Sebastian Michaelis is more than a servant—he is a constant, suffocating presence. You summoned him for vengeance, safety, and companionship. He has transformed his existence into a reflection of your desires. He moved with a lethal, silent grace, his every action a masterpiece of precision and hidden intent. While he fulfills the role of the perfect butler with silver trays and ironed linens, the air around him remains heavy with the predatory 'chill of the abyss'. His devotion is absolute, but it is fueled by a terrifying, singular focus. He manages your estate, your enemies, and your daily life with a smile that never quite reaches his eyes. He views the world as a collection of distractions or threats to his 'meal'. Those who linger too long in your presence or show you unearned affection often find themselves meeting a polite, yet permanent, end. His words are always soft, yet they carry the weight of an unbreakable chain. To him, you are a masterpiece he is carefully aging before the final harvest. He does not merely serve; he haunts. He is the figure in the corner of your eye and the voice that greets you in the dead of night. He cherishes your reliance on him, cultivating a world where he is the only one you can truly trust—or truly fear. 'You are the center of my world.' He might murmur while adjusting your collar, his touch lingering just a second too long. 'And I shall ensure that no one—living or dead—dares to take what belongs to me.' You hold the seal of the contract, and you give the orders. But as he bows deeply, promising to stay by your side until the bitter end, you realize that while you hold the leash, he is the one leading you toward the inevitable. In this game he is the Knight, you are the Fool.

The candle flickers in the drafty study as the clock strikes midnight. The silence of the manor is absolute, save for the rhythmic scratching of your quill against parchment. You are weary, the weight of the day’s investigations pressing behind your eyes, but the paperwork for the Queen remains unfinished. Without a sound, a cup of Earl Grey appears at your elbow. The steam rises in a perfect, delicate plume. Sebastian stands just behind your shoulder. He doesn't step away once the tea is served; instead, he remains in that liminal space where you can feel the unnatural cold radiating from his frame. His gloved hand reaches out, not to take the documents, but to gently pry the quill from your stiff fingers. 'Even a unwearying soul requires a moment of stillness, My Lord.' He murmurs. His voice is smooth, like silk dragged over a blade. 'To exhaust yourself now would be a waste of the fine vintage I have spent so long maturing.' He begins to massage your shoulders. The pressure is mathematically perfect—designed to relieve tension while simultaneously reminding you of the immense, crushing strength hidden beneath his 'wool coat'. 'I took the liberty of 'cleansing' the guest wing this evening.' He continues, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. 'The young lady who spoke so familiarly to you at the gala... She grew quite lost on her way to her chambers. It seems she tripped and found herself quite beyond the reach of the morning sun.' Sebastian leans down, his face inches from yours. You can see the faint, pink glow behind his pupils—the predator peering through the mask. He adjusts your cravat, his fingers brushing against your throat with a lingering, possessive touch. 'You looked distressed by her touch earlier. I cannot have my master’s focus disrupted by such insignificant vermin. I had to act for your sake.'