Chapter Text
That same night, Ciel stood in front of a intricately designed coffin. Inside it lies a boy who shares a face with him.
It was difficult to separate the body from its brother. Francis and Alexis spent hours trying to convince the Phantomhive to let his brother be put to rest, to which Ciel responded with aggressive overprotectiveness towards the body. His dedication and desperation to protect his Astre sent Elizabeth in tears, to whom was the only one capable of calming Ciel down at that moment. She had also been the one to convince Ciel to finally commence with the funeral, albeit with hesitation.
Now, The young Phantomhive stood there, in mourning clothes, staring blankly at the casket in front of him.
His entire family was here, even some acquaintances from the past have come to pay their respects.
Ciel had expected it, but seeing her up close just made his heart ache a little more.
A woman with red hair, dressed fully in mourning attire. She ran towards the casket and cried out in despair upon seeing her nephew laying still in that tiny box.
Aunt An had always loved Astre, and was like a second mother to him. She herself has never had any children, so she treated Ciel and Astre as her own.
Now, in the crushing weight of her grief, no one dared disturb her. Even Ciel could do nothing but stand in silence, watching his beloved aunt weep by Astre's coffin.
Minutes passed before Aunt An finally stepped away. Without a word, she approached Ciel and wrapped him in a tight hug. Her sobs, though muffled, trembled against his neck.
When she finally pulled away, her leather-gloved hands lingered, gently cradling the boy’s face with a tenderness that made his chest ache. She then guided his small hand into hers, placing a cool silver ring upon his palm.
"Everything else was lost in the fire,This was all that remained."
Ciel lifted the ring, studying the way the dim light caught on the intricately carved Phantomhive crest. The cold metal pressed into his skin: it was another one of Father's rings.
Tears welled in his eyes, but he forced them back. Even as grief clawed at his chest, Ciel knew he could not let them fall. Not here. Not now.
“Thank you”
Was all he said.
The ever enigmatic Undertaker was there as well, not as a guest, but as the Mortician. It wasn't surprising to see him in such a place, this after all was the nature of his work (besides providing intel for the queen's watchdog).
It was just his odd smile that was so out of place in the sea of grieving people, it frustrated Ciel, and so he refused to look at the man for the rest of the night.
The visitors who had traveled to offer their respects looked upon the Phantomhive boy, their glances filled with sympathy and surprise. Ciel grew small beneath their stares. Being the lone Survivor of the Phantomhive family let him become a target of such pity. a burden he did not ask for and loathed.
He hated it.
The wrinkled eyes of feigned sympathy, the faces that contorted with sorrow at the instant they crossed his path, the hollow condolences they had the audacity to offer, he hated them all. the whispered platitudes, the looks of misplaced concern lingering on their faces.
No more.
He was the son of the House of Phantomhive, the heir of the Queen's watchdog. Not a broken boy to be pitied, but an earl to be feared.
—
Soon enough, the funeral began. The time had come to lower the coffin, and with it, the weight of reality crashed down upon Ciel. This was the last time he would ever lay eyes on his brother. The final farewell. Yet all he could do was stand there.
Astre was dead. And it was his fault.
If he had been anything but a failure, if he had been stronger, smarter, if he had been of any use at all, this day would never have come. There would be no casket, no mourning guests, no bitter stench of wilted flowers. Instead, Astre would be here, standing by his side holding his hand.
But there was nothing. Nothing.
Tears spilled down his face, and Ciel made no effort to stop them. He wept, like the weakling he is. Beside him, Elizabeth, too was crying. She held his trembling hand but even her presence brought no peace. to him, the world around him faded, it was just him and his suffocating guilt.
The two rings in his hand were heavy, but they could never match the heaviness that lay within his heart.
A few more hours passed and he watched as everyone had started to leave. The body was buried, Astre is no more; what else is there to stay for?
To say farewell?
To make a promise?
Yes. Those were the reasons Ciel had stayed so long.
“Ciel… it's very late. I think it's time to go home…” Elizabeth's sweet voice rang through the air.
Ciel gave her a weak smile before offering a request. “Lizzie, please tell Aunt Francis and the others to wait for me in the carriage. I just have… some things to take care of.”
“A-alright… if you say so… But please-! Don't take too long, okay?”
The boy nods in agreement, and to that, Elizabeth walks away, towards the carriage.
Now, the boy was alone with nothing but his butler silently staring at him through the darkness.
He knelt down at the newly made grave and simply stayed there for a few minutes before finally speaking again.
“Hey Astre… I'm sorry… I'm sorry for failing you…”
A single tear
“I promise… I promise I will make the ones who have done this to you pay. I promise… for as long as I live… I will hunt down whoever did this to us. I swear…
I swear to be the greatest Earl and watchdog for the Queen!
Only then will I finally be able to avenge us.”
And that was the very last time the demon ever saw its master show any weakness.
The two left the cemetery in silence, their footsteps masked by the dry rustle of withered leaves scattered beside forgotten tombs. Above, the sky hung low and somber, casting long shadows on the ground as if it too were in mourning.
Ciel walked with a newfound purpose. At his side, Sebastian followed with the ghost of a smile upon his lips, not of comfort, but of quiet amusement.
For while the boy sought vengeance in the name of the dead, the butler found delight in the living spark of it.
Oh, how delectable this little soul will be.
The cemetery was silent except for the sound of a shovel gathering up soil. The mortician held his head low as he continued to dig.
Soon, he reached the same intricately designed coffin that was buried just a few hours ago.
The man's face showed genuine interest with the same wide smile.
“Ah! There you are!” he says with enthusiasm.
“It must've been quite stuffy inside such a small coffin isn't it? My bad, I wasn't able to take proper measurements because of your sudden arrival!”
His enthusiastic tone betrays him. The enigmatic man sheds a few tears before carrying the limp body out of its casket.
“Oh, what have they done to you? Your life has already ended so early, when you're still so young.”
The tears were wiped and were replaced by the familiar wide smile he always wears.
“Don't worry, you shall return and live the life that you lost.”
The Undertaker's green eyes peeked through his white hair. It gleamed in the dark as his smile continued to grow a little wider.