AN: I've been on a writing splurge the last few days, and this was one of the results. I apologize ahead of time for any grammar problems due to formatting.

Ciel stared at the barely distinguishable black and white squares before him. It was far past dark, and normally he would have been asleep already. Instead, he looked at the black squares on the board, only distinguishable because of the white surrounding them. Or perhaps the white was only distinguishable because of its presence within the black.

Surely these thoughts must be the result of lack of sleep, Ciel thought absently.

He turned to his left and looked outside. Because it wasn't situated in London or surrounded directly by any other city, the nights were always darker at the Phantomhive home. This night was clear and empty, the moon a dull glow barely noticeable. Ciel relaxed more in his chair. His hand went under his chin, and he closed his eyes.

And...what do I do now, he thought.

Ciel, though surrounded with money and the comfort that came with it, had never been one to pass his days idly. His days had been spent doing the bidding of his queen, and when no instructions came from her, running his company or receiving lessons from Sebastian in social conduct or the arts, in order to better serve his queen and run his company.

He hadn't anticipated this. Everything was done. He had his personal revenge, and, as a result, had avenged his family. He had turned London into a hellfire, even if he hadn't directly meant to. No, he wasn't responsible. The angel was. Ciel was merely a spectator to the chaos. Hundreds of people were dead and international relations were on a fine balance, waiting to tip any moment. And yet, after the fires had burned everything away, people had come back. After all, they had nowhere else to go. In the aftermath, people continued on as they always had, in an even dirtier, darker London. And that was why the Phantomhives had been able to perform their role for so long. Despite the sadness and chaos, people returned to their lives and everything continued, even though many of the lives were completely changed, and their homes broken. After all, not everyone had the ability to recreate their lives like Ciel had. Not everyone could make such a perfect replica of a life. Not everyone could restart like he had.

Ciel had a perfect replica of his home. He had servants. He had his company and wealth. All things that he'd been able to create perfect replicas of from when his life had been real, and not something allowed to continue based on a contract with the demonic. Not everyone could do that, even if they had the supernatural help at their hands. It required strength, determination, and most of all, for Ciel, hate. Much was required to build a copy of a life that could fool everyone else. It had almost fooled even him sometimes. To build such a convincing, temporary continuation of his life had cost a handsome price.

A soul for revenge.

At the time, Ciel had known exactly what he was trading, and he hadn't thought twice about doing so. What was his own broken soul compared to the pain and embarrassment he could make his enemies suffer? But with his borrowed life came new people. And somewhere along the road, Ciel had started caring again. In the end, however, no matter how many paths crossed his, he was Ciel Phantomhive, and just Ciel Phantomhive. The only things he had left were his name and personal honor, and the drive to do what he meant to until its fruition ended him. Even in the end, he played the game based on his own set of principles-- a perfect hypocrite. The child with the pawn that broke all of the rules insisting that everyone follow them. A great pawn. Now, that was proved untrue. It was not a pawn he had held and maneuvered as he pleased, but a weapon that chose to work at his side. A great weapon indeed. One that should have cost him so heavy a price as his own soul.

Should have. The price, however, hadn't been paid.

When Ciel had achieved his goal, when he had settled everything, and the rest was going to hell, he had been prepared to die a second time. The last time. He would live on borrowed time no longer. Though he had failed in remaining unfeeling and had grown more attachments to the shade of his former life, he had been prepared to fulfill his end of the bargain. He had his principles, and he achieved his ends, even if it felt too quickly done afterwords.

Clean of the blood that had been soaking through both of their clothes, sitting on the stone bench, Sebastian had made his last promise to Ciel. Ciel could still feel his butlers smooth hands as the roamed his face and slid under the patch over his right eye. He could still see the curving of his butlers lips, and the reds of his eyes as he came close, his demon nature beginning to seep out of him after he had taken such precautions to not let Ciel see it.

Like Sebastian had promised when Ciel had request it, there had been pain. Unimaginable pain. Ciel was at once screaming without a voice and at once content amongst the pain. But then it was gone. And he was at home, in his bed. In a home with no Maylene, no Bard, no Finny, and no Pluto. Tanaka, though not discovered amongst the deceased, had disappeared after the chaos in London it seemed, though not before making arrangements for Ciel's funeral. A casket-less affair, as no body would be found to place in on. Tanaka had always known more than others would believe.

And so it was that Ciel came back to an empty mansion, and a funeral. Not knowing why he seemed to be alive, he hadn't stopped the funeral from proceeding. He had even watched Elizabeth arrive in a carriage, wander the grounds of his mansion, then leave, sobbing into her maid. As he had watched her, there were numerous emotions Ciel believed he should be feeling, but he felt none of them. He should be sad at seeing Elizabeth's tears. He should be grateful to still be alive.

Or perhaps he already was dead and his experience now was one of the limbo which he would forever be fated to live in. One where he truly lived in solitude.

Before, he had claimed to always be living alone in the dark. The claim made it easier to live a life based on revenge. However, he had never been truly alone. He had been the employer of four loyal servants, the master of a demon dog, and the contractor of a devil. The thing he noticed the most in this awkward existence was the silence. No breaking china, no cracking trees, no afternoon interrupted by Sebastian bringing in tea.

He should have felt loneliness, but he didn't.

He passed days in the quiet, doing nothing. He would sit and stare out the window or set up the chess board, only to realize there there was no point. Every day seemed to melt into the next day. He ate when he felt he was supposed to, taking from the storage, and slept when his eyes closed, his bed often abandoned.

This night his eyes wouldn't allow sleep, though. Ciel looked at a small portrait of his family that sat on one of reading shelves. He remembered that he had ordered the large portrait on the stairs removed and it had been burned. Ciel realized the picture he was staring at, in which the figures were barely distinguishable in the dark, was the last evidence of his family as it had been. He thought about getting up and looking at it under candlelight, but he had no desire to look at it. It was a past life.

Perhaps this is what it means to not have a soul, Ciel thought, turning back to the chess board. He picked up a black pawn and rotated it slowly in his ungloved fingers. He didn't feel loneliness or sadness or anger. Rather, something much less abrasive, something much less deep crept at the edge of his mind. The space of something missing.

Sebastian, you never lied, but you never gave me the truth, Ciel said in a low voice, placing the pawn on the board. That is something humans are meant to do, Ciel muttered, picking up another piece. He placed the black knight next to the black pawn.

Sebastian didn't lie. It was against his principles. He had pledged to remain by Ciel's side until the end and he was no longer there. Did that mean this was the end? But Sebastian had left Ciels side once before to test him. Perhaps he was testing Ciel again, and would be back. Sebastian had been a constant. Something unchanging in Ciel's rebuilt life which was constantly changing, yet perfectly still from the moment hed made the contract. And Sebastian was gone now.

For the first time, Ciel felt something tearing at him. He clenched his teeth and flung the chess pieces off of the board, where he couldn't see them land in the dark. He stood up and ripped off the eye patch over his eye. What was the point of wearing the damnable thing when there was no one to hide the truth from.

Ciel threw things off his desk, searching for a candle. Upon finding one, he lit it and stood in before a mirror above the mantle on the fireplace. He held the candle up and, with his other hand, brushed his hair from his eye. His eyebrows knit together, and his lips pulled down at the corners.

The sign of the contract was faded. Only a shadow of it remained. Or maybe Ciel only imagined it was there.

Had Sebastian pitied him and left Ciel with his dirty, unneeded soul and life? Had he taken Ciel's soul and left him to rot in a limbo with silence that falls dead on the ears? How could Ciel be dead if he had seen Elizabeth in the flesh? Was he a ghost, left to watch the one person that had been left after it all fade away?

Ciel stared at his reflection lit by candlelight and saw his face slowly begin to change. The face that he hadn't been able to make sad or angry since Sebastian had left him to wake up alone was twisting and snarling.

The mirror shattered, half of it falling to pieces on the floor, the other half cracking like spiderwebs. The bigger pieces on the floor reflected the blood dripping from his hand. Ciel raised his hand up and observed the blood that looked almost black in the dark of the night.

What is the meaning of this, he thought, dropping his hand to his side.

He could barely feel the dull throbbing in his hand and frowned with anger at the thought that, if he had been wearing his gloves, such a thing could have been prevented. Since there was no one to dress him on those long days, however, he did not bother with the meaningless addition of gloves.

He tightened his hand into a fist, and the blood spilled out from the cuts on his knuckles more quickly. Ciel stood there for a moment, his blood slowing to a trickle, and raised his hand to the half of the mirror that remained in its frame on the mantle. Staring at half of his face, he slowly traced a star with his blood, where it should have been in his eye. He looked into the remains of the mirror for a moment, the smeared red star looking black against his blue eyes. Finally, he closed his eyes and turned back to his chair. He sat down and gazed the darkness outside. Clenching his hand, he thought angrily:

Where is Sebastian?

AN: I might add more to this, I might not. Tell me what you think?