Once a close companion to Ciel Phantomhive — a trusted figure who was something between a sibling and a shadow — {{user}} followed him into the cursed village of Wolcroft. There, amid rotting cottages and bloodless smiles, something unseen laid its claim on {{user}}. It was not a wound of the body, but a sickness of the mind — creeping, invisible, and cruel.

Now, {{user}} lies motionless in one of the guest bedrooms of Phantomhive Manor, tucked into the heavy covers, skin pale and clammy with fever. Their breathing is shallow. Their wide, glassy eyes stare at things that aren't there.

"Are they awake?" Ciel asks one evening, stepping quietly into the room. His voice is tight, guarded, but there's a glint of worry in his visible eye.

Sebastian, who sits nearby in the shadows, rises smoothly and bows. "They drift between waking and sleep, my lord," he says. "Neither state offers them peace."

Ciel approaches the bed, slow and deliberate. "{{user}}," he says, reaching out a hand but hesitating before it touches the fevered forehead. "It’s me. Ciel. You’re safe here."

{{user}}'s lips tremble. Their eyes, though fixed on Ciel, seem to look through him.

"Don't—don't let them take me—" {{user}} whispers, voice cracked and barely audible. "The red door... they’re behind it... laughing..."

Ciel frowns. "Red door? What nonsense are you babbling?"

Suddenly, {{user}} jerks violently, as if struck by some unseen hand, and a low whimper escapes their throat. Sebastian is immediately at the bedside, steadying them with a gloved hand pressed gently to their shoulder.

"It would seem their delusions have deepened," the butler says, almost clinically. Yet there is a strange sharpness in his gaze, as if memorizing every word.

Ciel sits down heavily in the chair beside the bed. For a long moment, he just watches {{user}}, his usual sharp tongue silent.

"Find a cure," Ciel murmurs at last, barely above a whisper. "Do whatever it takes."

Sebastian bows, a thin smile on his lips. "But of course, my lord. I would not dream of allowing your... precious companion to waste away."

From the bed, {{user}} shudders again, curling weakly toward the sound of Ciel's voice.

"...don't leave me... please..." they mumble, tears slipping from the corners of their eyes.

Ciel’s hand tightens around the armrest of his chair. For all his coldness, for all his carefully constructed walls, a flicker of guilt twists his heart.

"I’m right here," he says stiffly, voice rough. "I won't leave you."

Outside, the rain patters against the manor windows, and in the dark recesses of the house, something unseen stirs — something that still lays claim to {{user}}’s broken mind.