Disclaimer: The characters and all other affiliations of Black Butler belong to Yana Toboso. I also have no claim over the rights to Edgar Allen Poe's 'The Raven.'
Summary: This is a poem written in correlation with Edgar Allen Poe's 'The Raven.' The events are slightly different, as are the characters featured. For those of you who may be confused, Ciel will play the part of the Poet, Sebastian the Raven. I realize that lines and quotes may be incredibly similar to those of Poe. I ask that you look upon that kindly. It is supposed to be a parody of the work, after all, and I have rejected all claims to rights and restrictions in the disclaimer.
Author's Note: Originally, this was intended to be a one-shot, but I simply find it more entertaining to toy with the patience of this story's intended. It's much more fun to wait in anticipation for the next chapter than to read everything at once and have your fun be ended abruptly, right, demon? -smirk- If you write me a story, strange Raven…I will write you a poem.
Late into the midnight hour, in a melancholy tower,
In a chamber draped in velvet, dark, oppressive to the core,
Sat a figure, lonely, silent, uninspired, yet defiant,
Young in years, of fragile form, with talent did the world adore;
With pretty face and tongue of fire all the world did so adore;
And all that world he did abhor.
Ink-welled quill aloft and yearning, dark, suppressed desires burning,
Stomach twisting, clenching, churning, inspiration so longed for;
Still elusive, agitation, parchment blank, a condemnation,
Parched and dry as his mind's well, inspiration quenched no more;
Inspiration, flown with her, along the Night's dark, gluttonous shore;
Lost to him forevermore.
Work abandoned in the silence, mind to quill gave no compliance,
Head reclining, velvet kissed by ash, small ankles scuff the floor;
Azure gaze a frozen warning, sharp with bitter sorrow, mourning,
Singularly visible, as other lay a cover o'er;
Sightless from the Fire that had taken all he'd had before;
Taken all he'd had and more.
Silence gave to reverie, of darling lost, of sweet 'Lizzie,'
A whisper soft upon his lips, as waves upon the shore;
Darkness thickened with his sorrow, how he longed for light of 'morrow,
Light to break the chains that bound him in this room, behind this door;
Bound him to his velvet chair upon the painted marble floor;
To quill, and velvet throne, and door.
Presently, the air grew colder; gooseflesh graced the Poet's shoulder,
As though someone else was present, darkness thicker than before;
Irony of reverie, followed by the density
Of air and presence plagued the Poet's mind and soul and very core;
Filled him with a terror, curiosity not felt before…
Then a rapping at his door.
Velvet arms gripped tightly, frightened, reigning peace with all his might, and
Quelling fear 'neath repetition, all to reassure;
Wild heat beat Poet taming, mask of ice replaced, proclaiming,
"'Tis a nightly visitor who knocks upon my chamber door;
Shadow, Ghost, or Devil not; just a gentle visitor."
Small footfalls graced the floor.
Upon approaching, hesitation, intuition, trepidation,
Presence heavy, blackened shadows seeped from underneath the door;
Should his thought be firmly grounded? His belief would be astounded;
Fragile fingers slow approached the ornate handle of the door;
Name nostalgic whispered from the Poet's quivering lips once more;
Then he opened up the door.
Darkness poured forth, hot wind rushing, suffocating, crushing,
Forcing Poet backward, as the heavy presence passed the door;
Fear consuming, sight restricted, body trembling, afflicted,
Small heels dug into the painted marble of the chamber floor;
Wind retreating, giving sight to visitor at chamber door;
Darkness there and nothing more.
Suddenly, of all strange things, inward flew on blackened wings
A Raven with vermilion gaze which into his soul bore.
A Raven, black as darkest night, of graceful stance and silent flight,
With presence ominous, a presence one cannot ignore,
With sharpened talons, ravenous beak, and croaking low and sore;
Just a Raven, nothing more.
As the odd guest was observed, curiosity deserved,
Azure clashed with crimson as the darkness closed the chamber door.
One held fear, the other glee, as the grim guest silently
Perched upon the marble bust of white above his chamber door;
On marble face of Father also lost to Night's dark, gluttonous shore;
Perched as though he had before.
Long into those eyes he wandered, long into that gaze he pondered,
What such visitor had perched itself upon his chamber door?
Then he ventured through the fire, swelled the courage to inquire,
"Pray thee, tell me of thy name. What do you seek here, visitor?"
He would swear the bird then smiled, eyes aglow and croaking sore;
"Just a shadow, nothing more."
Once again confused and shaken, surely he must be mistaken,
For so odd an answer had the Poet never heard before;
Yet the Raven perched in silence, spoken word his one compliance,
"Come, you've sought me out, dark Raven; trampled upon my safe haven.
Won't you tell of thy name upon the Night's dark, gluttonous shore?
Tell me what they call you on the darkest Night's bloodthirsty shore?"
Croaked he softly, "Nevermore."
Spoken with an ominous knowing, Poet's apprehension showing,
Turning back to chair and parchment, finding this new guest a bore,
Spoke the Poet nonchalantly, to his guest observing gauntly,
"If your name to me be secret, take thyself from off my door.
You shall vanish come the morrow, just as others have before...
Just as she has done before."
Then the silent guest cawed lowly, whispered darkly, murmured slowly,
Spiteful, hateful shrieked her name, alighted from the bust and door;
Talons met a crown of ash, drawing crimson with each lash,
Fleeing once the skin was broken, back to ornate bust and door;
Shrieked the Corvid, full of hatred, full of malice, loud and sore:
"Elizabeth! No, nevermore!"
Poet turned and Raven fled, talons crimson, riddle said,
Blatant shock and anger seeped from out the Poet's every pore.
Trails of life-blood from the head of young and frightened Poet bled,
Young and strong and proud he shouted to the beast above his door.
"You would dare attack your host? Leave! You're welcome here no more!"
Scoffing, spoke he, "Nevermore."
Then the Raven fled the tower, as the clock sung out the hour,
Leaving Poet in the darkness, bleeding, unfazed by the gore.
Poet stood, alone, dumbfounded, by the contradiction sounded
By the bird that flew as he had said that it would fly before...
By the bird that scarcely uttered more than simply, 'Nevermore.'
What was meant by, 'Nevermore?'
Should it mean his love is gone, sweet Lizzie lost with light of dawn?
Could the bird know more of him than he had given credit for?
Could it be another 'no,' refusal to alight and go?
Then why had bird abandoned ornate bust above dark chamber door?
Where had gone the threatening Craven, perched above his chamber door?
Silence answered him once more.
Crimson on his fingers fading, Poet stood unnerved, debating,
Finally deciding anguish, bloodshed inspiration bore,
Inspiration could be born from pain and hatred, blood and scorn,
Inspiration had been found by Poet in such things before.
Memories suppressed of torturous violence filled him to the core.
Anguish, inspiration bore.
Poet made quick haste debating, irrational fears berating,
His self from ancient floorboards laid before the Raven's perch then tore.
Made he way to throne and quill, crimson from his crown flowed still,
Pain the Poet welcomed as he sat himself before his door.
Sat as Raven had alighted on the bust above his door.
Sat, and wrote, and nothing more.