A/N: Hello, my lovely readers. And my not-so-lovely ones. I'm an equal-opportunity writer, after all.

/shot

This story is based from Lizzie's POV of her dual personalities regarding Ciel. I have gone out on a limb and suggested that Lizzy has killed before, but that's because I like to believe that her entire family also works closely with the Queen in a manner similar to the watchdog…maybe cleaning up after him? Anyway…yeah. Just so you know. x'D

NOW, ONWARD!

My name is Elizabeth Ethel Cordelia Middleford.

You believe me to be ignorant and foolish and unknowing of the ways of the sword or the gun or death on the whole. You believe my parents have sheltered me from such things. You believe I'm spoiled, kind, good-natured, with good intentions, but in the end little but an annoyance that you lack to heart to be rid of entirely. Or, as opposed to lacking the heart, you have more than one might guess. You believe I'm close-minded and airheaded.

You believe I'm an ignorant child. A white rose, unstained by any colour, any at all, but especially of the colour red, the colour of blood and blushes, of lust and of death. A white rose, pretty, valued but…perhaps a bit dull. Which makes perfect sense, seeing as that is what I strive to be – what I have become.

But…I'm not really a little girl, did you know?

No...certainly, I am not.

But I'm older than you. And I'm taller than you. And I know that that's no good for you. You want to be seen as an adult, don't you? You're trying so hard. You never say it outright, but I can tell. The subtle hints and the not-so subtle ones. The high-heeled shoes. The way you never smile. Your monotone, professional and unfeeling voice. Your eyes, or rather, eye, always serious, never really joyful…rarely even content. I see it all. Did you think that I didn't, that I was too oblivious to notice things like that? Hah…I guess that's my fault, not yours. I tried too hard to act airheaded and childish. But that was for you, you know. I noticed that you were trying to be an adult, so I changed, too. I wear my childish shoes and act like a little girl to make sure you look like an adult and feel like one, too.

You're a rose, just like me. But you've been stained and, unlike me, you don't hide it. You've been tarnished red with blood and pain, black with agony and fear and hopelessness, gray with rainclouds that may never cease. You've been stained far more than myself and I know it, and I'm so, so sorry I could not protect you.

You believe I'm naïve and sheltered. I'm certainly not sheltered – I know of death and swords all too well. I'm not really that naïve, either. I can defend myself, and you too, if I really need to. But I see it Ciel, I see it. I see that, upon losing everything and being helpless to stop it, that you needed and still need, desperately, something that you can protect, something that can make you feel powerful and able and as if, maybe, you have some control over what happens in your life, what happens to those you love.

I know what your family does, and what you do. I know you kill people with certain frequency, sometimes for reasons less than pure or honest.

To be honest, it doesn't bother me.

It did at first. But now I understand Ciel, and I know that you quite simply aren't truly evil, no matter what you try to make others or even yourself believe. Really, I trust you further than anyone else to carry the burden placed too heavily upon your shoulders. Because you won't misuse the power. Too much.

And I'd be a bit of a hypocrite myself if I was bothered or frightened. You think that my family is pure of sins, Ciel? No, no. We kill, too. We kill.

I kill.

I hate the killing and I hate the sword. Because the sword is what my other self is – frightening, dangerous, ugly and cruel. She would repulse you if you saw her. You'd turn and run. You don't want a strong wife, do you? You want a white rose, weak and sweet, that can be protected. You said so yourself.

That's why I like it when you call me Lizzie. Because Elizabeth is her name, not mine. I love Elizabeth, but she can never, ever meet you. Because then you'll leave me and you'll take your love with you. You'll never as much as look back. I was so scared when you left, were taken, it doesn't matter what (although it does). When that pitch-black winter passed, when my pitch-black feelings threatened to became all I ever felt…I can't lose you again, Ciel. I can't.

I won't.

Elizabeth is a part of me, too. But, in the end and the present, too, it's better for you to not know the real me and be with the counterfeit me than for you to be with neither. That's the belief I've lived under ever since you returned, and long before that, even.

I just want you to be happy.

Something bad happened to you, Ciel, something that I can scarcely imagine. Something that changed you, in that month of winter after you disappeared. Something that stained a white rose black and red and gray, withering the edges and placing extra thorns. You were changed, Ciel, but you're still my Ciel deep inside.

Once, when I didn't want to fight, mother hit me. It hurt and was too hard, but it made me realize that being one was not good enough, that to please both her and you I would have to be two. To be both protector and protected I would have to tear. Lizzie and Elizabeth. And thus, I became what was necessary of me. As all good ladies should do.

Something horrible happened to you. So I'll be whatever I must to make you happy, or at least close to it. It's the least, foolish, silly me can do.

So, while you're trying to be seen as an adult, I'll become like a child. While you do work and go to meetings and play chess I'll smile and shout and pretend that I know nothing of watchdogs or death or swords or slaps. While you wear somber suits and act aloof, I'll wear pretty dresses covered in bows and obsess over cute things. While you're serious and calm I'll throw tantrums and cry too much. Because that is who Lizzie is. And when it is necessary, behind closed curtains where you can't see, I will cut down your enemies the way my family has for centuries.

I don't mind enduring all of it, it's not so bad. Because, after all…

You may be stained, Ciel, but the violent crimsons and the subdued blacks are lovely on any rose, and even more so on you.