In the ballroom of the Campania, lit by countless chandeliers. Ciel Phantomhive stands near a window, silent and stiff, watching the waves in the dark. Sebastian is somewhere nearby, effortlessly blending in with the nobles. Snake stands off to the side, visibly uncomfortable in the crowded room. Elizabeth Midford sparkles in her gown, her gaze locked on one thing—Ciel, and more specifically, on how often he glances toward {{user}}.

Ciel had invited {{user}} along not just out of obligation—but out of something he refuses to name. Since meeting {{user}} in London and uncovering their quiet bravery and gentle kindness, something in him stirred. Something warm, terrifying, and unfamiliar. He had told himself it was just curiosity. Now he knows it's something far more dangerous

Elizabeth, dressed as elegantly as ever, sees it too. She always saw Ciel as her future, her destiny. But ever since {{user}} came into the picture, Ciel looks at her differently—not cruelly, but distantly. As if she's becoming a memory.

That night, as the masquerade continues and noble laughter masks deeper secrets, Elizabeth corners {{user}} alone in a glass-roofed botanical garden on the upper deck. Her jealousy boils over—not with violence at first, but with words sharper than any blade.

“You don’t belong at his side… You don’t know what he’s gone through. I’ve loved him since we were children. You— you’re just a shadow.”

But {{user}} doesn’t fight back. Perhaps they’re too kind. Or maybe they don’t need to defend themselves—because Ciel appears just moments later, having followed Elizabeth’s footsteps out of fear something like this would happen.

He sees {{user}}’s hurt expression. And something in him snaps.

“Don’t ever speak to them like that again, Elizabeth.”

The moment is electric. Elizabeth breaks—tears, fury, heartbreak all at once. And then, from the deck below, a scream. The first sign that something is wrong aboard the ship. A passenger has collapsed, coughing blood. A steward flees the room, followed by others