[A/N: Just a heads up- this chapter includes a flashback, so it's a little longer than what I'm going for moving forward, but it reads fast, I promise! The lines indicate time skips. I hope you enjoy it!]

"Crying doesn't suit you, my little robin."

You looked up. It was him. He was here! You were looking up at the man you'd come to meet, the one you thought had forgotten about you, Ciel and the Yard altogether. You should've known he'd be behind the attack. You wiped your eyes as he extended his hand. You didn't know what to do.

Should you run?
Should you fight him?
Should you let him help you up?
Where was your protector now?

You decided you'd at least let him get you to your feet. You didn't know for sure if he really was the one who shot at you, or at least ordered others to. You dusted the snow off your dress as you let go of his hand.

"Good evening-" How should you address him? What did servants call nobles that weren't their masters? Sir? Probably. Your old tutors even taught you that much. Though, you'd never voluntarily called anyone Sir before.

He capitalised on your moment of hesitation and responded before you had the chance to. "Aliestor Chamber, the Viscount of Druitt." He smiled warmly. "And you are?"

"I'm a maid." You said the first true thing that came to your mind regarding your false identity. "I work for an Earl."

He chuckled, and his kind expression fell, as he looked around him, realising you were alone. "Sure you are." He grabbed your hand without asking, and pulled you toward him. You winced as your chest hit the hilt of his cane, your ribs still sore from the fall and your lungs still aching from crying out in the cold.

"Ouch! Let me go! You have no right to touch me!" You tried to fight, to bite him, to do whatever you could to get him off of you. "Stop! Stop it!" You succeeded, at least enough to get away. You wrestled yourself free, as you'd been in similar situations before. You ran as fast as you could, but you were caught again. A man wearing a long black coat, a scarf around his face and a tall, dark top hat grabbed you by your midsection as you rounded the nearest corner, trying to find shelter in the shadows.

He was much stronger than the Viscount. This man was dangerous. For the second time in your life, you'd met true fear on the streets of the East End. What was he? You only ever knew one other time feeling like this, as you looked up, trying desperately to see the man's face, to identify him. You couldn't. It was no use. He had you.

You thought back to when you learned the true meaning of faith, of what it meant to you to believe in God. How foolish you'd been before you'd found yourself there, facing a monster. Then you were safe, because of that priest.

___________________________

You were on the edge of adolescence, and you
had finally gotten away from your protective family, fully coming into your own. The summer breezes made the derelict slums of the East End tolerable, and you'd set off to try out your own skills, all the lessons you'd learned being a member of the family of mercenaries. You would fight for fun, and you would work for fun. You'd make a life for yourself.

This world was yours to play in now, and yours to win a part of. You smiled as you passed vendors, ducked through broken door-frames, avoided the dirty muck in the streets. You dropped bread for birds, threw stray dogs bits of discarded bones, and stopped to toss a few scraps of dried meat to cats who crossed your path.

The day was only halfway over, and you'd come through victorious in your first fight. You laughed to yourself as you mused over the fear in those boys eyes when you beat them up for harassing a girl only a little younger than you, telling them to pick on someone their own size. What a classic. It was almost cliche!

You were turning to cross the bridge back to the West End when you felt someone behind you. It was like your insides froze. A sense of horror came over you as you turned around. Nothing was there. You turned around and around and saw no one, but you heard it.

You could hear rattled breathing, the beating of what sounded like the heart of a human being, and the unmistakable pulsing of what sounded like dripping blood. You heard a faint sob. You smelled rotting flesh, and though you saw the bridge, saw where to walk, you couldn't move. It was like those nightmares where you try to run and you just can't.

You wanted to cry for your father, but your voice, which you never were fond of not using, wouldn't come. It was like the wind had been knocked out of your lungs. You tried to stop yourself, but you seemed to be sinking, dropping into a black abyss. What was this? What was happening to you?

You looked up and saw something you would never forget as long as you lived. You saw red eyes, a bloody, crimson colour. You saw black smoke billowing around you, and you saw the unmistakable gleam of white, sharp teeth, and the flicking of a serpentine tongue. You heard a voice call to you, and it knew your fears, it could sense your soul.

"Stop!" Your voice came before you knew it was yours to posses. It was like learning to walk again. You didn't know what to do. You fought it. You did whatever you could to make it stop. "Stop! Please! Leave me alone! Please! Dear God, please help me!" Anyone! GOD, please hear my prayer!" You never liked religion. You loathed the church services in London. You thought it was boring, that religion impeded fun. Everything couldn't be a sin. You'd once thought that to be true.

You never believed much in God, because the devil wasn't real to you. He was a joke, a jester, a funny farce that you saw in playhouses and theatres. He wasn't real, or scary. Yet now, you believed in the Devil. This wasn't a man, or a criminal, or even anything natural at all. You knew this was a demon. You needed God now.

You prayed, and with each word, your strength was renewed. Slowly, the thing around you lost its hold. You felt your mind grow lucid and you found your legs again. You heard a voice, a kind one, filled with concern and love, and you felt water hit your face, cooling it, saving it, healing your soul from the doubt it had just felt.

You fell, and you hit the floor hard. You felt blood clog your throat, and your eyes opened, looking into the clear blue ones of another person. You were safe. A wooden cross dangled down in your face, and the blonde, curled hair of a man blew lightly in the wind. Your hand reached up and you felt a white collar within a black shirt.

"Are you a priest?" You croaked, as the blood in your mouth spilled over your lips. You coughed, choking, spitting red liquid onto the front of your clothes.

He reached down and wiped it away, and then he pulled you towards him. Your heart flooded with a sense of joy you'd never felt before. This was hope, this was love, this was faith. This was God. "Yes, dear. I'm Father John. I'm an exorcist at Saint Anne's. You're a very lucky little girl."

You didn't remember the rest of what he said, but you'd never forget what he did for you, what he saved you from, and you'd never forget what you almost were lost to. You knew, no matter what anyone ever said to you, that you had beaten a demon.

You would never forsake God as long as you lived. Nothing was worth losing your soul.

Nothing.

__________________________

You couldn't see the face of the man who was holding you, but you sensed a difference between the fear you'd thought to be of the same nature as the source you'd known all that time ago. It wasn't really that long ago, you noted. The shock of the encounter with the Viscount, of being lost, of crying, of doubt ebbed away slowly, and the first sensation you observed was your hand in the grip of the arms of your captor. You could still feel the delicate yet evident weight of the ring you wore on your wedding finger, claiming that as long as you lived alone, you would forsake physical intimacy until you found love. It wasn't really a directly correlated reason for which you had a purity ring. It wasn't like chastity was the antithetical solution to demonic possession. Though, you didn't expect anyone to care, as no one believed you anyway.

No one would get the better of you. You'd seen what happened to women in the East End, in Whitechapel. You'd seen what lust could do, and you'd had enough of it. If the Devil could trick you into that, he'd have to kill you first.

You would never feel that way again. This was your world to play in, to win a part of. You weren't going down without a fight.

You tried to wrench yourself free from the man holding you. You tried to speak, to move at all, but it was to no avail. You were trapped. Yet, he wasn't trying to hurt you. He wasn't trying to tear of your clothes, or alert the Viscount of where you were. In fact, he seemed to be protecting you. You looked up again, and strained to see his face. You still couldn't make it out, but then you saw a glint of silver much like that of your ring on the flap of his overcoat which had become unfastened in your attempts to break free. Your ring had caught on it, and you saw a familiar symbol.

It was the Phantomhive crest. Was this...

"Sebastian?" Your voice was little more than a harsh, raspy whisper, but you recognised the reply immediately. You knew who this man was, and you nearly laughed out of joy for it. It was. It was him. He hadn't left you after all.

He whispered as low as you did, but you heard what he said. You knew to keep quiet, but he assured you it was going to be alright.

"If I couldn't ensure the safety of my master's guest, then what kind of butler would I be?"

[A/N: Well, that was a bit sappier than I ever thought I'd write about Sebastian. Yeesh. Anyway, I'm enjoying working on this story more so now that I've finished school! I want to thank BonnieandFoxy010203 again for requesting it! I hope it's still entertaining. I'll be sure to keep updating it here and there when I have free time. It's been fun! He's not my favourite if I haven't already made that abundantly clear, but I've loved the chance to get to write more about things I wouldn't normally consider. I feel like I'm improving while I do so. That's it for now. In the next sections, the plot should pick up and move faster without being rushed. I want to avoid lengthy chapters that never end: such is my weakness. Ha! Okay, well, until next time. Much love!
ε=ε=ε=ε=ε=ε=┌(;￣◇￣)┘
~ Britt]