Ciel Phantomhive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dealwithademon) wrote2011-02-24 10:33 pm
dealwithademon) wrote2011-02-24 10:33 pm
[ Dream ] -£- 004
Warnings: Blood, brutal imagery.
Effects: None, save for whatever reaction one might have by seeing these things.
He's lived these events too many times to count. He knows exactly what's going to happen, but it doesn't stop him from going through the motions. As if it were the first time, he feels his little heart pounding in his little chest. He feels his throat tightening, running down the hallway. He stops, rests his hands on his knees, gasping for breath.
He hears the screams, the gurgling sounds of something awful. Frightened, he runs towards it. The door is right in front of him. He reaches, little hands towards the knob, pushes the door open--
He knows what he expects. It's the same every time. His mother, his father, tangled on the floor, lying in bright red splatters. They're dead, or close enough that his little mind cannot tell the difference. Sebastian, the beloved family dog, will be lying beside them, a similar fate--
And for a brief second, there they are, but only because he expects it. A darkened room, and blood-soaked hair. But then the room is light. The site is still familiar, bodies on the floor, lying in blood. But it's not his mother, not his father.
It's Sebastian --the butler not the dog-- with an iron fire-poker through his chest. The room is crowded, and all eyes turn on him. The tension in the air is so thick, it threatens to finish squeezing his windpipes. This sight is impossible. He knows it. He knows the damned fiend is faking it, he knows better. His feet are moving across the carpet. His hand is in that blood-soaked shirt and coat, and he starts screaming.
But no one pulls him off the body this time. No one reaches in to quiet the hysterical master of the house. No, instead, the room is cold. It's dark. There's no one there but, him, and whatever it is he's holding he can't see behind closed lids
Ciel.
And then his eye shoot open. His fists are no longer full of shirt and lapel. Instead, he's cradling a broken, life-sized doll. Her green eyes are like glass, and her flaxen hair, normally in ringlets, hangs limp and loose. And she's looking up at him.
'Ciel, don't bad sad," says Lizzie, 'I just wanted you to smile. so, Smile.'
Her dainty little hand is reaching up to his face. She's dying in his arms, and there's nothing he can do about it. He's failed her. He swore through everything, he would protect her, and this is his fault.
'Smile.'
He looks up at the sound of the word, said as a name. Joke, Beast, Doll Freckles, Dagger, Jumbo, Peter, Wendy, they're all looking down on him.
'You killed her, Smile.'
He knows they're right.
And suddenly, the room is in flames. Burning, everything burning. Curtains, and furniture, and pillars, and strange, twisted dolls made of dark origins. Masks, and a stone table, and markings all over the floor. Hair, silk, skin, everything, burning to ash.
Burn it. Burn it all.
It was the only way to erase everything.
---------
Ciel awoke with a start, in a cold sweat. He reached to wipe his brow, and then noticed the tiny blinking light on his bedside table.
Damnit not again -- he grumbled, reaching for the thing and shutting it off.
Effects: None, save for whatever reaction one might have by seeing these things.
He's lived these events too many times to count. He knows exactly what's going to happen, but it doesn't stop him from going through the motions. As if it were the first time, he feels his little heart pounding in his little chest. He feels his throat tightening, running down the hallway. He stops, rests his hands on his knees, gasping for breath.
He hears the screams, the gurgling sounds of something awful. Frightened, he runs towards it. The door is right in front of him. He reaches, little hands towards the knob, pushes the door open--
He knows what he expects. It's the same every time. His mother, his father, tangled on the floor, lying in bright red splatters. They're dead, or close enough that his little mind cannot tell the difference. Sebastian, the beloved family dog, will be lying beside them, a similar fate--
And for a brief second, there they are, but only because he expects it. A darkened room, and blood-soaked hair. But then the room is light. The site is still familiar, bodies on the floor, lying in blood. But it's not his mother, not his father.
It's Sebastian --the butler not the dog-- with an iron fire-poker through his chest. The room is crowded, and all eyes turn on him. The tension in the air is so thick, it threatens to finish squeezing his windpipes. This sight is impossible. He knows it. He knows the damned fiend is faking it, he knows better. His feet are moving across the carpet. His hand is in that blood-soaked shirt and coat, and he starts screaming.
But no one pulls him off the body this time. No one reaches in to quiet the hysterical master of the house. No, instead, the room is cold. It's dark. There's no one there but, him, and whatever it is he's holding he can't see behind closed lids
Ciel.
And then his eye shoot open. His fists are no longer full of shirt and lapel. Instead, he's cradling a broken, life-sized doll. Her green eyes are like glass, and her flaxen hair, normally in ringlets, hangs limp and loose. And she's looking up at him.
'Ciel, don't bad sad," says Lizzie, 'I just wanted you to smile. so, Smile.'
Her dainty little hand is reaching up to his face. She's dying in his arms, and there's nothing he can do about it. He's failed her. He swore through everything, he would protect her, and this is his fault.
'Smile.'
He looks up at the sound of the word, said as a name. Joke, Beast, Doll Freckles, Dagger, Jumbo, Peter, Wendy, they're all looking down on him.
'You killed her, Smile.'
He knows they're right.
And suddenly, the room is in flames. Burning, everything burning. Curtains, and furniture, and pillars, and strange, twisted dolls made of dark origins. Masks, and a stone table, and markings all over the floor. Hair, silk, skin, everything, burning to ash.
Burn it. Burn it all.
It was the only way to erase everything.
---------
Ciel awoke with a start, in a cold sweat. He reached to wipe his brow, and then noticed the tiny blinking light on his bedside table.
Damnit not again -- he grumbled, reaching for the thing and shutting it off.
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Though after that time, she sighs and cannot offer comfort, but instead some form of normality.]
Young Master Phanthomhive, are you alright...?
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While you may disagree with my wording, I would be surprised if the dream had no effect on you what-so-ever.
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"At this hour"? Why Young Master Phanthomhive it is only--
[She turns to glance towards the clock and seems startled at what she finds.]
Oh! I wasn't aware that it was so far gone. I suppose Break did not see it fit to disturb me whilst I was reading....
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But that can wait until later, perhaps after the next chapter. What were you saying about your filter troubles, Young Master Phantomhive? They aren't working properly?
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[Maye it's because he's tired... or maybe it's because he's talking to a dis-embodied voice while he's sitting in a dark room... but he's being remarkably open. And perhaps, sounding a bit his age.] This is the first one in a while that anyone has responded to.. so perhaps they aren't completely a failure.
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Overall... I suppose it is not too great of an inconvenience. Invasion of privacy is an issue however nothing that cannot be overcome.