III. Under Pressure
Ciel couldn't begin to imagine how Sebastian found the time to put up Christmas decorations. The main hall, in a matter of eight or so hours, had gone from its typical serious fashion to sparkling and cheerful.
The young master straightened his tie and took a glance around. Everything was ready for the first Christmas party that the Phantomhives had held since-
Ciel shook his head. No. He wouldn't let himself think such things. The past wast he past. He had to focus on the future.
Twisting his ring onto his thumb, Ciel couldn't help to think about the past. How he'd dash between ladies in their finest dresses and men in pressed suits so that he could steal a dance with his beautiful mother. One could hardly call Rachel pulling Ciel up and hugging him, twirling around to music, dancing.
No one would dare to be that one. Not in the house of Phantomhive.
“Young master,” Sebastian pulled Ciel from the familiar reprieve of the past. “We're ready. The first guests will arrive shortly.”
“Ah, yes.” Ciel looked down at the floor. He reminded himself that he did have something to look forward to.
“Sebastian, did you invite Aunt Francis? Are you sure?”
“Yes, young master. And the Marchioness corresponded. She and Lady Elizabeth will be arriving shortly.” Sebastian chuckled. “I know that you're dying to see your fiancée, but an Earl must have patience.”
“Stop teasing me, you prick.” Ciel huffed, nearly jumping out of his skin when a knock came on the door.
“Get it!” He hissed to his butler, perhaps a bit more harshly than he had intended. Nonetheless, Sebastian did as he was ordered, and opened the door.
From that moment on, the party began. The invitees came in droves. Even the awaited Marchioness Middleford was present, her daughter sporting her brand new Christmas dress
“You look stunning, Lizzie,” Ciel lied through his teeth, kissing the back of her hand politely. He wanted to inform her that she looked like an inflated peppermint, but the gentleman must always flatter the lady.
“Oh, Ciel, you look handsome, too!” But Elizabeth didn't lie.
“Did you bring what I asked?” He questioned, almost too excitedly.
“Yes, she got it down from the attic just this morning. She handed it over to Sebastian already.” Elizabeth giggled, watching Ciel's eyes dart around the foyer, until he saw exactly what he wanted.
Sebastian held a leather-jacketed book tightly in his hand.
The young master felt his heart skip a beat.
“Excuse me, Lizzie,” he turned back to face her, but then left her side without waiting for so much as an accepting nod.
Ciel stopped at Sebastian's side, smiling at some newly arrived guest,—the slutty teenage daughter of some company's head, whose bosom barely stayed in the top of her dress—then he greedily grabbed the book from underneath Sebastian's arm.
Forget about 'please' or 'thank you.' Such unimportant phrases they'd become to him.
“Sebastian, fetch me in half an hour, when dinner's going to begin.” As if Sebastian could forget his own schedule.
“Yes, my lord,” the butler said to Ciel's back. What use would trying to stop him be? He had something that could give him insight into what happened four years ago.
Perhaps Vincent Phantomhive's journal could give the young master some insight on who the murderer was. What the motive was. And why he didn't do a thing to prevent it.
Ciel thought all of these things too, as he raced up to his room and locked the doors so that he could have his privacy. Like a child would, he leaped onto the bed and opened the journal to the very first entry.
“14 December 1875” was the first marked entry. The day of Ciel's birth. He leaned back against the pillows and began to read.
14 December 1875
Rachel gave birth to a son today. She and I argued for hours over a name. She wanted something beautiful. In her eyes, beautiful is French. I wonder how I even made the grade sometimes.
Nonetheless, we named him Ciel. Ciel Phantomhive. The heir to an empire. I sincerely hope that when he does inherit this empire, he's not going to be crushed by it. I don't want to see him fall underneath the pressure of running such an expansive company.
I want to see him grow old. Get married. Have children. Of course, his marriage has already been decided—my sister is carrying a girl, she so believes. Her name will be Elizabeth—but I know that what I want most is for him to be happy.
God, please never let my son live in anger or rage. Never let him have to take revenge for anything. Never force him to search for all of the right answers in all of the wrong places. Let mine and Rachel's hands guide him forever.
Ciel stared at the neat cursive on the page, almost as if the words would fall off. At first, the usual thoughts came to him. My father wrote this journal? He wrote in it? This is his handwriting? His ink? He wrote it with his pen? This existed to him as it does now to me?
Though there was an underlying message, Ciel knew that. There was some way that his father knew what was going to happen. And he was praying through this journal that it never did. Oh, how wrong he was to pray.
He closed his eyes and imagined the morning of the day before that day, where Vincent and Rachel hugged Ciel and stood, smiling side by side, as Tanaka lifted him on his shoulders to help put ornaments on the higher boughs of the tree.
“Young master?”
Ciel looked over at the door to see his butler standing there, a nearly perfect imitation of his father's face staring back at him. “Young master. Dinner is nearly ready to begin.” Sebastian smiled, clenching the doorknob in his gloved hand like he wanted to shatter it into a million pieces.
“Yes, of course.” He tossed the journal down onto the bed and quickly walked to the formal dining room, though Sebastian stayed behind.
He closed the bedroom door and carefully picked the journal up, flipping through the pages.
“Vincent Phantomhive, you cowardly bastard.” He practically sneered, tossing the journal back so that pages were crushed against Ciel's goose down comforter.
Neither seemed to realize, after both having looked at his handwriting for so long, that the journal did not belong to Vincent Phantomhive.
