Disclaimer: Didn’t own it then, don’t own it now.

Author’s Note: For some reason, plot bunnies for this fic keep popping into my head one chapter at a time. I’ll be interested to see where this goes, if that remains the case…

Warnings: Non-AU. SebaCiel, Sebaxfuture!girl!reincarnation-Ciel. And yes, I hate her for this, too.

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Old Habits

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Sebastian was a demon: ancient, omnipotent, and malicious. He understood (to the point of exploitation) the way human’s puny minds worked, how their twisted emotions weakened them. And while he wore a mask of servitude, it did not take long for any ‘master’ to realize who was truly in control of their relationship. As such, his tamers rarely caught him off-guard.

She, like her incarnation, was the exception.

But he was no longer certain that was a good thing.

“What did you say, young mistress…?”

The fifteen-year old smirked, even as she continued to play with her compact. “You heard me the first time,” she chastised, fluttering her lengthened lashes as a tube of mascara was returned to her purse. “Now, kill that wretched thing.” Perched atop the moldering barricade, the young girl flashed her devil a cloying leer; one long leg crossed over the other, tightly wrapped in a layer of synthetic leather. The material squeaked, her makeup mirror snapped shut; like the mascara (and the lip gloss before it), the scarlet disk disappeared into the depths of her handbag.

With no toys to distract her, her eyes soon locked with Sebastian’s.

The demon’s lower lip twitched. “If I might be so bold as to ask why…?” he quietly pressed, in a gentle cadence that only served to exemplify his obvious anger.

Her taunting smile darkened, cold as grave soil; bright navy eyes flashed like midnight flames. “Because you should have time for no one but your mistress, Sebastian,” she whispered, and the words hung in the air like sticky tendrils—spider silk, or coils of black molasses. Ensnaring. “Your only loyalty should be to your owner.”

Pupils narrowed, irises flushed; auburn seeds blossomed into blood-red roses. “My lady, you know I cannot lie,” the butler murmured, kneeling before his mistress’s make-shift bench. “I would never betray you, or—”

“Then why did you not obey?” she countered frostily, ripping her foot away when Sebastian moved to touch it. She was never one to be easily distracted. “I told you to kill it, and what did you do? You defied my order. You hesitated. Worse still, you questioned. And why? Simply because that thing continues to exist. Your behavior has only served to further prove my point.”

For a full minute, the devil said nothing. He remained in the grime, knees bent but back straight, as his wandering eyes drifted to the bundle of gray fur cradled in the crook of his elbow. Cozy and content, the small kitten seemed to beam up at him, trust and blind affection in its sky-blue eyes.

And as a demon, Sebastian knew that he should feel nothing for the creature. For any creature— no matter the circumstance. He should care for nothing but himself, nothing but souls; should have crushed the cat’s delicate skull a month ago, when he first found it in the alley…

But instead, he had nurtured the sickly thing. Had shown it affection. Why? Was it only because of his penchant for cats? Did it have something to do with those helpless sapphire eyes? It made no sense… Or at least, it made as little sense as agreeing to a strange, pseudo-contract without any sort of victuals compensation. And why? From the start, that soul had rightfully belonged to him… yet he had commissioned its untimely return, and had even gone so far as to give it free will. Why? What was wrong with him?

Two sets of azures eyes were watching, waiting. He could not stall forever. Nor did he wish to know what awaited him at the end of that line of thought.

“My keeping a pet has never been a problem before,” Sebastian eventually countered, the retort curt and oddly distant. “My young master, for instance, never c—”

The adolescent snarled, feral and low.

And no, it was not often that someone managed to catch the devil caught off-guard. Perhaps it had something to do with hubris, or some strange assumption that no human could possibly be That Cruel. But as always, his mistress surprised him: with a swipe of her booted foot, the demon’s elbow was forced into a contortion. The baby cat flew, yowled, and met the distant concrete— making a snapping sound just like her plastic compact.

“Young mis—!”

The girl stood, looming over her startled servant as her expression distorted in disgust.

“…you said once,” she then breathed, using the very tip of a painted nail to force the demon’s chin back towards her, “that it does not matter what my name is, for a slave should only ever call his mistress by her title. At the time I agreed, assuming you to be some sort of mindless pawn. But now I think you have an ulterior motive in only ever referring to me by my status… for if you never use my name, you never have to acknowledge me as an individual. You never have to see me. You can continue to look past my present form and see your precious ‘young master.’”

Her painted lips curled backwards, revealing grit teeth; manicured talons bit into his skin. And for the briefest of instants, as he stared into her swirling eyes— eyes that contain no sympathy (no humanity)— Sebastian wondered just what he had unleashed that autumn night three years ago.

His shifting expression made the girl sneer.

“Finally putting it together, are we, love?” she sang, sugar-sweet and mocking as she stared down her nose at the devil. “I am not Ciel Phantomhive. My name is Skye… and I will make sure that you always remember it.”

A giggle, a nip, a butterfly kiss; Skye released the demon with a hiss of laughter, shoving him backwards and towards the wheezing mound of fur.

Without another word, Sebastian stood. Bowed. Slid silently to the broken kitten’s side, watching as the poor thing panted and seized, trembling in excruciating pain. All the same, the dying animal noticed the sudden shadow above him; a glassy eye managed to focus, if only for a moment. And again (as always, when the butler was near) the small thing seemed to smile… even managed a feeble purr of recognition, trying to wriggle closer to the only caretaker he’d ever known.

The devil lifted a foot…

“…no,” Sebastian whispered, fully concurrent, as he slowly closed his eyes. “You are not Ciel.”

Crunch.

And he wasn’t sure how he felt about that, anymore.

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