Into These Waters of My Soul

They didn’t talk much on their way to the hotel. Ciel talked of mere trifles, be it the accent of a passenger on the train they had taken — a little grunting like the sound of pigs — or the branch that hit an eye of the dog that belonged to some friend’s friend of his family. “They named the dog Pirate. Can you believe it? As if they saw it coming.” Ciel would say the first thing that came to mind; now he began to laugh, and then, as if afraid of his own excitement, he turned timid and quiet. His behaviour was changeable, which made him tempting nonetheless. The boy who had challenged the writer and made the decision to take away his treasure was gone without a trace. He hid away. Sebastian listened to every word of his so greedily that the young man became confused. It was the first time that someone listened to him for so long and so attentively, the first time that someone saw his individual existence, detached from his older twin. And at the same time, Ciel was distracting Sebastian. He was doing so by attracting him, and rather consciously, so that Sebastian seemed to feel the thrilling tremor in his youthful knees, the screaming in his flaring chest, and the cry bursting out of it that said to him, “Don’t look at me like that” and “Look at me.” “Our neighbour — Madam White, the lady with a Great Dane, perhaps you have met her? — said that the local oranges are the tastiest in the world. Yesterday, she ate so much of them that by the morning she became allergic.” “Is it so?” “Yes. “Then I should try some.” “Do you like oranges?” “I prefer apples. And you?” “Not the sour ones; I like them soft and sweet.” Whenever Sebastian met Ciel’s eyes, the latter averted them with such alacrity that it could not but charm. Like a deer frightened away by an intruder, the blue vibrated in his bottomless eyes. The demon could grasp — or so it seemed? — the angel’s skull and absorb a bit into his own being to feel the other’s thoughts. Discomfiture. Confusion bordering on fear, the reasons for which were unclear, and therefore again! it was more frightening. What does this strange man want from me? What am I doing wrong? Why is he looking at me like that? Maybe it’s only my imagination? Alas, the strong mirrored shoulder was nowhere nearby! But to tell Gabriel his and Sebastian’s secret would be mean. Besides, the mere thought that Gabriel would once again know everything about Ciel and thus control him gave the boy a foul feeling. No, Ciel wouldn’t tell him, and he would go beside this strange friend of his father and talk, talk, talk… it even seemed to help him. Several travellers appeared before the walkers, and Sebastian had to go closer to Ciel on a narrow path they were taking, but when the human flock was behind them, the man did not increase the distance back; now their sleeves were touching one another, and even through the fabric he could feel the other’s heat, but suddenly Ciel moved ahead, breaking the idyll. The reason for it was a big horn seashell left by someone on a heated stone under a cypress. He didn’t study the object for long, as he saw Gabriel walking their way. He was wearing a dazzling white suit with shorts, just like Ciel. When the twins were together, it could be noted that Gebriel was wearing his suit more confidently; whatever the young man put on, it turned into his second skin. Ciel, on the other hand, seemed to reject any attention — as if, like the clothes, it was meant for the other — and preferred to wear things with timidity, dreaming, perhaps, of putting on a cassock and hiding in the shade of a chapel. Vincent said once as he watched his sons that, if possible, the twins still chose to dress the same. “I don’t really encourage it; they are too grown for that, but Gebriel is such a stubborner. He wants to think that they are equal.” “What are you doing here?” asked the twin in a nonchalant voice. “Ciel, your face is so red, did you get a sunstroke?” Ciel felt his head — a light straw hat that emphasised the colour of his eyes was in place. “We’ve been to the sea. How is Elizabeth feeling?” Gabriel grabbed his brother by the elbow; there was patronage, demand, and forbiddance of free will in this movement. “She fell asleep, thank goodness. We were discussing a novel by Walter Scott! Come, I want to tell you something!” He pulled Ciel away from the seashell, cypress, and companion. The next moment, two identical faces turned to Sebastian as they remembered his existence. Gabriel waved his hand with grace. “Mister Michaelis, thank you for taking care of my dear brother! I would be anxious if he walked here all alone. Our father and mother are back, by the way.” With these words, Gabriel took Ciel down the stairs and to the streets lit with a blinding white light. Both twins — white on white — instantly blended into the background. It took Sebastian a few moments to tell the boys apart from the gleaming sea, the blazing white walls, and just as white steps and griffin statues. He heard a ringing double laugh. But was it how Ciel laughed? The counterpart flowed out of the bird-lion head like the ink and lamented, What a shame, they didn’t take us with them? All day till dusk, Sebastian spent his time in the company of Vincent, Rachel, and their new acquaintance — the old Madam White. She went around with a marble Great Dane and followed the Phantomhive couple wherever they went, sharing stories of her life and the experience of raising twins — the woman had two girls; they both died of consumption in the nth year. “They shared everything together, my little roses.” Rachel deeply sympathised with the madam. It was only natural that the brothers reminded the woman of her precious rotted roses, and Mrs. Phantomhive applied the mother’s feelings to her own. The only good part of this pastime was that Sebastian heard quite a lot of new things about the Phantomhive twins. So, he learnt that Ciel, a sickly child, often spent his time at home, apart from his family, but Gabriel supported his younger brother in every way possible and oft attempted to slip away from the adults to visit the sick. “They are very attached to each other,” said Rachel, not without satisfaction, as if the close relations of her children were her own accomplishment, and Madam White nodded fervently, “Just like my girls! God rest their souls.” “For twins, fate is written for two,” she added. “Like my mother — a wise woman she was — used to say, ‘what is meant for one is alike for the other.’” “But our boys are so different,” smiled Rachel while the madam shook her fat double chin once again. “For one thing I am certain, though: they won’t leave each other in trouble.” Sebastian interjected: “Curious. Don’t they ever compete?” “Fortunately, we have been spared that,” said Mrs. Phantomhive. “Ciel is a quiet, kind, timid boy, and Gabriel got the natural role of a leader. Everything is where it’s meant to be. You grew up as an only child; do I remember right?” “My little sister died in her cradle. I was about ten years old.” “How terrible!” Madam White put a hand to her chest. Sebastian imagined the animal that he had strangled. What did he say to Ciel… was it a lamb? The bond between man and animal is an impenetrable thing when put into words, but should one take a closer look, it is more transparent than water. A sort of triple veil folded in several layers. This isn’t the blue colour of the abyss — a shard of Ciel’s eye, an eye of an angel — but solid funeral black. A prism. Sebastian remembered the scent of his mother’s perfume on the day of the funeral — a strangled trail of honey and lilac that was mixed with church incense. A sharp wind threw her veil over her son’s face. Its lace edge touched the mucous membrane of his eye, but Sebastian couldn’t take his gaze off a coffin the size of a dollhouse. It is midnight. The house is full of rustle — additional risk and adrenaline; hammers are drumming in his temples; now icy and then boiling lymph is coursing through his veins. The clock is hooting downstairs. In his hand, Sebastian holds a pillow. It is small, the size of a lap dog of his maman. In his memories, it felt like he had been standing by the cradle for eternity, although, in fact, it was only a minute. The child was no fool; he was prudent, and so he knew that he had little time in the house full of servants; yet, he could not resist and let himself look for a while. Her fingers were the colour of a piglet’s ear, two holes of worms were the nostrils — they moved with quiver; her skin was translucent, and under a cap on her delicate skull there was an openwork of veins and lilac blood vessels that also looked like silky worms. After many a year, she — her name was no longer important — would have taken the shape of a strong butterfly. But they said that women in the Michaelis family were all of bad appearance, as if carved from a rough rock, sharp and jagged like a wire, with a beak of a nose and dark leech-like eyes. The male breed, on the other hand, was a success. It was even rumoured that the reason for it was a deal with the devil made by one of their ancestors. Strong blood and wealth in exchange for a soul. Whether Mrs. Michaelis had a soul or not, he would remember her bestial cry for the rest of his days. His sister is asleep, thick with the smell of milk, and Sebastian is enjoying the uniqueness of the moment, power pulsating in a physical manifestation, and the chaotic thoughts of crimson shades seeping through a tiny crack somewhere within his ringing chest (is there a soul here?). He hears a stormy current, and in the moment of silence, he can exist in it alone. A bitter fruit hangs on the branch; don’t you eat it, my son, sounds his mother’s refrain, but Sebastian can’t tell who is the woman that sings in his memories; did he make it up or did he extract the truth from a deep, deep memory under the care of the moment? If he listens to the snoring of worms, he can hear her soul, fragile and frail, like the sleep of a mole in a dungeon. His fingers squeeze the pillowcase, as sparkling joy grows in the pit of his stomach. It’s like admiring a work of art. A chrysalis revealing a butterfly. Apotheosis. And even more so if one intervenes in the process. Hovering above the cradle, Sebastian doesn’t feel like a man or any other creature belonging to the earthly world. Everything around him is mortal, wrecked, and weak, but he hears the Void that was here before he was born, before he took his first breath, and it is there that his true self is left. A human boy is a stage of chrysalis. Apotheosis is ahead. Beyond words. He’s not a man. He never has been. Life means nothing. Its form overwhelms with fuss the size of the world, but it is just as hollow as the cocoon of a butterfly. Its purpose lies elsewhere. The silence is deafening, and, shimmering behind his shoulders, death cackles and then sings: A bitter fruit hangs on the branch; what will you do, my son? What is life if not a phase? What are the efforts of a mother’s body that has brought forth such a helpless form by giving the last of its lifeblood away even worth? The babe’s body is not much different from a naked rat that the boy killed along with cats, making his way into the cellars of the mansion. It is now that Sebastian feels going beyond the screaming line. His breathing becomes difficult while his hands become leaden and lower the pillow of their own accord. The tiny nostrils and all these holes and worms, all tenderness and innocence, the heavens’ gift are hidden by the beige colour of the pillowcase. The other’s chance is in his hands. Fate that is for nobody to choose but in which he intervened. Death was his mistress. The taste of it… The current. He is the one who took the blame for his sister’s birth. The one who broke the other’s cocoon, the one who absorbed the life energy… Everything else is meaningless and does not matter. He’s not a man. Miss Elizabeth came downstairs, and then, as chance would have it, came the twins, one leading the other by the elbow. Two young men that were always and never the same. “Are you feeling better, Lizzie?” asked one of them, and the girl flowed to his side like a boat. “Thank you, Gabriel, I am perfectly fine and full of life!” The second twin smiled shyly. “I’m glad that you are feeling well, Lizzie.” “You are so nice, Ciel.” One phrase was all it took for Lizzie to tell one reflection apart from the other and make her choice. Sebastian, who immediately saw which one of the brothers was Ciel as he habitually eyed his figure from head to toe, could not help but note the contradiction. He said nothing, however — the risk of him being mistaken was high; he couldn’t tell for sure, after all, and perhaps, oddly enough, he wouldn’t forgive himself for being wrong. Night was falling. Everyone went to have dinner. The Great Dane walked ahead, only once to break the silence of the fragrant garden with its barking. Rachel walked with the madam, discussing the trends of Parisian fashion, Vincent and Sebastian brought up the rear as the young went before them. Ciel — the one unchosen by Elezabeth — walked a little to the side while the girl held his brother by the elbow and chirped: “I want to go to the sea after dinner. It will be a full moon. Beautiful, isn’t it?” “It is already in the sky, young lady,” Sebastian intervened, and it was only then that the others took notice of the marble disc, which had been hanging there for half an hour and which no one was caring about. Ciel smirked, barely noticeable, while Gabriel held his gaze at the sky for a moment. He moved his feet a little jaggedly and too abruptly, springing and digging his low heels into the ground, while Ciel walked relaxed, without the usual nervousness that he felt because of his need to always feel firm land under his feet and never emptiness. The actors walk differently, Sebastian realised. One brother’s gait was natural and free — he got the easy part. So the right brother was the one who struggled with his role. The details were hard to see but noticeable under prying eyes. Admiring the game and his own discovery, Sebastian felt something tickling him under his ribs. Of course, no one else would have noticed such tiny details, for to do that, one had to love someone’s feet a little more than anyone else. As they sat down at a large round table — outdoor, next to the orange trees, — Sebastian, matter-of-factly, took his seat next to Gabriel. “Mister Michaelis, I think you have taken my seat,” said the girl with a note of a playful complaint in her voice. A warm seaside breeze tossed her straw-coloured curls and carried the sweet scent of her perfume. Miss Elizabeth was woven from head to toe with gold and coral shades, sweetness, and nots of fairy tales. Like a statuette nymph for a prince. Virtuous, radiant, with a good and obedient nature (helpless when needed and playful), with high ideals, and a lovely figure that would soon complete its transformation into a young woman full of life, the kind of which became easy-to-keep and problem-free sows. In Sebastian’s eyes, such beauty was absurd and vulgar, only a fact that one would like to scratch off from a picture like an accidental touch of a paintbrush. Sometimes, one or two colours were enough for a picture to look complete. Innocent blue. Deep blue. On black. “Oh, my apologies, miss. I was guided by Ciel, with whom I always find myself a neighbour,” he explained. The twins looked at each other, and Elizabeth smiled mischievously. “You know, I used to confuse the twins too. So I forgive you, Mr. Michaelis, for this oversight! But you’ve sat next to Gabriel.” “Have I? I believe this is Ciel.” The man faked a surprise and, not without curiosity, looked around at everyone present. “Isn’t it so?” The next moment, Ciel clapped his hands loudly and laughed. “Bravo! I am speechless, Mr. Michaelis! Ciel and I began to think that nobody would notice it tonight!” “Are you doing it again, young men?” Vincent sighed, shaking his head. Madam White, who was new to the circle, hadn’t understood anything yet but was already rummaging around with her excited bulging eyes, as if feeling the air. Ciel — who was in fact Gabriel — smirked. “What a curious thing! Mr. Michaelis hasn’t known us for very long, but he guessed right! Elizabeth,” he made a sad grimace and looked at his fiancée with reproach, “didn’t you really recognise me?” The joke, which everyone might laugh at, aroused strong emotions in Miss Elizabeth. “Sometimes, you are unbearable, Gabriel! Maybe I did it on purpose! On purpose!” exclaimed the girl, and suddenly, she looked like an offended child. For a time, the young couple thought with eyes — it seemed like a personal issue, — then the girl covered her face with a handkerchief and disappeared into the house. They heard muffled weeping. Rachel got up from the table, unsure whether to follow or stay. “Gabriel!” exclaimed the mother bitterly before the son stood up. “I think that everybody here takes fun too seriously,” he said. “Is it our fault that we were born with the same face? Ciel, say something! If anybody is to take offence, then it is us.” “Perhaps it was wrong of us to do so, and we need to apologise to Elizabeth,” his twin said in confusion. “Lizzie has always talked about ideals, but in fact — and I have proved it! — there’s no ideal love. You, Mr. Michaelis, you guessed it by chance, didn’t you?” Sebastian shook his head vaguely. “I’d rather not give out my secret method but write a dissertation on the topic ‘How to distinguish the undistinguishable’ to become famous and die an eminent author. “Well, I like this approach,” said Gabriel. “And now excuse me; I need to apologise for the fact that I was confused and ended up being the one to blame for it.” With these words, he disappeared into the building, gesturing for Ciel, who was about to go with him, to stay. “Sometimes, they act like children.” Rachel shook her head. But Madam White was fond of the twins’ little game; it reminded her of her own girls, who once tricked all the guests on Christmas Day. It was the beginning of a long story with dates, a recount of the dishes that were served, and every guest’s bloodline… A whisper tickled the man’s ear. “Shall I tell you a secret?” “I’m all ears.” While Madam White was frenetically describing how her daughters performed in horse costumes and how they recited poems, mimicking animal noises, Sebatian leant to the young man. Ciel whispered: “It’s not the first time we do it. The thing is, no one has ever seen through it. Although we’ve never pretended for long, but… all the same, no one has. Tonight, you surprised us.” “It’s nice to hear.” “Tell the truth, which one of us failed? It was I who played bad, isn’t it?” Sebastian was in no hurry to answer. Madam White’s chesty laughter boomed over the table so loudly that her Great Dane picked up his ears and snorted, disturbed from his sleep. “…and these neigh, neigh! and clip-clop, but the hooves were impossibly high, like those shoes that actors wear in Japan! The younger one falls from her hooves! And the elder one follows, both neighing all along!” Sebastian lowered his head to the small ear, and as he said, “To tell the truth, I wasn’t paying much attention to your brother, it was all you,” Ciel listened to him very carefully, a small gap appearing between his lips and his thick lashes trembling softly. “You played amazingly,” the man continued, “but the reason was... in your feet, Ciel.” “My feet?” Ciel seemed to swallow the sounds rather than say the words out loud. “The way that you, being seemingly confident, look for the ground to stand on. You need it more than air, don’t you?.. The way you turn your neck, Ciel, is, too, all about you. Your knees — oh, they possess your character. It’s interesting how knees can tell so much, isn’t it? And now, as I’m whispering it in your ear, I can recognise you by the shape of your earlobe. The more Sebastian whispered, the more crimson Ciel turned in his face. At last, to stop wasting the red, the boy said: “Enough. I’ve got it. I was a bad actor.” “Then you have got nothing at all.” Ciel stopped their secret dialogue in time; it was just then that Madam White finished her story, and the silence the fell was enough to draw attention to their conversation. “What are you whispering about with the young Mr. Phantomhive?” asked Madam White. “Tell us too!” Ciel almost dropped his fork. “Seashells,” he blurted out, desperate like a man who was falling from great height. “Seashells?” the woman repeated his word as she wrinkled her nose. “Y-yes. Mr. Michaelis was telling me about the types of seashells. We’ve been to the sea today and found a few strange ones.” “As for me, all the seashells are strange! They all look the same: swirls, shucks, and squiggles… Which reminds me of the day my girls first found snails in the garden…” When tea was served with dessert — cream pie and truffles — Gabriel and Elizabeth returned. Their brightened-up faces were eloquent enough to tell that their petty quarrel was behind them. The lady was back to high spirits and immediately joined the woman’s conversation about her daughters and snails. “Snail, how interesting! Gabriel and I used to look for them when we were little, didn’t we, Gabriel? We looked for them and brought them to Ciel, and he would build a house for them. Ciel, do you remember the big house with the beds for snails? Mother snail, father snail…” “It rings a bell.” “Then Tanaka found them and returned to the garden. Poor thing, you were so upset.” “Tanaka can’t be blamed, he was following my orders,” Vincent intervened. “That’s right, snails are hosts for parasites!” said Madam White. “I said the same to my girls, but they were so good-hearted! They were ready to nurse any creature of God, be it a spider or a shrew! Ah, it is most often such sweet angels that the Lord takes to heaven!” Sebastian was the first to get up from the table; he turned to Ciel. “You wanted to take the book, Ciel. I’ll have it brought to your room.” “In fact, I was leaving too.” The young man stood up awkwardly. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take the book now, on my way to my room.” “I don’t.” The man wished everyone a good evening, as did Ciel. They both entered the hotel. There, on a red carpet under a large chandelier, the same young man returned. He said: “I’m sorry, but I have to ask for your permission to search your room for drafts and anything related to the book. We have agreed that you will give me everything. I have to make sure of it.” “That’s right. Well, you may search for whatever you want.” Sebastian’s suite of two large rooms was on the second floor while the Phantomhive family resided on the third. Sebastian let Ciel come in first. His thin, graceful feet in a shoe stepped on a soft carpet, as if on the grass in the woods where lived the beast that he had never seen the like of. Before the light was on, it was the woods or a cave. The curtains were tightly closed, and the scent of essential oils, even though withering away, still lingered in the air. The young man looked back at him. “Are you sure that you don’t mind it?” “It wasn’t you who started it. Please make yourself at home. I am all open to you. The manuscript is on the table, but you should take a look around. Who knows, I might hide a treasure.” Ciel made his way from the door to the table with a slow gait. Apologising for faux pas, his fingers brushed across the tabletop and a pen, which was like his skin to Sebastian. Several books, a notebook, a glass of whisky, and a silver ashtray — a lake with a goat standing on the shore and a pile of skulls at the bottom. “Strange thing.” “You like it?” “Strange,” repeated Ciel. Sebastian sat down in a chair where he could quietly observe his inspector. Ciel found the draft and put it aside on the edge of the table, then opened a drawer to find a few telegrams, letters, and another draft. “And what’s this?” “A collection of stories. Not about the devil.” “I’ll take it too.” “Will you take everything?” “I have to.” “Oh.” “I’ll read it in my spare time to learn more about you.” “Do you think that an author and his work are one and the same?” “You know, when I was reading about the devil, I was involuntarily imagining someone like you. Do you think it’s strange?” “Associations overlaid. It was I who gave you the book after all,” “I don’t believe that if I had been given it by Madam White, I would have been imagining her as the devil.” “The devil’s faces are changeable.” “Perhaps you are right.” “Speaking of changeable things. I’d like to say how skilful you can be at lying, Ciel.” “What do you mean?” “The seashells. Even I wasn’t so quick to find the words like you. However, you could tell the truth about the subject of our conversation. Why did you choose to lie? What’s wrong with it?” Ciel reddened but gave him no answer. Instead, he fixed his eyes on the first thing they caught. “What’s this?” He took a square, wide book from a shelf, its leather cover worn out and its pages gone yellow. It smelled of old herbal oil, dust, and ink, so strongly that it stung the eye. “Japanese illustrations about the lives of two samurai warriors.” “Interesting.” “Susceptible young men are better not to look in there, Ciel.” “I’m not afraid of blood.” “There is no blood there. And still, it’s better not to look in there,” said Sebastian before glancing at the clock. “I’m thirsty for tea. Do you want some?” “Yes, please.” “With something sweet to eat, perhaps?” “Yes.” “Any preference?” “I’ll have the same as you.” “I don’t eat sweets.” “A cake, then.” Sebastian took the phone to call a servant. “Strange. It’s not working. I’ll go downstairs then. You have your work to do. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes. You see how much I trust you?” Smiling, Ciel waved him away. Sebastian was gone for about five minutes, given that he tried to go slowly. Ciel sat on a sofa and flipped through the manuscript. Even his ears — mysteriously miniature and delicate — were burning crimson. If Sebastian had kept quiet about this fact, it would have been the same as if he had said something, and if he hadn’t, it would have been silence. The brown eyes narrowed merrily. “Tea will be served soon. I hope you haven’t visited the samurai?” “Ah? No, of course. I don’t like war stories. They are rather boring. Gabriel loves them, but I don’t.” “And I am greedy for beauty, if I may say so.” Sebastian opened the window, letting in a honeyed fragrance of the night. Ciel looked up at him from his reading. “And what does beauty mean to you? What is it like?” “It has certain common criteria. Common for everyone. Despite the fact that many call it a subjective thing. Youth, for example.” Ciel lowered his head thoughtfully and smiled enigmatically. “If you were young, you wouldn’t say this word.” “Do you think so? Then you, the young one, tell me at least one criterion.” “Maturity.” Sebastian smirked, but Ciel was serious. “I find maturity beautiful and necessary.” “And why do you find it beautiful?” “Perhaps it’s because of my brother? As a twin, I have a double portion of youth, but I lack what only one of us has. I cannot copy it — as tonight shows us, — and I cannot take it, of course. But… maturity is different — it is what neither of us has… it’s different and… foolish. I’m saying foolish things.” The young man smiled bitterly. “You need strength, Ciel. Is that what you mean?” “I don’t know.” “‘He who seeks will always find,’ and sometimes, the sources of the necessary, like a genie from a bottle, are right before our eyes. All you need is to take it.” “I don’t understand what you mean.” Someone knocked on the door. A servant brought tea and dessert — chilled pear yogurt and almond cake. “I’ve noticed that, unlike Gabriel, you prefer yogurt over ice cream. “Yes. It’s all because I couldn’t eat cold food when I was little. I was quick to catch a cold.” “And you like nuts.” “Almond, yes. But if you say any more, I’ll start to think that you are stalking me.” “I am, in a way. Since I’m your humble dog.” A dessert spoon, full of white mass, froze at the mouth. A brief moment when Ciel had to draw the line by giving the man a decisive reply was wasted on the yogurt, down to the last millisecond. Ciel said nothing. They finished their tea, and then the boy said: “My question may be sudden, but how do you see God?” Ciel put his hands in his lap and tried to withstand a long questioning look before shifting his eyes to the empty inside of the teacup, an ornate black and red pattern, like the tentacle of an octopus, adorning its bottom. “I don’t. He doesn’t exist, and the Bible is a collection of stories for children.” “But you have written about the devil.” “It’s only fiction. Besides, the devil is first and foremost an archetype.” “We are going back to where we began. You are a grown-up, successful man who doesn’t believe in God, but who wants me to make him believe? Are you playing with me, Mr. Michaelis?” “I will repeat it, Ciel, for as long as need be — my intentions towards you are highly serious. I don’t believe in Him, but I am lost. And I am lost so hopelessly that only pure light can show me the way. This means that if you point me to the window and order me to throw myself out, I will, without thinking.” “You are scaring me.” “I’m being honest, as we have agreed to be.” The black counterpart sat in the next chair, a cup of tea in his hands. Above his cone-shaped robes spreading with energy sprouts, tentacles, and tatters, there was a goat’s head with massive horns that served him as a crown to a king. Slowly, Sebastian turned his head towards the counterpart. The goat ears twitched nervously, the smell of the Void coming out of his nostrils. Sebastian was familiar with it — it was only a few hours ago that he was recalling the Void. It rang in his ears and didn’t; it had a smell and didn’t; it existed, and yet it did not. Yes or no. It was the thing above Death. Then the man looked at Ciel, turning his head just as slowly. “Ciel, imagine that the devil himself is sitting on my right-hand side, holding a cup of tea. He guides me and watches me. All my actions, for which only I should be responsible, are harmful from the start and work in his favour. Do you think that under someone else’s control I could save myself?” The boy’s lips parted in surprise and fear, and the blue waters of his eyes rippled on the surface. “The way you are looking, it seems like you can really see someone in the chair… Alright. I think I’m starting to understand your… problem more clearly. Well then… I think the best we can do now is pray. You ought to do it sincerely.” “As you say, my friend.” “Let us get on our knees.” “Like this?” Sebastian repeated the act after Ciel. The boy had knelt down on the carpet opposite the man, a few feet away from each other. “Fold your hands in front of you, close your eyes, and repeat after me. Are you ready? Please focus and direct your desire outwards.” “I’m ready.” “Our Father…” “Ciel. May I take your hand?” “Why?” “I’ve hated praying since I was a child. Something happened back then, and my mother made me pray from dawn to dusk, as I sat in a cellar, all alone. When I repeat this ritual, I can clearly smell the odour of rat poison and mould and feel a slight insanity from countless repetitions.” “What did you do?” “I killed the lamb.” “Take it.” They prayed for a good half an hour. Ciel prayed for Sebastian’s soul, Sebastian prayed for his own. Everyone prayed for his exhausted, blacker than black soul. Sebastian was the one who repeated the prayer especially zealously. At some point, it was only repetition and grasping the meaningless act that distracted him a bit from Ciel’s proximity. The young man kept his eyes closed. Honestly. Trustingly. The tender softness of his lips moved quietly and tremblingly, uttering nonsense like “God,” “save,” “to thee we trust,” “cleanse,” and “evil,” but even this Sebastian was ready to hear forever. To listen to his breathing, to have the luxury of being close to him, and to feel the alabaster skin of his hands that he feared to clasp more than allowed. He could see them in the depths of memory — the neat nostrils, the gentle mouth, and the very purity of the act calling out to the cradle and the frail infant soul. Sebastian, of course, wanted neither to pray nor to cleanse himself. Perhaps the purple-coral tint had not yet faded from Ciel’s ears. A pure and innocent colour — round and polished naivety cut open with a samurai sword. The intertwined muscular bodies on the verge of insanity, on the edge of physical capabilities — a naked fruit whose bitter skin only proved the sweetness of the pulp. Ciel didn’t know yet how great — greater than all the temples put together — were the depths of blue waters from which he came forth to the world of “God”. Perhaps as great as his own curiosity… “That’s enough for today. I don’t think I can ask you to pray on your own, so we will be doing it together.” “All shall be as you say, Ciel. I’ll be grateful. I’m glad that you have decided to help me in spite of all the strangeness of this.” “I’m only trying to help you,” Ciel corrected, no longer embarrassed. He seemed to be deep in thought, not yet ready to share what was on his mind. He took all the found materials, which he put close to his chest like an important exhibit, and, as he was taking his leave, turned around. “Sebastian…” “Yes?” “The lamb you were talking about… did it have a name?” “Emilia.” The blue eyes closed for a moment or two. And when they opened again, it was the first time that they gazed at the man with an impeccably uncovered and bold look. The strange anxiety stirring within him gave Michaelis goosebumps and a chill in his bones. The demon that sat in the chair behind him clanked his hoof on a tea saucer. “Goon night, Sebastian.” “Good night, Ciel. Sweet dreams.”