Disclaimer: Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji belongs to Yana Toboso-sensei.
A/N: I'll be writing more of Supernatural after all due to popular demand, as well as
Footsteps cut through the silence of the musty room. The old wood door creaked as a dark figure brushed past it. He was pushing a wheelbarrow in which he had set a small lamp. The dull glow illuminated a chalky and scarred face adorned by a crooked smirk. The man's eyes were obscured by a mane of silver hair on top of which a black and jagged hat was jauntily perched. He was clothed in all black with a chain of pendants dangling from his waist.
This man was known by only one name in the human realm, and that was Undertaker. It was not a name earned only through evil deeds, but rather through his unpleasant occupation, for Undertaker was, in fact, an undertaker. He prepared the citizens of London for their final rest, which is what he had come to the old building to do.
Undertaker looked around a moment before spotting what he had come for. A mangled corpse lay near the door, blank eyes staring at the ceiling. Undertaker pushed the wheelbarrow closer to it and began to examine his latest client. It was the body of a young man who's head had been split open. Normally expecting to see brain matter oozing from the wound Undertaker was intrigued to see straw poking out through the gaping hole.
"My, my, how did that get there? It seems someone wanted to make a doll out of you, my friend."
He pulled out one of the pieces of straw and twirled it in his fingers. He often had clients who were missing things, but they usually weren't stuffed. Undertaker chuckled as he admired the man's face. The cadaver lay still as ever, staring at Undertaker. Its violet eyes were lined with theatrical makeup and a fleur de lys perched on its cheek below its right eye.
"A pretty thing, aren't you?" he muttered, "Such elaborate painting... perhaps you played with dolls yourself?" Undertaker said remembering the lifelike dolls he had seen in other parts of the house.
The living man noticed a louse crawling on the cold face and brushed it away gently. In the same manner he tucked a lock of sandy hair behind the ear of the puppet man.
"Your skin is as smooth as porcelain. Shall I call you my porcelain doll?"
The corpse continued to stare blankly at Undertaker.
"Let's get you back to my shop, my pretty doll, so I can take care of you and clean you up. I'll put you away in a lovely black toy chest when I'm done. How does that sound? After all, dolls are meant to be played with, right~?"