Disclaimer: I don't own Kuroshitsuji. SHOCKER.

Author's Note: Originally written for the new Kuroshi Contest LJ Comm., and inspired by my conversations with LJ's Noveltynovelist-san. This fic was posted on the comm. site a week ago, and now that voting is done, I decided to post it here, too. (And guess what? It tied for first! XD I'm so excited!)


Grimm Fate


Ciel's life will have a fairytale ending.

It's only fitting, Sebastian thinks; the proper conclusion for a story such as his. His young master makes for such a dynamic character, after all: oozing good looks and vivacious energy and classic human stupidity; the perfect candidate for a Grimm's protagonist, so type-cast that he's almost a cliché. Yes, Ciel is the kind of hero that thousands of tales are written about— each one more ridiculous than the last, always ending in a beautiful tragedy.

And oh, he is such a beautiful tragedy.

In his mind, the demon thinks of his master as Hansel. So curious, so cautious… but never quite as wise as he needs to be: entranced by the eyes of the dead, losing himself in the Forest of Confusion, taunted by the knowledge that he had tried to fashion himself a way back, but something once lost can never be returned.

And Sebastian had personally seen to it that no breadcrumbs of hope or attachment remained.

Now the child lives in a mansion of gingerbread: all sturdy walls and pretty icing, with jewel-like gumdrops serving as lavish decorations. He lounges inside, comfy-cozy and condemnably ignorant: choosing to gloss over, to ignore, to overlook the witch that smiles and scrapes and serves him tea, ruby eyes glittering with hunger.

So hungry… But no, not yet, the feast isn't ready. It must be prepared.

To that end, the disguised devil raises his prey splendidly— keeping him content and clean and well-fed. Very well-fed; brought up on a strict diet of sugars and sweets: sweet foods, sweet words, and sweet actions, running a skilled tongue slowly up and down his master's pallid throat, chuckling when the boy can no longer hold back his groans. Sweet promises, sweet nothings; legs spread, hands reach. Lashes flutter to a close. And Sebastian kisses him, and lies with him, and all-the-while fantasizes about how delicious little Hansel's soul will be, once he's finished sautéing it in this bed of sugared spices.

Corruption tastes so sweet

But this is just the prelude; the best is yet to come. For on the day that this charade finally reaches its end—the witch sheds his façade, the cutting knives are sharpened, and the gingerbread house is burnt to the ground— the Earl will discover his reality was nothing more than a sugared illusion. A saccharine lie. A cantarella trap. And the bitter ache of his butler's betrayal will serve as the icing on the cake.

Yes, Ciel Phantomhive will die. He will be eaten alive, ripped apart by the hands that hold his fragile heart. Murdered by the only one he's ever trusted. And in those last, fleeting moments, the child will learn the moral of his story— it will be engrained into his very essence, carved into his soul for the rest of eternity.

And no one will care.

The unkind world will turn away, never bothering to benefit from the boy's harshly-learnt lesson. They will see to it that this Hansel's story fades into oblivion; they will make certain that his tale remain pointedly untold, for who would ever want to frighten their children with accounts of monsters in the closet? Better to let the young stay blissful and ignorant, naive of the ways of the red-eyed devil. Not that Sebastian minds; makes them all the easier to corrupt, when the time comes.

And in the end, it will be as if Ciel Phantomhive had never existed. Rather, as if he was nothing more than a passing dream—a memory that will belong to no one, save for the demon, who will keep the boy safe and protected in the library of his mind. His forever.

Like in a fairytale.

No, Sebastian can think of no better an end for his lovely, foolish, tasty little contractor.

And his young master deserves nothing less than the best.