284Disclaimer:
This story features scenes which some readers may find distressing, including scenes of torture and attempted suicide. Please use your own discretion when reading.
As well as telling a story, it is also my aim to share some information about history which is relevant. At the end of each chapter (when appropriate) there will be some brief information regarding the historical references made in said chapter. However, I am not infallible. If there are any historical inaccuracies present in the story, please feel free to point them out. Take any historical information in this story with a grain of salt, and I would encourage you to do your own research.
This story will follow the anime rather than the manga. This is because the manga has many references to historical events such as the Titanic and WWII. The story takes place decades before these events, so creating a story as historically accurate as possible is not feasible, if I strictly follow the manga.
I welcome others to take inspiration from this story.
The City is a Ghost
The slush squelched between Blaire's toes, the quiet beach she was on transformed into a crowded city. She stood frozen in awe at the staggering spectacle which had appeared in front of her. She blinked, as though doing so would erase the surreal tableau which had abruptly materialised. The warm sand between her toes had been replaced with frigid ice. With a shaking hand, she slowly removed her sunglasses. A hesitant step forward brought her closer to the display. The cold, tropical drink she clutched tightly in her hand slipped from her grasp, clattering onto the icy ground. Its contents splashed out, freezing instantly upon contact with the frigid surface, forming tiny crystalline patterns that shimmered under the pale light. The sound of the glass smashing brought unwanted attention. Everyone who had previously been enjoying the festivities of the frost faire were now staring at the half-naked woman in shock. Her lightweight tank top and shorts felt like a cruel joke against the icy chill. Her sunglasses, perched awkwardly on her forehead, seemed ludicrously out of place, and her leather backpack, filled with beach gear, weighed down heavily on her shoulders. As she turned her head, her ponytail brushed against the exposed skin of her upper back, sending a shiver down her spine. She stood still and completely stunned. Everything around her seemed so vivid and tangible. She felt the solid, icy ground beneath her trainers while the biting air, thick with soot, tickled her throat. Clouds of thick black smog could be seen in the distance over a dreary grey sky and the stench of herbs and body odour offended her sense of smell. She frowned at that observation. Even the onlookers appeared to have stepped out of a Victorian period drama, their outfits a stark contrast to her own.
The reality—or rather, the unreality—of the situation struck her like a physical blow. An icy gust of wind swept over her, the wintry zephyr delivering a chilling kiss that set her skin prickling with goosebumps. Her sun-kissed skin contrasted starkly with the frost-laden atmosphere, a reminder of the sun-drenched beach she'd left behind. How could this be? Her mind spun, a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief. Was this some bizarre dream? Or had she somehow ended up in a coma, her mind constructing a dream that felt like reality?
She was oblivious to the scandalised looks being cast her way. The hushed murmurs and incredulous whispers of the conservatively dressed bystanders were lost to her. They held no importance in her rapidly unravelling reality. For there, a few feet away, stood Ciel Phantomhive and Sebastian Michaelis—or two remarkably skilled cosplayers, the spitting image of the characters from her favourite show. Even from the distance at which they stood, the uncanny resemblance of the cosplayers to their characters was undeniable. The one portraying Ciel, however, had forgone the signature grey-blue hair for a darker hue that was nearly black. Blaire could barely discern the nuances of the colour under the enveloping folds of an expensive-looking black fur cloak. The other's inky black hair framed a pale, sharply defined face—a stark contrast to the usual cosplayers whose outfits often betrayed their artificiality. Finally, she understood why people did drugs. Had all of this come out of her imagination?
Suddenly, she was very much aware that she was the centre of unwanted attention. Some of the bystanders were subtle, offering sidelong glances before turning away in feigned indifference. Others were more overt, pointing her out to their companions with scandalised expressions. Whispers of "Most improper!" and "Harlot!" floated towards her. Parents hurriedly shielded their children from the sight of her, whispering words of caution into their ears. Her gaze drifted towards the stunning Noah's Ark ice sculpture, yet the audience seemed to have lost interest in the artwork. Instead, they were now more engrossed in her presence.
She noticed the judges—particularly the one dressed as The Lord Viscount Druitt—studying her intently. His gaze seemed to linger on her bare legs and arms a little too long, and despite herself, Blaire felt a flush of unease creep over her. The presentation ground to a halt, the spectators' curiosity diverted from the ice sculpture to the oddly dressed woman standing amongst them. A circle seemed to form around her as people backed away to stare at her incredulously.
A flush of embarrassment warmed Blaire's cheeks. Her heart hammered against her ribcage as a flutter of anxiety, akin to the restless wings of giant moths, stirred in her belly. The judgemental gazes of the surrounding crowd were like shards of ice, piercing her with disdain. She wished desperately for the earth to open up and swallow her whole. This was usually the moment when she'd awaken from such a bizarre dream. It was then that she decided once and for all, she must have been in a coma, being pumped full of morphine.
She heard someone pointedly clear their throat. Peering up, she was startled to see that the Ciel and Sebastian cosplayers had advanced closer. The boy who resembled Ciel wore a disgusted expression. As he stood just taller than Blaire, he was peering down his nose at her revealing attire. His lone visible eye was narrowed at the not-too-subtle makeup she wore and the swell of her breasts which was accentuated by the thin material of her top.
Blaire swallowed thickly, disconcerted by the alarming realism of the situation. Could this really be happening?
Her gaze shifted to the tall dark-haired man who was standing behind the Ciel lookalike. His expression was neutral, perhaps slightly disapproving. Even his eyes had the crimson hue of Sebastian's—apparently, he was dedicated enough to wear red contacts. Despite her mortification, Blaire found herself admiring his attention to detail. Even if he was, possibly, a figment of her imagination.
"Who permitted such... unconventional attire on the premises?" The Ciel lookalike's voice bore an uncanny resemblance to the original character, albeit deeper, commanding and stiff with contempt. His shoulders were squared, and his chin was raised. His gloved hand gripped the handle of his cane, the rings adorning his fingers had a healthy shine, even with what little daylight strained through the blanket of grey clouds. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes lingered on her chest. Blaire crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the ground. She pursed her lips, brows coming together and forming corrugations on her forehead. At her continued silence, Ciel raised an eyebrow indignantly, continuing to stare. His arm extended to brandish his cane towards her. "How did you get in here?"
"I...I dunno, I was just on the beach and then..." She trailed off, frowning. What happened? She couldn't even remember. She blew out a shaking breath. "I was here…" She visibly cringed. She sounded insane.
Maybe those brownies were dodgy after all…
She gasped, eyes widening in mook realisation. "Oh my god, Katie's finally got me back..."
"Sebastian, remove this madwoman from my presence."
The demon look-alike, who had remained silently analysing the strange woman, placed a gloved hand over his heart. "Yes, my Lord."
Blaire's eyes widened and a beaming grin spread across her face. They must have been in character. "That's so cool! You sound just like him!" Sebastian cocked an eyebrow as he advanced towards her.
Blaire staggered back from the Sebastian lookalike's descending form. "Wait! Can I get a photo? That's some great cosplay, seriously." She reached into her pocket to pull out her phone, the screen coming to life immediately. With a few flicks of her thumb, the camera application was opened and she raised the device into the air. She turned so that she could get the two cosplayers in the frame.
"What is that thing?!" The Ciel lookalike exclaimed. He frowned as he examined his mirror image staring back at him.
Blaire turned and looked at him strangely, eyebrows raised. "What do you think it is?" She smirked. "Obviously, it's a bomb."
Ciel's eyes widened and he took several steps backwards. She grinned into the camera as her finger pressed against the volume button. The shutter sound effect immediately resounded from the device. Swiftly, a white-gloved hand seized her wrist in a painful vice, causing her to drop the phone. Blaire cursed loudly as she heard the device slam into the ground. A black polished boot then proceeded to stomp on the innocent object, crushing it into tiny pieces.
"What the fuck was that for?!" She exclaimed, whipping her head around to glare at her phone's assailant.
"Your language and attire are rather unbecoming of a lady," Sebastian observed, his voice a smooth baritone, as cold and sharp as the winter air. His crimson gaze swept over her scantily clad figure, a brief flicker of disdain passing through his eyes. "However, it seems you are far from noble lineage. Quite the contrary, in fact." His tone held a note of polite contempt, a stark contrast to the firm grip he maintained on her arm. "Thus, I find it imperative to escort you away from his lordship."
With that, he began to steer her through the throng of onlookers, who hastily stepped aside to create a path. Their faces wore expressions of relief as they distanced themselves from the spectacle.
"You motherfucker! That was my phone!" She yelled, attempting to pull her wrist free but it was in vain.
Sebastian hissed, his eyes flashing a bright crimson, causing Blaire to falter and the air to leave her in a quick gasp. That was no trick of the light. Contact lenses certainly weren't responsible for that apparition. Her brown eyes were wild as she found herself unable to breathe. "Demon..." She whispered.
His shocked gaze snapped towards her; before his eyes narrowed as he continued to drag her away from the gawking crowd.
"But it's not real..." She mumbled to herself. "They're just fiction..."
A realisation seemed to dawn upon her. She recalled the episode, 'His Butler on Ice', she remembered that men with guns opened fire amidst the crowd. Whatever the hell was going on, this felt real and if somehow it was, people were going to die. She turned to the butler frantically. "There's going to be an attack!" She screeched.
Sebastian leaned down, his voice dropping to a velvety whisper, his eyes now a terrifying bright shade of crimson. "I would strongly recommend you find your way back to the asylum or brothel from whence you emerged," he suggested, every word dripping with a cool, refined derision.
She gazed at him moon-eyed. "But it's about the Hope Diamond, isn't it? The thieves you're looking for, they're here! People will be hurt."
"Ah, so you're a lowly thief then? I don't imagine your comrades will be too fond of you for ratting them out-"
"I'm not one of them, but they're here. You have to believe me!" She shouted over him, frantic. Her limbs had taken on an alarming shade of mauve.
The butler gazed at her questioningly. "Then how could you-"
"'Ere! What's all this then?"
They turned swiftly; their attention caught by the measured approach of a police constable. His appearance was a flawless archetype of the era, attired entirely in sombre black, his face distinguished by a robust handlebar moustache, and his head crowned by a towering helmet, completing his authoritative ensemble.
Sebastian spoke for her. "It seems, Officer, that this young lady might have strayed from Bethlem Royal Hospital. Would you be so kind as to ensure she is returned safely?" He sounded concerned, however his grip remained on her arm in a bruising vice. In a desperate attempt to escape, she tugged and twisted her arm, but found her efforts were futile against Sebastian's iron-like grip. In her mounting panic, she aimed to stomp on Sebastian's foot, hoping the surprise would loosen his hold. However, this only escalated the situation, causing the policeman's eyebrows to shoot up in alarm, his hand instinctively inching towards the baton on his belt. "As you can see," Sebastian gazed down at her with detached, clinical concern. "She is clearly very unwell. I trust you can take care of her?"
The unnamed policeman scratched the back of his head, hesitantly coming towards her. "Right, y-yes, of course."
As the distance between her and the crowd grew, Blaire began to thrash in her captor's grip. Drawing in a deep breath, she shouted so loud that it echoed across the vicinity, "Hey! Get off me! I'm not crazy!"
However, her cries fell on deaf ears. She was vaguely aware of the policeman calling for backup as she shouted at the rather smug looking butler. "I know what you are! I know what's going to happen! Who killed Ciel's-!" She was cut off by something blunt and heavy being slammed into the back of her head. Her vision tunnelled as she dropped to the icy ground, missing how the smirk fell from Sebastian's face and the sound of guns firing and people screaming began to fill the air.
The officer put his baton back on his belt, moving to pick her up with the help of two other identically dressed men. "Don't worry about her." He said to the others, who appeared to be quite shaken.
"They'll beat it out of her in Bedlam."
When all has turned to dust
Our city is a ghost
Mook = a stupid person. A mook realisation is the feeling of having a realisation but in which you are wrong.
When you think of a bomb, you may first think of a nuclear bomb, which of course was invented during World War II as part of the Manhattan Project, much later than Black Butler is set. However, explosive bombs were used as early as 1221 in East Asia, and cast-iron shells filled with gunpowder were used in 13th Century China – so Ciel should know what a bomb is, given that the term was coined in the 1500's.
It is also important to note that while frost fairs were very much a real event, the last one was held in 1814, 76 years before Black Butler was set. This is because after 1814, it no longer got cold enough to freeze over the river Thames. Sadly, this historical inaccuracy could not be avoided due to it being heavily baked into the plot.