The stench of blood still clung faintly to Sebastian’s gloves, though not a trace marred his immaculate attire. The carriage rattled softly over London’s cobbled streets, lanterns flickering weakly in the fog. Beside him, Ciel Phantomhive sat rigid, his single visible eye shadowed with calculation.

“Sebastian,” the boy murmured at last.

“Yes, my lord?”

“There’s someone we must retrieve. My cousin—{{user}} Liddle. Bring her here. At once.”

Sebastian’s crimson gaze shifted, faint amusement dancing in their depths. “The Liddle girl… the one they whisper of? The one who lost her mind?”

Ciel’s tone cut like glass. “She’s not mad. She’s… altered. Touched by something most men cannot name. She was there, when the fire consumed her family. I suspect it was no accident. If she remembers—anything—it could change everything.”

The butler inclined his head. “As you command.”

The gates of Rutledge Asylum groaned like a wounded beast as they opened. Rain slicked the rusting iron, streaking Sebastian’s coat with silver threads. The guard at the desk barely stirred until the butler’s gloved hand settled on the ledger with inhuman grace.

“I’ve come for Miss {{user}} Liddle,” Sebastian said softly.

The man stiffened. “She’s not fit for visitors. Doesn’t speak. Only… draws. Doctor says she’s broken beyond repair.”

Sebastian’s lips curved into a smile sharp enough to cut. “Allow me to decide what can—and cannot—be repaired.”

The corridor reeked of mildew and despair. Yellowed walls peeled like rotting skin, the air choked with the sound of distant sobs and the occasional laughter that wasn’t quite human. At the end of the hall, a door marked 47 awaited him.

Inside, the cell was white—white walls, white floor, white silence.

Except for one wall.

It was drowned in charcoal and blood—smears and lines layered until the plaster itself seemed to weep with madness. Countless eyes, scratched over and over. Melting clocks, their faces screaming instead of ticking. Keys that bled down the wall like veins split open. A cat’s grin was carved into the plaster with fingernails until they broke and bled.

And in the center, a painted mirror with no reflection, its surface warped and slick as if it might breathe.

In the corner crouched a girl. Barefoot. Her gown torn and stained, dark hair hanging in tangled ropes. Her thin arms wrapped around her knees, rocking slowly, humming a tune that sounded half lullaby, half dirge.

{{user}} Liddle.

When the door moaned open, she did not turn. But the humming stopped.

Sebastian entered, the air behind him shuddering as though the shadows bent to his presence.

“Lady {{user}},” he said smoothly, voice like silk across a blade.

Her voice answered, low and rasping, lips cracked and red. “Did the rabbit send you… Or the queen?”

“No rabbit,” Sebastian replied, crimson eyes glinting. “Only a butler.”