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chocky-chocky · 28 days

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— A surprisingly long and in depth look about symbolism in the recent G-Fantasy cover by Yana Toboso ✦

Including references, flower language, how to decode the meaning of flowers, and a little too much brainrot. As well my personal interpretation drawn from all the sources I looked at. And of course what all of means (and maybe hints at?) for Sebastian and Ciel… and maybe even Sebaciel?

Originally posted as a twitter thread, but threads suck and I forgot a couple things. so here now.

Disclaimer :

I don’t know FOR SURE that all these things were directly referenced by Yana when creating this art. But being a fan of her work for over a decade I've become familiar with her use of symbolism and reference, and believe myself to have a good eye for it at this point! I'm also pretty familiar with the use of flower language, including different languages, due to having been involved in a project about it and having to read wayyy too much about this.

Some of it also includes my own personal interpretation, but the meanings and info I based myself off of ARE factual. I think I made it pretty clear when referencing my personal interpretation. You're welcome to reach your own interpretation based off of the stuff provided!

And lastly, I'm not a sebaciel shipper. I'm not an anti (the complete opposite, actually) and have nothing against the ship, I like the narrative around them and how they're written but I don’t actively ship them romantically or sexually. So I'd say this is actually a pretty unbiased interpretation. Personal taste is one thing, but I don’t deny the author's intention and whats written in front of me! That is what this post is about.

Kuroshitsuji takes place in the Victorian period (1837~1901) in 1889.

The following are both important Victorian books on the language of flowers that I will be basing myself off of.

Language of Flowers by Greenaway Kate (1884), and The Language of flowers: An Alphabet of Floral Emblems (1857).

(Also, I’m treating Ciel’s rose as a deep red rose. Which is a bit different than red roses. But I am adding some relevant information about roses in general, anyway.

Now, on what they say about these flowers.

Deep rose, meaning "bashful shame". White lily, meaning "Purity and sweetness."

— The White Lily

Most people assume that the lily refers to Ciel's purity, and that’s a fair assumption. But I disagree.

Firstly, the one holding the lily is Sebastian. Holding it on his right hand, tilted towards the right. However what's relevant here is the VIEWER. From the viewer's POV he's holding it to the left. Note he also holds the scissors on his left hand, where he bears HIS contract seal.

How you hold a flower, what position you give it to someone in, changes the meaning of the flower. These context clues are very important. It tells us that 'purity and sweetness' doesn’t refer to Ciel, but actually refers to Sebastian (…sorta).

This may be a little confusing. Purity and sweetness, Sebastian?! I know, I know. bear with me.

These books provide poems to help us understand how you may interpret the intended meaning. The lily poem is about enduring trials out of love because of the purity and sweetness he sees in his lover's eyes and soul. I believe Yana directly references the poems I will include in this post in her new artwork.

— My Interpretation

the meaning of Sebastian's lily is:

"I do all out of love for the sweetness and purity within you."

Him holding it to the contact seal and cutting the flower could stand for him destroying this sentiment (affection within himself) that has arisen in him as a result of their contract by destroying the sweetness and purity—the source of it—within Ciel (consuming his soul).

Note: This is debatable, as 'reversed' almost always means upside down. But if you consider the lily facing away from the viewer as reversed then it could mean "impurity and bitterness" which fits pretty well with Ciel, and it being held against the contract seal which is a physical representation of his impurity, brought on by his bitterness.

— The Deep Red Rose

There something I find very interesting. The rose is in a teacup, standing in for tea (I think there's even tea alongside it in the cup.) From Yana herself we know that Sebastian's eyes are a reference to the reddish brown colour of tea.

Like I said, I believe this rose to be a deep red rose, which is a bit more specific than the meaning given to red roses. However I think the poem included for roses in general very much applies here.

I was going to add my thoughts but I found this interpretation that sums it up pretty well if you replace the carpe diem theme with a more "running out of time" or "impending death" theme, which seems to be a more accurate reading for this artwork.

Looking at the rose itself, it has no thorns or leaves.

It is not a youthful rose as its already fully open and losing petals. "No hope, and no fear" fits with the poem, the rose is basically an hourglass referring to Ciel. His fate is unavoidable, but this isn't a deterrent. He's dancing on the ledge.

The deep red rose means 'bashful shame'.

When you compare it to the lily, which is a direct proclamation, the deep red rose is a quiet confession one cannot verbalize.

Debatable, to be fair but given the tie in to Sebastian's eye colour and the fact that he is always the one pouring tea for Ciel, I believe the Sebastian to be the speaker here too, but this time speaking on Ciel's feelings (Hence why he's the one holding it) rather than Sebastian's own.

— My Interpretation

The meaning of the deep red rose Ciel holds, speaking about Ciel's feelings of guardedness, and in response saying:

"Abandon your bashful shame, and let yourself be admired without expectations (hope) or fear"

Sebastian speaks about Ciel's feelings, the deep red rose acknowledges his feelings but they remain unspoken.

The Waller poem is a plead for his beloved to seize the day, for time is short, and allow herself to be loved completely.

Her beauty is one to be appreciated, she is not meant to be a rose unacknowledged (unloved) in the desert.

Regarding 'expectations', I think this is more about rigid ideas of how 'appreciation' or 'admiration, might be shown or received. Sebastian and Ciel's relationship defies normality or 'expectations'. So this, too, would defy expectations a young boy like Ciel, or a traumatised boy like Ciel, may have.

From Yana herself, we know Sebastian's dedication and how highly he holds 'beauty', specifically Ciel's beauty.

The author of the poem proclaims that beauty not appreciated is not beautiful indeeed, and so he calls his beloved to come to him and be appreciated wholly during the invaluable, limited time they have.

We see the deep red rose's petals fall away, in my opinion not only symbolising the withering away of time, but also the crumbling away of this "bashful shame" that Sebastian ascribes to Ciel.

How Sebastian wishes to "appreciate" this beauty is debatable. How he wants to "admire" and "desire" (per the poem) Ciel is rather open ended. Wether it be in a romantic way, a sexual way or by consuming his soul.

However, I don’t think these are mutually exclusive. And consuming Ciel can easily be a metaphor for the former two.

— The Lily and The Rose

The Greeneaway book has this poem which im sure was directly referenced. This poem speaks about the lily and the rose in a direct power struggle and fight for dominance, until they eventually unite and reign as one.

Now when speaking about this "union", you could say it refers to their contract, but I don’t think so.

The contract ties them to each other, but it doesn’t necessarily unite them. So I believe 'unity' to be about the appreciation Sebastian speaks of Ciel opening up to.

"The Lily" and "The Rose" might be interpreted as directly representing Sebastian and Ciel, and the unity that would come from them joining and becoming a truly complimentary pair. I think a power struggle and fight for being the one in control is very accurate way to describe their current dynamic in canon.

It may also be interpreted as "The Lily" and "The Rose" as being representations of their feelings and ideals previously. And then it would represent these two conflicting expressions—a loud unrelenting and destructive devotion, and a guarded, bashful, unspoken reluctance— coming together and turning from conflicting to complimentary.

Or as it tends to be with these things, both!

Either way all of this is expressed under the sense of impending doom created by their circumstances and the contract. So there's a sense of urgency permeating all of it.

Also clear to me is a sense of internal conflictedness coming from Sebastian's message that is usually only hinted at like this, and some people end up overlooking.

Sebastian desires Ciel deeply, but having him would also mean not being able to have him anymore.

Sebastian is torn and that’s why he attempts to cut the root of his wavering feelings represented by the lily.

All of this makes me wonder about what's next, and if we will see these things said more blatantly. Foreshadowing with flower language and references like this, isn't exactly rare for Yana. I wonder if we will see this 'unity' come to be, and what necessary development Sebastian and Ciel will need to undergo to make it possible. As well as what shape it will take.

I also wonder very much about Ciel's perspective in all of this, as this was almost entirely from Sebastian's POV, but I think that's intentional. Ciel has his own goals and a lot on his mind. Sebastian's goal IS Ciel. So I assume he spends a lot more time thinking about Ciel and this kind of thing.

Thank you if you read the whole way through. Like I said before, even though the sources defending it are, my interpretation is not law and you're welcome to reach your own with the things presented.

Links for sources, including free public domain PDFs of the books mentioned are found at the end of my twitter thread.

— Thanks for reading! —

#sebaciel #language of flowers #victorian language of flowers #kuroshitsuji #meta

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chocky-chocky · 1 month

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Mirrormere (in khuzdul Kheled-zâram) was a dark lake in Dimrill Dale on the east side of the Misty Mountains. In First Age Durin came upon Kheled-zâram and looking upon mysterious stars set like a crown reflected in its surface...

Gouache painting 165x165mm

2023

#lotr #silmarillion

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chocky-chocky · 1 month

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I like to imagine that the Winter Soldier would have been programmed with basically every language that he would need for missions, and, for the sake of versimillitude, his handlers would make sure that he had the appropriate accent/diction and backstory to flawlessly pass as a native of a decently sized city in the country he was working in. So he speaks French like he’s from Toulouse, German like he’s from Cologne etc., allowing him to seamlessly blend in with the locals when he’s out raining destruction across Europe.

Unfortunately, the Red Room – not being known for its commitment to multiculturalism – didn’t think this system through very carefully when it came time to send the Winter Soldier off to do his first ever long mission for their comrades in China. They just program him to speak Mandarin like a statistically unremarkable proletarian from Zhangjiakou and send him on his merry way.

So he arrives in China with his Soviet handler and the following circumstances align to make the entire mission, from the perspective of the Red Room, a disaster from start to finish.

1. It’s 1971, and China is not open to the outside world. Most of the men on the Soldier’s strike team have never met a foreigner in their lives.

2. Those who have met a foreigner have never met one who speaks completely fluent Mandarin with a paint-peeling Hebei accent.

3. This is ENORMOUSLY INTERESTING AND ENTERTAINING to everyone he encounters.

4. Instead of being unremarkable and blending in with the locals he gets mobbed by curious spectators everywhere he goes. His strike team, despite being a little scared of him at first, are so excited to talk to a foreigner who they can actually communicate with that they constantly come up with excuses to hang out and chat.

5. China’s relative lack of development in the early seventies means that there aren’t the facilities to wipe him or put him in the freezer, so the main weapons that Handler Dima has at his disposal to keep the Soldier in line are 1. it’ll be hard for him to run away because he tends to attract crowds, and 2. He sometimes looks very ashamed of himself if you give him a sternly worded talking-to.

6. The Soldier is having the time of his life. Look at me, look at all of my friends, I have so many friends, EVERYONE LIKES ME.

The Winter Soldier, doing shots of baijiu and toasting to the health of Chairman Mao. The Winter Soldier, chain smoking and eating millions of sunflower seeds while playing Fight the Landlord with his new pals on a cross-country sleeper train. The Winter Soldier, doing morning tai chi and calisthenics along with his team. The Winter Soldier, preening every time someone tells him that he looks like a movie star (his handler says “They’re just saying that because they only ever see Europeans in films,” to which the Soldier replies, “But Dima, why don’t they say that you look like a movie star?”). The Winter Soldier, showboating shamelessly for his strike team, who have started calling him Lao Da and looking to him for orders while ignoring Handler Dima, who can’t speak Chinese and definitely can’t shoot two people at the same time while doing a backflip. The Winter Soldier, making elaborate Chinese puns and teaching his guys useful English phrases that he can’t remember learning (Did you come here alone, doll?). The Winter Soldier, harassing his buddies until they show him pictures of their wives and kids and then sincerely complimenting them on their beautiful families. The Winter Soldier, suspecting that he has experienced this kind of camaraderie before but unable to remember when and how.

His next mission, in Vietnam, is the first time that they muzzle him.

#winter soldier #bucky barnes #marvel

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chocky-chocky · 1 month

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@a-sad-writer | @icantdothistodaybruh | @sebadztian | @castleartsebaciel | @puppyfan9000

2. The Shadow

Several days had passed since the night of the investigation, and Ciel had barely left his bed.

He had awakened late-morning the following day: dizzy, coughing, and sweating with fever – his thoughts immediately pulled to the malevolent creature he had stupidly unleashed. He ached all over, too weak to move but too restless to sleep away the symptoms, plagued by shadows that lurked in the very corners of his peripheral, always just out of sight.

It was only on the evening of the second day, when his head had stopped spinning and his thoughts became clearer, that he recognised the nature of his illness; that his fatigue and lack of breath were born of the consequences of dust inhalation on his already smoke-weakened lungs. He cursed himself for not taking a mask.

Sleep still found him only in short burst, broken by fits of coughing and feverish chills. The shadow lingered in each moment of waking, closer now, no longer bound to the edge of his vision, but Ciel would not dwell on supernatural reasoning. He was sick, and there were any number of human conditions that could cause such a hallucination.

What was it Dickens had once written?

“There is more of gravy than of grave about you”.

It was on the fourth day that Ciel had finally felt well enough in himself to really do anything. Still groggy and sore, he had at least managed to shower and change clothes, and was now at mid-afternoon preparing himself a bowl of cereal – chocolate-coated, as was his vice – and a nice cup of tea to soothe his aching throat. He took both back to his room and switched on the computer to check his e-mails and catch up on anything he had missed in the last few days.

Nothing incredibly interesting. Spam mail. Shipping notifications. A series of social media alerts that his cousin, Lizzie, had been posting photographs from the trip that she and some of her college friends were taking to Paris before the start of the new term; he could guess what the caption for many of them would be without having to look. Still, he went ahead and liked a few of them, just so that she wouldn’t think he was ignoring her. She’d only get worried and call him otherwise, and as much as he did love Lizzy, her personality could be somewhat... overwhelming; he certainly didn’t feel up to facing her at the moment.

There were also a few pictures from his other cousin, posting from his own – entirely unrelated – vacation, also in Paris. He had been invited to go along as well himself (not to make the trip seem less suspicious, mind you. It was, after all, a completely separate journey with nothing whatsoever to do with Elizabeth’s), but had politely declined in favour of his research; Edward seemed to have managed to find someone to go with him, though – Ciel vaguely recognised the other man in the photos as having been the punk kid from their school, in the same year as his cousin. Ches-something. Funny, Ciel wouldn’t have taken the two of them for being friends – there had always been more of a rivalry between the two of them, if Ciel remembered correctly.

The brief check turned to mindless scrolling, until a new notification pop-up appeared in the corner of his browser. A private message on the paranormal discussion board.

undertaker_136649: How goes the investigation? 👻

Shoot. He’d promised to leave an update, hadn’t he? Well, there was no time like the present.

_watchdog_: I managed to talk to something.

The reply was near instantaneous – he must have been eager for the news, just waiting for Ciel to finally appear as ‘online’.

undertaker_136649: Spirit box?

_watchdog_: No. Talking board

There was more of a delay this time, but Ciel could probably guess what ‘Undertaker’ was going to say...

undertaker_136649: Silly, silly! You’re not supposed to play with those by yourself you know ☠️☠️☠️

... Yep, that was pretty much what he’d thought. Whether or not there was any real basis to it, the general consensus seemed to be that a spirit board should always be used by two or more people at once. Ciel’s interest in the particular location had been a personal one, though; it didn’t feel right to invite anyone else.

In hindsight, the spirit box probably would have been a better bet – at the very least, it didn’t require physically calling upon the spirit to communicate. He had one, somewhere in his bag of equipment – a basic little handheld radio frequency receiver. There was nothing inherently wrong with it, but Ciel had been putting off using it because he had a nicer one on order, with a built-in EVP recorder.

Another message came through:

undertaker_136649: Anyway, what did ghosty say??

Ciel took a moment before typing back, wondering how much he should reveal of what had happened, if anything at all.

_watchdog_: Not much. It told me it was a demon so I left.

That covered the basics, at least; though he didn’t mention his faux pas with closing the conversation.

undertaker_136649: Never mind. There’s always next time 🖤

Ciel cringed at the emoji. He knew it was just how Undertaker typed, but he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable when strangers online signed off with hearts and kisses; it was far too overfamiliar for his taste.

Re-reading the message, though, he noticed the distinct lack of urgency.

_watchdog_: you don’t think it was a real demon?

It was as if the man had been waiting his whole life for someone to ask just such a question. The flood gates opened to reams of messaged full of information on the topic, complete with hyperlinks to sources and further reading.

According to Undertaker’s knowledge, demons – or daemons – were less of a ‘spirit’ and more of a primordial force, existing on a different plane, far removed from mankind. They seldom involved themselves with humans, viewing the denizens of the world as little more than skittering ants – occasionally amusing to watch, but having little use for anything else. Despite what horror movies liked to say, the likelihood of one of these entities having actually come forward from its own realm was apparently slim to none, and the chances of it remaining in this world even less so...

undertaker_136649: remember - spirits don’t have to tell the truth, and if it WAS a demon it probably wouldn’t have said so

undertaker_136649: more likely just a silly little ghosty making mischief xx

It felt as though a great weight had been lifted from Ciel’s shoulders. Whatever the thing was that he had spoken to, it likely wasn’t anything malicious, just bored. Had it not told him as much?

He reached for his tea and took a sip; it had already gone cold. Grimacing, he drained the cup anyway, if only for his throat.

Another message:

undertaker_136649: Get any of it on film?

Ciel suddenly remembered that all of his equipment had been left in the boot of the car for the last four days. It was all out of sight, so it shouldn’t have drawn any unwanted attention, but it was probably best to get everything brought inside sooner rather than later.

_watchdog_: I did, but I haven’t had a chance to look at any of the footage yet.

It wasn’t exactly a lie; he hadn’t had a chance yet, not with how ill he had been feeling. He doubted Undertaker would be too interested in hearing about his medical history.

Ciel stood from his seat, grabbing his teacup with one hand and manoeuvring the mouse with the other to close the current window, but was graced with one final message.

undertaker_136649: let me know when you have! 👻📹

_watchdog_: will do

He types out his reply and shut the browser, then headed through to the kitchen on his way out, rinsing the dregs from his cup and leaving it upside-down on the drainer.

Allocated parking for his building was in an underground garage space, the trip down made even more tedious than usual by the lack of working elevator. He took the several flights of stairs slowly, still not feeling entirely steady on his feet.

The automatic lighting flickered into life in sequence overhead as Ciel entered the parking area; his footsteps echoed through the wide space as he made his way to the spot reserved for his own vehicle. He raised the boot lid to reveal his camera equipment and duffle bag, from which some of the contents had escaped after being so carelessly slung into the car. He repacked the gear, including the camcorder and tripod, and picked the large bag out of the boot. The spirit board looked up at him from beneath where the bag had been sat – mocking him.

Could the demon – no, not demon; the spirit, or whatever else the entity was – still be attached to the board? Would it really follow him all the way back from that old house to his London flat?

And if it was bound to the item, then what should he do with it?

As much of a horror trope as it was, it still seemed to be accepted as fact that setting the board on fire would do nothing to sever the connection. Maybe he could try smudging the spirit out, or scrub it down with holy water...

The longer Ciel looked at the board, the more quietly unsettling it became. He located the planchette, and set it down on the printed ‘goodbye’ for good measure, belated as it was; then he flipped the board over so that the text could no longer taunt him, and closed the boot.

The damned thing could stay in the car for now, until he made up his mind on how best to deal with it.

Ciel lugged the rest of his gear back up the steps. He’d bring the subject of the elevator back up with Bard the next time he saw the man in the building; he must have some kind of news on it by now. Re-entering his flat, he set the bag down on the sofa with a muffled thump and crossed through to the kitchen to make a fresh cup of tea – just at the right time, too, as the kettle looked like it had just finished boiling.

He poured the freshly heated water into his cup, which was sat ready and waiting with a teabag on the counter, and grabbed the fold-out stool he kept around for reaching the higher shelves of the cupboards in search of honey to sweeten the tea.

It should have been considered criminal, really, how high the cabinets had been fixed to the walls – an act of discrimination against anyone shorter than 5-foot 9... which, as much as he hated to address it, Ciel was; by quite a bit.

Stirring a decent sized dollop of honey into the hot liquid, Ciel’s thoughts drifted from his quiet grumbling to something else, a question. Looking back, he didn’t actually remember boiling the kettle – nor even refilling it, for that matter. He must still have been feeling groggier than he’d realised.

Maybe it would be best just to go back to bed for a bit, he thought; the equipment was safely inside now, it wouldn’t hurt to let it sit for a while longer before inspecting his recording.

He headed straight through to the bedroom with his cup and set it down on the nightstand before crossing the room to his desk to shut down the computer for the time being. He cleared the screensaver with a couple of clicks to the space bar – and froze.

By now, the PC should have timed out and entered the lock screen, but it had not. It was also not on his desktop, where he had left it.

Instead, there was an open document, the text cursor flashing next to the singular word typed out on the otherwise empty page:

𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨.

Ciel could not fall back on logic any longer. The shadows; the kettle; now this. It had followed him home, definitely, whatever it was. He put his trembling hand to the mouse, hovering the cursor over the ‘x’ to close the window, Undertaker’s advice repeating in his head as a mantra – just a silly little ghosty making mischief. He let out a breath, and clicked the button.

The bedroom door slammed shut.

Ciel turned his head to look over his shoulder in its direction. Nothing was there.

“Sebastian?” he asked tentatively, hoping against all odds that it wasn’t; hoping that it was just the wind, or that something had fallen and knocked the door closed. Fallen and broken, even.

Instead, he watched as the door handle slowly turned in answer, creaking the door back open, ever so slightly.

A cold chill ran through Ciel’s spine as he watched with bated breath, expecting to see fingers curl themselves around the edge of the door, but there was nothing. He hesitantly made his way across the room and took hold of the handle, sharply pulling the door open the rest of the way to reveal the empty hallway.

Fuck.

Well, there was no way he was going to be taking a nap now. Maybe it was a good time to look at that footage after all.

At first, he did not move from the spot in the doorway, looking around himself instead for spying eyes or signs of movement in the shadows. When all seemed quiet, he ran a hand through his hair and let out a long and heavy breath, steeling himself, and stepped out of the room.

He could feel those invisible eyes on him as he unzipped his duffle bag. The entity must have been watching him since the day they spoke, Ciel realised this, but it was worse now that he was aware of it; now that it had made itself known. The thing must be growing impatient, bored again with not being answered.

Ciel removed the camcorder from the bag to get access to the SD card. He could see his basic little spirit box sat in amongst the rest of its contents, and contemplated it for a moment. Maybe this being would like to communicate with it, if it really was just looking for attention.

Later, he decided. Footage first.

“I’m not ignoring you, just so you know,” Ciel spoke into the empty room over his shoulder, “I’m just...” Uneasy. Overwhelmed. Afraid. “... busy.”

He breathed out a relieved sigh when nothing answered.

Ciel loaded the SD card into the reader on his PC and clicked into the file to view the most recent video. It was a little over 11 minutes long; he was sure it should run for a lot longer than that – at least it had felt much longer.

He watched himself ready the board and ask his question, how he sat in silence waiting for an answer; shoulders rigid as he anticipated the movement of the planchette, dropping in defeat several minutes later when there was none. The auto focus began to struggle a little as the surroundings darkened, the settings having to readjust to accommodate for the dimming light.

He listened as the question was asked again, viewed his own head fall in defeat when nothing happened once again. A sigh, eyes closed, and then one more quiet attempt.

The camera blurred again in the low lighting as the candles began to flicker in the breeze, trying to focus on something in the darkness that wasn’t there. Then, the screen went entirely black, and the recording ended.

Ciel grit his teeth in frustration. He had managed to capture everything until the very moment that something actually happened. Why had the recording stopped?

He clicked back into the folder just to be certain that the file hadn’t decided to split itself for some reason; no, there was definitely only one recording for that date. Had the battery run out? Surely not. Ciel was positive that he’d charged it; eleven minutes should have been nothing.

The young man abandoned his desk to retrieve the camcorder, turning it over in his hands to inspect for any signs of damage before trying the power button. The display lit up immediately, battery nearly full, and the only error displayed being for the currently missing memory card.

It was then that the realisation dawned on Ciel that he had never actually turned the camera off himself. If the battery was, indeed, charged ad he had expected, then it should still be dead by now, drained from been having left recording in the boot of the car overnight; the difference between the camera having worked or not should have been in finding several hours of useless, unlit footage from inside the trunk of the car. If the camcorder was still functional now, then that could only mean that something had turned it off.

Something the auto focus had tried searching for in the dark.

Ciel hurriedly returned to his seat and reopened the recording – in a video editor this time, rather than a viewer – and searched the end of the footage for the timestamp of the moment where the screen blacked out. 11:06. It was quick, almost seeming instantaneous to the naked eye while watching the clip play, but cycling through frame-by-frame, Ciel found that the camcorder had not simply stopped recording images here, nor had the darkness just appeared to obscure the lens; it had moved in from the side, rolling across the screen like a thick fog over just a few short frames.

It was impossible to discern a clear image, everything being blurred by speed as it was, but the edges of the shape seemed especially crisp in one particular still – almost tentacle-like, and far too solid for comfort. Ciel tried changing the settings for the image, increasing the brightness and messing with the contrast, hoping to see if there was anything half-recognisable within the shape, but try as he might it remained a solid expanse of black. It was as though the thing absorbed all possible light, reflecting none back to the lens.

Ciel gave up on that one particular frame, but resolved to find another, trying instead with one of the fully black stills just before the recording properly ended. Even full brightness only changed the image to a block of grey.

In the end, he settled for resetting the colour and simply switching his view of the footage to full screen, changing the contrast levels of the monitor itself instead and leaning in close to stare at the image, determined to pick out something – but no matter how closely he peered into the blackness, all he could see was his own reflection in the monitor.

And a pair of red, slitted eyes staring over his shoulder.

Ciel spun around in his chair, scanning the room for their source, meeting with nothing but the sight of his untidy bedroom.

He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling as the heavy pounding of his heart gradually slowed, the unrealness of the afternoon’s events setting in.

He was genuinely being haunted.

Ciel Phantomhive was being haunted, and it was his own damned fault.

All he could do was laugh.

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