Your head hurt when you opened your eyes. Sunlight, bright, abrasive, strong and intense beat down upon you as you meekly held your hand across your face, straining to keep the light away.

"Good morning."

"Ahhhhh!" You recognised the voice immediately. It hadn't been absent from your mind, not in your dreams, your prayers, nothing: you couldn't escape this Hell. "Why are you here?" You wanted to shout at him but all you could do is groan.

"Are you serious?" You felt hungover. You weren't old enough to truly appreciate such a feeling yet, but you'd been around enough people in your state in the East End to wonder if maturity had anything to do with it. It seemed like something completely devoid of any warranted appreciation in the first place. You splayed your arms out, knees bent, and looked up, behind you, as the inverted image of that thing grinned down at you, taking on the diabolical counter-display of a solid, proud saint, a king, a divine sovereign upon his righteous throne. His hand was to his lips, covering a smile which curled almost to the top of his ring finger, clearly no ring on it. He wasn't doing the best job of hiding his mirth as he gazed upon your inglorious appearance, your hair tangled, black circles under your eyes, hands red and sore as you crossed them sleepily in the sign of the cross. "Get behind me, Satan!" One of your eyes blinked while the other followed suit far too much later.

"How compelling." You threw your arms down against the floor as he got to his feet, heading your way. "Were you drinking instead of praying last night? You wouldn't be the first zealot to do tha-"

"No!" You flipped over, still largely ungraciously, but regaining clarity nonetheless. "Stay away from me!"

He knelt down as you scurried into the corner adjacent to the window, the sunlight reflecting a bit too hotly off his hair. He looked nearly holy for a moment; a golden ring, almost a halo, briefly encircled his head. Only a tuft of hair prevented perfect uniformity. Your eyes opened and closed normally, several times as you fought to escape the semblance of a blinding idol right in front of you. "As much as I would love to honor such a request, I cannot. You need water."

"Water?" You coughed. You were thirsty. "You don't have any..."

You looked down as a stately, crystal chalice was extended before you. With a nod, you glared, but took it. You knocked it back and swallowed all at once. "See? I know what you need."

"Go to Hell!" You yelled. "You know nothing." You stuck your head in the air, but all hope of appearing superior was lost as your matted mane of hair caught against the low-angling trim of the window to your bedchamber. "Ow! God damn-" you closed your eyes as you held back more blasphemous orations.

"Let me help."

"No!" You held one hand out in front of you, and whipped the other to the back of your head, ensnared in the grasp of fine, expensive, Phantomhive carpentry. "I do not...require...your...assistance!" The more you struggled to free yourself, the more your hair seemed to remain stuck. You started tugging your head forward, both hands moving behind you, your defences momentarily down, your eyes shut as you strained to get away.

You forgot to keep your guard up, and realising this was the opportune chance to truly make fun of you, to play around with your already fragile emotions, Sebastian slid directly in between your legs, moving im as closely as he could.

You kicked him as hard as you possibly could, in an area which would have incapacitated most men. He didn't even flinch.

"What the HELL, man?" You screeched, still held in place by your traitor of a room. You made a note to pray elsewhere, and steer clear of any passages involving Jesus' humble profession and/or Judas Iscariot, which admittedly did take up a good portion of the gospels. The irony of where you'd be praying was too intense for any honest requests of the Son of Man/God. Judas' betrayal had a price. He would probably would let you go if you offered him any piece of semi-precious dinnerware found almost anywhere in the manor. "Don't you have any..." you stopped. Your eyes widened, and you felt your chin basically blend into your neck. You must've looked ridiculous, far from the imposing, effective exorcist you so wanted to be.

"Oh I do." A hand moved to yours, as you did your best to block off any other contact with your knees, quickly snatching one ineffective foot from where it under no circumstances could remain any longer. You turned your head away, knowing you couldn't break free unless you had the brute strength to tear your scalp off. "I am a man. For someone brought up in such a masculine environment, I'd have assumed you knew the finer details of male human anatomy." With a flick of the wrist, he freed you, not even one hair remained in the trapping jaws of the windowpane.

The moment you were released, you punched the demon who refused to leave you alone so hard your knuckles began to bleed. "OW! WHAT THE-" you wanted to bite him after what he did next, but you couldn't. He'd covered your mouth, and now you couldn't move at all.

"Now. If you're going to continue to act like a child, I will treat you like a child, instead of the vibrant young lady I know you are capable of being. I've come here with strict instructions. You are to once again assist this household and my master in his aims. You are to work with us, mostly with me-"

You stuck your tongue out in an attempt to free your mouth. He noticed, lifting his one hand to remove his glove with his teeth, then slamming it back over your mouth before you could take the chance to inhale. Upon glancing down, you could easily perceive a dark violet glow emanating from just under your vantage point, which had coincidentally just dramatically shifted. You had been facing the wall, the majority of your room, your bed, your dressing gown, the bonnet you refused to wear, which, in hindsight, was your one regret in life. Now, he'd pulled your head up so he was looking right at you, no longer heeding any of your demands. You were going to listen to what he had to say.

So much for being one hell of a butler. You always hated that stupid catchphrase of his. It was overused, and not even always used at applicable times. In fact, you were certain he used it so frequently it had become a cliche. What sort of servant treated his superior this way? Even if you weren't his master, you were definitely still royalty! How dare he defile you in such a morbid fashion! You reviewed all of the ways you could abuse him later, but for now, you were his to play with. You had no choice but to obey.

He noticed you relax, picking up right where he left off. His grip tightened in anticipation of a repeated hostile response to you being forced to remain in his company more than anyone else's. "You're to work with...mostly me..." your eyes shut. That was all. You didn't try to do anything else again. He smirked, not continuing. This was fun for him. "Good girl."

He moved his other hand away from you and tugged his remaining glove off with his teeth. Again, he certainly was not one hell of a butler. The next time he said that, you'd give him hell for it, personally. "You're learning quickly who's really in charge here. That wasn't so hard was it?" It was a rhetorical question: you couldn't reply, as he held you tighter, the glow on his hand stronger, his eyes complimenting its shine. He wasn't pretending anymore. This was entertainment. Pure, unadulterated fun. You hated it. You hated him. This only proved how sick he truly was. Did he even care about his actual master? "I didn't think so."

He pulled back, and loosened his hold on your head, allowing you to at least look away from him, but not by much. You now were looking at the highest point in the room, as that one infuriatingly imperfect curl of hair fell over your face, the previous angelic halo obliterated by the now entirely unholy blackened rose coloured sunlight. "See?" He pulled you back to him. "I know what's best. For you." He yanked your face back up. "And for everyone here. I'm in charge. I'll say that once. It's my trite confession, if we're to engage in your sort of rehearsed religious brevity. Since your heartfelt prayer kept me up all night, I felt it only fair..." His nails scraped the sides of your mouth; he was stroking you, like a pet, then his other hand moved to your waist, then higher, almost too high. You weren't properly dressed. You only just realised the indecent state you were in. Unable to glance down, you took a moment to analyse what you could feel.

It was clear his one hand was covering your mouth. He was behind you, and even though he could, he wasn't completely dominating you. You observed his position. It seemed hesitant. There was, in this case, a considerable distance between you- almost as though he was holding back. His legs weren't rigid, nor was any significant part of him. He was holding you away, but at the same time, close enough to kill you without the need to adjust his body at all. What an odd tactic. You then understood it to be conditionally formulated that way. You found no peculiarity in what he did next. His other arm, the one which had been securely affixed to your waist, slightly too high for comfort, moved, and a debilitating, crippling fear washed over you.

No. No. No. No! Please. No. Sebastian...don't do this...not you too...His hand moved higher. Higher. Slowly, painstakingly so, torturously inching closer and closer to the negligible amount of clothing covering the finer details of your female human anatomy, and you could do nothing but wait as he continued to speak.

"...for you to know that." His hand stopped, and he didn't move it any further. It remained, tight and solidly against your rib cage. You could feel your heart beat furiously against his fingers. "I have all the power here. This is my game, and no one finishes without me. Do you think you, with or without all the royal pomp and circumstance, or my master and his pedigree, or any human could truly do the things you've done without my help? You'd be on the way to death, as stupid as you are. He'd certainly be dead, and I'd be fine, just bored. You're fun. You're fun to abuse, but don't take that personally, definitely not as a compliment or anything. It's not just you, Your Highness, or, whatever bastard title you'll inevitably bear, it's all of you. Whatever you believe about God, you're wrong. Ive been alive for so much longer than you could even begin to comprehend, and I know exactly how wrong you are, how wrong he is."

Who was he talking about? Ciel Phantomhive; or someone else? What had become of Sebatian Michealis, dutiful, albiet pretend Phantomhive butler, overconfident, preening like a bird, but captivating everyone nonetheless? You sensed a transformation. You were conversing with someone else entirely. You felt like you knew what you were facing, and for a moment, you doubted you'd ever felt such power before.

You remembered why you believed again. You had endured this before. It didn't matter if it was exactly familiar. It had to be another trick straight from the mouth of the world's oldest liar as he continued to lie, lie lie!

"Do you think God, in all his infinite glory could ever love something so weak, so pathetic, some slightly more cognisant creature than a wild primate with just a touch..." He lifted his hand from your midsection to tug at your hair, his nails digging into the flesh underneath, a trickle of blood staining the tips. He tilted his head back, hanging his hand over his mouth, as a red drop fell onto his tongue, then he smeared what remained against you, still not moving his hand even a centimetre higher. You had no idea what you were in for. "...more fur than your savage cousins?" You felt a vibration of pleasure run through him. You wanted to break free, but another part of you knew you needed to stay, and slowly, you began to want to. Who were you talking to? Who was he really? How powerful was this particular demon?

"You people are nothing special. You're animals. God, or whatever you think the Devine to be, cannot love you. You know nothing like I do. You talk about love, of Godly love?" The same surge of pleasure shot through him a second time. What was happening? "Do you want to know a secret?" Again, it was rhetorical. You had no choice but to listen. "I did actually know what it was like once, to believe." You were no longer afraid of him touching you. This wasn't anyone who had ever been human speaking. You prayed that he'd continue. This brief confession was becoming lengthy, and you wanted to hear every word. "In, well, God." He said his name with such a degree of hatred it was all but palpable, the disdain alight, real, tangible fire. The hand on your mouth began to burn as the evil gleam around you increased monumentally. "And at the time, I loved him." Your face was hurting. Who was this? Who was holding you? "Then he told- no- "

He paused, looking off into the sky, smirking, droplets of blood from your head fell back into your hair as they slid down the sides of his mouth. For the first time, you swore he had fangs. You refused to even consider the possibility that you'd endure what you did in the past here, again. You'd see no black smoke, even if it was there. You'd only think of God, even as he was being blasphemed worse than you'd ever witnessed.

"-commanded, ordered, as My Lord, My master, us, me, to love you, and I never could. That's why I'm here." He thrust his hand back against your hair, twisting it around his hand, so that blood clotted into it, and he ripped it back to him, only red liquid against his fingers, and you swore you saw fire replace it. Even so, he licked his hands maliciously, and laughed. You couldn't do anything. You didn't move. You would give anything, anything you could for him to finish, to discover the name of the devil enjoying the physical manifestations of your innocence. "Do you see why?" You weren't sure who he was talking to anymore. You closed your eyes, hoping he'd continue, and you felt his grip slacken.

"{Y/N}." You felt a pang in your chest as you sensed the end of what could have been the biggest revelation of all. "Do you understand?" You did your best to remain impartial, to ensure he wasn't acting like his former alias, that he'd continue revealing himself. You still didn't know his name! If you knew that...

"Don't look too frightened." His tone abruptly changed, and he lowered his hand, smiling, no fangs in sight. You were losing it. Nothing made sense. His smile fell as he looked at his fingers. They were still wet, a mess of blood and saliva. "Oh! You were hurt more than I thought. That won't do. I'll have to mend that frame. What kind of butler would I be if I couldn't provide a guest with a room that didn't pose as an enemy in and of itself?" He still didn't let you go, but he seemed to be preparing to. You wouldn't know what to say when he did, so you held your tongue for the first truly intentional time you could recall. Or benefitted you to be silent. To wait. To listen. "Let me be sure we understand each other." You blinked, hoping he'd take it as an affirmation. He did, loosening his grip, allowing you only enough mobility to nod or shake your head without outside influence. He still prevented you from speaking.

"Let me restate the main points of our conversation, which, regrettably..." Holding you with one arm, which was more than enough after everything which had just transpired, he pulled his pocket-watch from his coat, and even though you just saw him remove his gloves, and even after his strange outburst look at the substances on them, commenting on it, he paused, if only for a second, clearly surprised at the fact he'd cast off his characteristic hand-wear. You noticed he never really removed them unless it was absolutely necessary.

Disregarding the matter entirely, he tucked the watch back into his pocket before continuing in an insultingly didactic manner. "...has gone on longer than I intended." He sighed, evidently annoyed his schedule may be slightly delayed.

"One. You are to prioritise what my master and I deem important. Two. You are to work with us, not for your own benefit, and though you may not like the idea, given your previous demonstration," his hand again tightened. "That means you'll be working mostly with me, again, as my master ordered when you first got here. Three. You will do your best, even if you do not want to, to trust us, and to trust that as long as you are employed, and synonymously protected by the Phantomhive family, my judgement. No matter how afraid you are of those men, no mater how much you want to go and avenge your father, no prayers, no individual willpower, none of that can truly help you if you're working against me, or what we've been able to provide, my master and I. I'm asking you to put aside your fears, and perhaps, even if it doesn't last, consider the plausibility that your beloved, most likely overblown, if not unrealistic, saviour God and I may have, for one brief ill-fated moment in time, a shared incentive. Now, I'm going to let you go, and then I'll relay everything my master has in store for you today. Do we have a deal?"

You were at a loss. It was like he didn't even recall a moment of the clearly more important conversation between you. He had to remember, right? How could he not? He must be a better liar than you'd even imagined. He was truly evil. Just how evil, you couldn't be sure, but you knew it was overpoweringly so. You defied him to deny his former impact on your life. He knew you, and he had to be lying. Evil like that was, is and forever shall be omnipresent, and omnipotent. It remains everywhere and all-knowing, and those two magnanimous diabolical concepts cannot be separate, just as their benevolent alternatives cannot be broken apart. You nodded, and he let you go.

"Who are you?"

"As I've said before, {Y/N}, I'm simply one hell of a butler."