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: For this, see Chapter One.

Author's Note: To those who have waited patiently for this update, thank you.

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Vanished had the Raven not, hiding, lest his self be caught,

Gazing at the child hunched o'er parchment before chamber door,

Smiled to himself, besotted, eyes aglow as creature plotted,

He would not relinquish easily a soul so long sought for,

He could wind this child 'round his finger, own him to the core.

This he'd do, he softly swore.

Feathers falling, form extending, limbs protruding and distending,

Silently the Raven donned disguise behind the chamber door.

Aptly chosen was his guise, t'would instill a great surprise

In the fragile Poet locked away from all he did abhor,

T'would surprise the child to observe his father at his door,

He had done this all before.

With this form he would arouse, whilst his soul he would carouse,

Preparations must be made before consumption, so states lore.

Weaken would he Poet's will, tease and tempt and lead until

The child broke, allowing Raven to take what he so longed for,

Take the shattered soul that would lie broken, bleeding on the floor,

Ah, but first, he must endure.

Silently approached the creature hidden by familiar feature,

Stepping close to Poet slowly, footfalls quiet on the floor,

Slight regret consumed his stare, gazing at the Poet's hair,

Cautiously a hand rose up to rest upon his crown of gore.

In an instant, wounds were closed, blood and anguish were no more.

Inspiration fled once more.

Fondly did the Raven speak, from now lips in place of beak,

Spoke regret for having caused unnecessary, cruel uproar.

Jealousy? Perhaps, unlikely, ruffling the dark locks lightly,

"Pardon, young one. Truly, your forgiveness I implore.

I have quite the temper, and it isn't easy to ignore."

Contact shook him to the core.

Shock took hold of soul once more, contact did the boy abhor,

As his wound in hand was taken, inspiration fled once more.

Smooth and soft the voice had sounded, affection and remorse abounded,

So familiar was that voice, it shook the Poet to the core.

So familiar was the hand atop his head, those footfalls on the floor.

He had known them all before.

Whirled about were throne and child, heartbeat pounding, fast and wild,

Gaze assaulting this newcomer through his barricaded door,

Azure wide with disbelief, answers did the boy bequeath,

Senses numb and screaming that the man before him was no more.

He'd been taken by the Reaper all those dreadful years before,

Taken, as his bride before.

Disbelief had Poet shaken by the form the bird had taken.

Voice and hand atop his crown, he'd felt, he'd touched, he'd heard before!

Turning now to face the creature, shock spilled over every feature,

Pain and anger filled the Poet's gaze, much stronger than before,

How dare this creature take the form of one so lost and still longed for.

It shook him to the core.

Words proceeded sense once more, 'temper' relevancy bore,

As the Poet so concluded what his mind had thought before.

What a dreadful tactic played he, stealing form from Poet's mem'ry,

Intuition proved quite grounded in what it had claimed before,

In its claim that this was not a simple Raven, nothing more.

Was this beast of ancient lore?

"Temper?!" angered Poet spat, striking hand from where it sat,

"Acts performed in anger cannot simply be forgotten, or

Trust be blindly granted to wolf in garment of the yew.

I will not be fooled by an intruder wrapped in rich couture."

Stood the child from his prison, fury seeped from every pore.

"Come, I'll see you to the door."

Onyx-heeled soles scuffed the floor, Poet making way to door,

As the newly crafted lips curled into a grin once more,

Crimson darkened near to black, bore into retreating back,

Oh so sweetly this one smelled, when anger, pain seeped from his core,

Pain of memory dragged to surface by the form he stood before.

No such taste he'd known before.

Voiced he softly, taking care, tilting head with bird-like air,

Curious about this creature, stubborn, angered, cross and sore.

"What has you so angered, kitten? Certainly you weren't so smitten

With girl as young and guileless as a child so immature?

Surely you could draw no inspiration from that filthy whore?

No…I think it's something more."

Once more whirled about the Poet, furious, fought not to show it,

Fire in his ocean eyes, hatred swam along the shore,

Tiny fists shook hard with fury, swore he that this bird he'd bury.

Damn this creature! Hell-spawn which had gall to speak such words impure!

Filthy cretin! Dared he call Ciel's Elizabeth a whore?!

Disrespect, he'd have no more.

"Vile devil!" shrieked the child, body quaking, temper wild,

"Heathen! Do you think yourself a creature so superior?!

Rotten, Ugly, Unbecoming!" Fragile heart-beat fiercely drumming,

Brought a drop of stray saliva to those lips so long parched for,

How he longed to tear into that vessel, ravage it upon the floor-!

Endure, endure, endure.

"Lies, to you, I will not speak. Only truths become this beak.

I think little of your lover, lost upon the blackened shore.

You though, young one, you intrigue me, though it seems thy work fatigues thee."

Gestured to the near-bare parchment, guised intruder smirked once more.

"To think that one would draw their inspiration from such gore…

Tell me what you're waiting for."

A moment's pause was Poet given, finding himself rather driven

By the pride the Raven'd risen in his thin chest's hollow core,

Driven so to answer snidely, thin lips spreading, smirking widely,

Sarcasm, amusement dripping from those lips made to adore,

Finish in his tone as bone-thin fingers gestured toward the door,

Spoke the Poet, "…'Nevermore'."