A paper.
Upon further inspection, a letter.

Sebastian lifted the paper off of the desk, reading the words in bold on the bottom.

Sebastian me déteste.

Sebastian hates me.

It had been some time since the funeral of Ciel Phantomhive, putting an end to the Phantomhive name. A disgraceful death, a suicide. Just knowing that a noble had thought of ending himself was enough for society to tarnish the Phantomhive name. The company fell soon after, due to a boycott. No one wanted a product made by someone who was mentally ill.

Sebastian turned the page over, scanning the words written sloppily on the top.

Dear Sebastian;

The butler had visited the manor to collect what was left behind by the young lord. Having cooperated with the Yard, Sebastian decided to recover any evidence that could help to figure out why the earl had decided to take his own life. The first place the butler decided to inspect was the scene of the incident: the lord's study. A few steps into the room would let any person know that the study was untouched since the incident. Not a speck of dust had been moved by neither the maid nor the butler.

His eyes scanned the sloppily written letter, the butler tracing his fingers over the faded dark marks where it was clear tears had fallen. The emotions put into writing the letter seemed farther more clear. Anger. Hate. Frustration. Sadness. Loneliness. Was this really the butler's fault? Had Sebastian caused the earl's death? His eyes lingered longer on the paper, reading the words carefully.

We were going to get married. We were going to run away together. We would have done so much together. You stopped my imagination. You stopped my dreaming. All with that rejection.

Had such a stoic small boy really desired such a future? Were those last few days of his living really filled with such desires? The butler pressed his gloved thumb over the period at the end of that last sentence. Had not the boy been writing on his desk, perhaps the paper would have ripped, as per the deep indent.

Maybe I should just go and mate with my father if that is what you so desired. I'm dead, anyway. I could try finding him in the afterlife and mingle with him right there and then.

Ah, the comparison he had made during the rejection. For such a statement to be in his final letter, it must have irked the boy to see the one he loved be compared to someone he could not love in the same manner. Sebastian looked at the ink smeared on the word "then." A tear must have fallen there for the ink to smear that smoothly. He inhaled deeply, bringing the paper to his nose to smell what was left of his dear young master. The salty tears, the sharp presses of the pen, the curved edges of the paper. Each little detail indicating the pain the young lord must have felt. The butler read on, reaching the signature.

Don't Love,
Ciel

Was that the final order left by his master? Did he order his butler to give up on his feelings?

No.

Had he known that the butler did, indeed, return his feelings, such an outcome would not have occurred. It was not an order. Rather, it was a statement. A plain statement. One written with false knowledge. The young lord did not know enough to give such an order. Sebastian furrowed his brows in frustration. Or did his young master know enough? What if he had assumed that after reading the letter, that dear Sebastian Michaelis would develop affectionate feelings toward his late master?

A clever soul he was indeed, that young master.

Though not clever enough. To take his own life when bearing that which one else could dream of, what could he have been thinking? Sebastian folded the letter and tucked it in the pocket of his tailcoat. It was a letter written to him by his former love. Such a thing deserved to be treated with fragility.

His eyes scanned the room further, his eyes landing on the plate beside the bottle of ink. Two slices lay, moulded and bitten out of. Lifting the eaten slice from the plate, the butler noted it was not the earl who had eaten it. It was a bird. Quite a hungry one to have been able to eat this much. Placing the slice back onto the place, Sebastian looked at the rim of the Wedgwood plate, noting a faint fingerprint. The mark was covered in ink and grease, perhaps from the lord signing papers that evening. A rather busy child he was.

A knock sounded on the door. Sebastian turned his attention to the entryway of the room as the maid stepped in with her head down. "Is something the matter?" the butler questioned.

"There is someone at the door who wishes to see you," Mey-Rin spoke, her voice laced with solace and grief.

"I will be there momentarily. Have them waiting in the main hall," Sebastian demanded, glancing at the desk as another paper caught his attention.

"Right. I will," Mey-Rin responded, leaving to obey the command.

Sebastian stepped closer to the desk and lifted the yellow paper. It was a faded telegram from Lord Randall to Earl Phantomhive. Though the words had become unclear, there was writing on the bottom. The butler looked at the words closely, realising that they represented events that had happened, starting the day of the young lord's confession.

Glistening Roses, Incertitude, Enervation, Forsaking.

The night the butler was confessed to, the young lord had taken him to a clearing near the Phantomhive gardens. The roses were glistening due to the rain that had poured earlier that day. The days following were filled with incertitude, where the butler and the earl were unaware of how to treat each other. The final day of the lord's living was filled with enervation due to Lady Elizabeth's visit, tiring the young lord and the butler. Then the final day, the day the lord had forsaken the butler by taking his own life.

The first letter from each word spelt out another word: GRIEF.

Ah, another emotion. Though it was not an emotion that the young master felt prior to his death; it was the emotion the butler felt. Grief. The handwriting seemed to be of the young lord's, certifying that he had written this. The reason why seemed unclear, yet the words made clear sense. Sebastian placed the telegram back down, the reason for the lord's suicide now clear to him.

He was heartbroken.

Of course such would be the outcome. The boy had no family and he was to love someone he did not wish to. When he did find something - no - someone that made him happy, he confessed his emotions. Despite that, he was rejected by the only thing that kept him happy. Sebastian pressed his lips together in a fine line at the realisation that he was the reason that his young master took his life. He rejected him, in a gruesome and brutal way, then proceeded to trouble the lord.

Sebastian Michaelis was the reason for Ciel Phantomhive's death.

He sighed, his head in a daze from the information he collected.

"There is someone at the door who wishes to see you."

The butler collected himself, glancing at the young lord's desk one more time before exiting the room to see who the stranger who wished to see him was. Sebastian exited the study, locking the door carefully before making his way to the main hall. Upon arriving in the foyer, he found himself looking at a person standing in the centre of the entrance hall. The person was wearing a long coat and a top hat that was far too big to fit. The coat's collar was up and covering the majority of the lad's face and the hat covered the person's forehead and hair. The figure of the person seemed slim and their height seemed far too small to be an adult.

Sebastian kept making his way down the stairs, his eyebrow raising as he questioned the suspicious attire, "Is there something you require from this residence?" The butler walked closer, his nose twitching as the scent of rain and wild animals came from the person in front of him. The person nodded, seemingly taking a look around the foyer, then up the stairs. At that moment the butler was able to see the eyes of the stranger: a glassy green. Suddenly, Sebastian felt his chest pang. Those eyes seemed all too familiar.

"It seems you forgot that one who takes his life is punished with the job of Grim Reaper, Sebastian."

The person took their hat off and rolled down their coat's collar, his navy blue hair falling into place and his smirk clear as Sebastian could now fully see the person in front of him.

"Ciel," Sebastian spoke in what seemed like a whisper before pulling the boy into a tight embrace. Ciel's eyes widened but it did not stop him from hugging back.

Pulling away, Ciel put his hat back on, looking around again. "I didn't think this wreck would still be in use," he referred to the manor, adjusting his hat.

"The Scotland Yard has been investigating the case, my lo—" Sebastian was cut off as Ciel suddenly jumped forward and kissed him, his arms wrapping around the elder's neck.

"You're a fool, Sebastian."

"Why is that?"

"Because I intend to take you with me," the child's voice whispered close into his ear.

Before being able to comprehend what the boy was saying, Sebastian felt a sharp, cold pain in the back of his neck, followed by the sensation of something being pulled from his upper spine. A quiet groan escaped the butler before he fell to his knees, looking up at his former contractee.

"Do you like my death scythe, Sebastian?" Ciel brushed his finger against the blade, a smirk played on his face as blood dripped from the blade to the floor. The butler furrowed his brows as he tried to understand why the blue haired boy would do such a thing. "I should be your only and last master," Ciel continued. "Until the very end."

His throat went dry and blood forced its way out of his mouth, causing Sebastian to shut his eyes and smile weakly as he realised the real truth. It was not him suffering from the emotion of grief:

It was his young master.

Ciel raised the blade up, a frown on his face, "Goodbye, Michaelis."

Sebastian smiled at him, "I did love you, my dear young master."

Ciel shut his eyes tightly as he continued, stabbing his former butler through the head. He watched the demon's body fall forward onto him, knocking him off his feet and onto his knees. Ciel then turned the blade toward himself.

I've always been the fool, Sebastian.

He held up the blade, with aim at his heart, and pulled it with full force toward his own chest.

End.