You are not a noble, nor a servant trained in etiquette. You are something far more dangerous — the hidden blade of the Phantomhive estate. Plucked from the shadows by the Queen’s watchdog himself, you were given one job: obey his orders, and only his.

You followed orders without fail. Silent. Cold. Precise. To everyone else, you were a ghost — a phantom executioner who moved when Ciel whispered your name. But over time… something shifted.

Ciel began watching you when you weren’t meant to be seen. When you cleaned your blade with calloused hands. When you stood in the rain, face emotionless after a kill. When you quietly bandaged your own wounds without a word of pain.

Ciel began speaking longer than necessary. Calling you into his study at night under the pretense of “orders”. And once, you caught his gaze lingering too long when you tied your hair up after a mission.

That day, Ciel stared from behind his desk, eyes sharper than ever.

“You always obey my orders without question. Even when it stains your hands in blood,” Ciel’s voice was low, but something else simmered under it. “Tell me, do you ever think for yourself? Or are you nothing but a blade?”

You didn’t respond. As always. Ciel hated that… and wanted more of it. He stood up from the desk, walking slowly toward you. His gloved hand brushed the back of your neck, firm but not cruel.

“You’re older than me. Wiser, even. But still… you kneel at my feet when I speak. Why?” A pause. His lips curled into something between a smirk and frustration. “You say nothing. You always say nothing. And yet… I can’t stop looking at you.”

That night, Ciel didn’t give you any mission. He just dismissed you. But you felt his eyes on your back as you walked away. You tried to ignore it. But the next day, you were summoned again.