ask."

"That's an awfully big favor, what's the rush?" the Undertaker drawled out.

"I—I don't think you'd believe me if I told you," she admitted. "It's kind of unbelievable. If you saw my memories though, then..."

"Try me, I might surprise you," he cooed.

"I'm—I'm a reincarnator," she said. "I have memories of my past lives."

His smile slipped. "Pardon? Memories—You died?"

"Yes."

"Interesting... You're right, that is hard to believe. After all, once a life has been ended that should be the end." The Undertaker slowly reached behind his desk for something. "Let's see then, shall we?"

Eleanor watched him pull out a tombstone marker. It transformed in a way that her eyes could not comprehend into a long scythe. Eleanor raised her left arm, unflinching and unyielding as the reaper poised to cut into her.

"Last chance to back out," he cooed.

"I will not yield," Eleanor said firmly.

"I like the look in your eyes, dame."

He sliced into her arm and everything went white.

Her head felt like it was being torn in two, the pain so significant that Eleanor could not even breathe, let alone make a sound. She fell to the ground, time blurring in a haze until suddenly everything stopped.

She blinked back dizzying spots.

The Undertaker slowly sunk to the floor beside her, his expression that of perfect shock. "Your reel never ends."

Eleanor pushed herself back up, offering him a tired smile. "I noticed."

"You die, but it goes on," he said. "You... you're like a phoenix."

"Aha. I suppose that's one way of looking at it," she said. "Did you, um, see?"

"The other worlds? Other worlds," he repeated, shaking his head then starting to chuckle. "This changes everything."

"It does?"

"It does for me!" he said, running his fingers through his bangs. Eleanor got a glimpse of his true face.

Wow, okay. Yeah, he's gorgeous.

"Oh, little birdy," he said. "Would you care to donate some of your blood?"

"Um—I don't—I don't mind, but you saw my memories, right? You saw this world in them?"

"I did," he said.

"Did you—is there anyone I need to watch out for?" she asked anxiously. "Anyone I need to be prepared for? Anyone else like Angelina and Grelle?"

The Undertaker smiled at her. "No, little birdy. What comes your way, you will be fine to handle."

Relief.

Overwhelming relief sent her to her knees. "Oh—Oh thank God. Oh, God I was so scared there would be another hidden demon or something—"

"No hidden demons," the reaper assured her.

"Thank you—um—wait—you—um—wanted my blood? Like, ahh, blood drive?"

"Something like that," he said. "More so for my own purposes."

"Are you—you're going to experiment aren't you?" Eleanor shook her head, chuckling. She was so damn relieved there was no hidden enemy, her mood had instantly lifted. She was almost giddy, delirious with that comforting knowledge. "You so have a mad scientist vibe going on, too. I bet you do an amazing evil laugh."

The Undertaker beamed at her. "Heheheheh. Thank you, little birdy."

"Go ahead," she said. "I can give you some blood each month. I want to solve this cycle as well."

"I will endeavor to learn as much as I can," he promised her.

"Thank you," she said with all the sincerity she could muster. "Truly."

"You and I both want the same thing," he said, holding out a hand to help her up. "Think nothing of it."

That's right.

She remembered one of her friends saying something like that—that the Undertaker always sided with "Phantomhive" because he was an old friend of Vincent. That he even took care of "Ciel" or something.

I'm so happy he's on my side.

She smiled warmly at him, accepting his hand.

(✹)

La de da.

New covers by Cantrona!! The other version of it will be uploaded on the final chapter. ;)

Answer: Aristocrat of smuggling. Gimme my own thieves guild!

Question: Who would you like to dance with?

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