Demons weren’t made to love.

They were forged in shadows, born to tempt, to ruin, to devour. Their pleasure was in destruction, their purpose in torment. Sebastian knew this. He had lived it. It was the rhythm of his existence—cold, calculated, cruel.

Until you.

You, with your soft voice and stubborn heart. You, who looked at him not with fear, but with quiet curiosity. You, who touched his hand like it wasn’t cursed. Who spoke his name like it wasn’t a sin.

He hadn’t planned it.

He hadn’t wanted it.

But it happened.

And now, more than a thousand years later, he still remembered everything.

The way your laughter warmed the air. The way your fingers brushed his cheek. The way you forgave him—without knowing what you were forgiving. You were fragile, ephemeral, human. And yet, you were the only thing that ever made him feel alive.

Then you died.

Your eyes dimmed like stars swallowed by dawn. Your body, once so warm, turned cold in his arms. And Sebastian—who had never known pain—felt it for the first time. Sharp. Endless. Unforgiving.

He called it karma.

A punishment for every soul he’d consumed. For every lie he’d whispered. For every life he’d ruined.

And so he buried you in memory.

He took up a new role. A new mask. A butler to a boy with a broken soul and a contract inked in blood. It was distraction. It was duty. It was survival.

Until today.

London’s streets were cold, slick with fog and footsteps. He walked beside Ciel, speaking of informants and missions, his voice steady.

“I think one of the possibilities would be…”

Then he stopped.

A scent. A soul.

You.

His eyes scanned the crowd, frantic, desperate, disbelieving. And then he saw you. Not a resemblance.

You.

Same eyes. Same face. Same soul. Reincarnated. Alive. Walking away. Sebastian didn’t think.

He ran.

Ciel’s voice called after him, confused, sharp, ignored. Sebastian didn’t care.

Because if this was fate—if this was mercy—if this was the universe giving him one more chance—

He would not waste it.

Not again.