A/N: My sister and I wrote this together for a laugh. Enjoy. Please review. Suggestions for future entries are welcome.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
18th of April, 1889
I have no desire addressing you as 'dear', nor do I understand why I am speaking to you as if you actually exist.
But I suppose it can't be helped. Lately, not many things have been making sense.
Sebastian insisted that I keep a journal in order to deal with my internal rage, as merely pelting Finnian with darts is not a healthy way to vent and is apparently inhumane.
Hmph. Bloody demon.
Being myself, I was appalled by this atrocious accusation! Me, Ciel Phantomhive, have anger issues? What?
When I demanded justification, he recalled a recent memory (this afternoon) that went something like this:
I had been quite irritated, considering how the servants, or in my words, the three stooges were being more obnoxious than usual. Elizabeth, my… fiancée (insert shudder) had also visited, and I will not go into details.
It was just… There was pink.
A lot of pink.
Anyway, after her departure, I had hoped to finally get some peace and quiet. I was at the end of my rope. Until Sebastian informed me that Soma (the idiot prince from India) and Lau (the creepy Chinese nobleman) were coming, as well many other annoying people, whose names I do not care to remember.
Well, let's reminisce. I was already exasperated enough. This news did not help.
I went into a fit of rage so violent, I will not write the specifics in this journal. Just that there were a lot of broken dishes and smashed teacakes involved. I refused to open the door for such two foreign idiots, even when they stood outside on the lawn pleading to see me.
"CIEL, I MISS YOU SO MUCH!" I heard Soma plead, probably near tears (the idiot). Lau merely stated: "Oh come now, Earl, don't you wish to see what I got you all the way from Shanghai?"
I muttered an obscenity under my breath as Soma began pushing fervently against the door.
Sebastian, who stood beside me, tsked: "You, Young Master, seem to have a prominent problem with being nice. And we must work on that language problem of yours, as well."
I was pissed, and so slammed the door behind me as I went into my quarters, demanding to be left alone for the rest of the afternoon.
AM I NOT THE NICEST PERSON IN ALL OF ENGLAND?
What does Sebastian know anyway? Who does he think he is?
So, here I am, sitting on my bed, writing in this despicable item because Sebastian thinks I need a healthy way of releasing my emotions.
And also because he's refrained me from using any foul language in public.
Anyway, now that we have that settled, this is not a diary.
Because that is childish.
I'm going to attend my strawberry parfait now. This is far too much work for one afternoon.