Ciel Phantomhive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
littlest_lord) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sirenspull_logs2012-12-12 09:52 pm
littlest_lord) wrote in sirenspull_logs2012-12-12 09:52 pm
Entry tags:
Now I Find Myself Alone
Who: Ciel Phantomhive & Oswald Baskerville
When: Backdated to early December, after Oz has returned.
Where: Phancyhive - Ciel's dreams.
Summary: Nightmares are never pleasant things.
Warnings: Child abuse, awful things...and maybe some dere. Man pain though, surely.
Nightmares are never pleasant things. Ciel has come to learn this living nearly five years with them. They come every so often, on and off. Some nights he sleeps freely. Other nights he wakes up in a cold sweat, screaming.
Tonight was one of the latter.
He hadn't woken up however, still fast asleep and lost in the depths of his nightmare, a reliving of that agonizing month he'd spent locked up in a cage. Here he was again, locked up and shackled by his ankle, a skinny ten year old boy with a dirty face buried against dirty arms and knees. The other cages were empty in this particular rendition of his nightmare, but they looked as if they'd housed inhabitants all the same.
The altar in the middle of the room was stained red from the blood of a recent sacrifice, the child's body having already been discarded of. There weren't any cultists around for the time being but the room was dark save for the fading glow of nearly snuffed out candles. All Ciel could do was press his back against chilled bars and keep silent. Gone was the hoping. Gone were the prayers he'd desperately said. Hadn't mother and father always told him to say his prayers before bed? That God would listen and an angel would watch him at the foot of his bed? Everyone was supposed to have a guardian angel but where was his? Why wouldn't God listen?
Why wouldn't anyone come and save him?
Because no one was there.
He'd either die in this cage or on that altar in a fit of screams, blood and tears.
No one would come. No one would listen.
When: Backdated to early December, after Oz has returned.
Where: Phancyhive - Ciel's dreams.
Summary: Nightmares are never pleasant things.
Warnings: Child abuse, awful things...and maybe some dere. Man pain though, surely.
Nightmares are never pleasant things. Ciel has come to learn this living nearly five years with them. They come every so often, on and off. Some nights he sleeps freely. Other nights he wakes up in a cold sweat, screaming.
Tonight was one of the latter.
He hadn't woken up however, still fast asleep and lost in the depths of his nightmare, a reliving of that agonizing month he'd spent locked up in a cage. Here he was again, locked up and shackled by his ankle, a skinny ten year old boy with a dirty face buried against dirty arms and knees. The other cages were empty in this particular rendition of his nightmare, but they looked as if they'd housed inhabitants all the same.
The altar in the middle of the room was stained red from the blood of a recent sacrifice, the child's body having already been discarded of. There weren't any cultists around for the time being but the room was dark save for the fading glow of nearly snuffed out candles. All Ciel could do was press his back against chilled bars and keep silent. Gone was the hoping. Gone were the prayers he'd desperately said. Hadn't mother and father always told him to say his prayers before bed? That God would listen and an angel would watch him at the foot of his bed? Everyone was supposed to have a guardian angel but where was his? Why wouldn't God listen?
Why wouldn't anyone come and save him?
Because no one was there.
He'd either die in this cage or on that altar in a fit of screams, blood and tears.
No one would come. No one would listen.
no subject
You're okay shhhh stay with us we are here--
Something tugs at his mind and his head jokes, eyes wide as he pulls his blood red cloak close and follows without question. Someone's dream is open wide and it calls him like a siren's song, more comforting right now than the warmth over his cheek. He feels like he's opened a door, and -
- one step and his boot hits blood. There's dim lighting and he wonders, vaguely, where he is - no where that he recognizes - eyes scanning the room. The stench of blood isn't something that he enjoys, but recognizes, and he goes to start and walk before he notices the empty cages and empty shackles. And then, he notices the cage that isn't empty. Oswald can't make out the tiny huddled figure in it from where he is, violet eyes swimming with the Abyss as he silently slinks closer.
His bare hands reach out to brush over the bars and he looks and wonders some more.
Maybe he does recognize the master of this dream.
"Ciel," he calls, tests, eyes soft and bright, "are you awake?" No, no, of course he's not awake, he wouldn't be dreaming of stagnation and blood red.
no subject
It takes a moment for the child to process it until he looked up from his knees to stare at the tall man dressed in black and clothes that were tailored to nobility. A regal man. A man who, for a split second, he mistakes in figure for his father. The voice however closes him off from that hope. It roots him to the grimy, hopeless reality around him.
This man knows his name, but he does not know him.
"Who are you?"
His voice is feeble and soft. Just who was this man? How did he get in here? Was he going to save him?
Was there any point in hoping?
no subject
He wonders the same thing.
He's Glen, and numerous other people in black and red and gold, with little faeries all around him and the violet of eyes. He's Lacie's older brother and Jack's best friend - he supposes - and the man who attracts birds as if they're the only being in the world who understand. (They are, truly, because he wants to fly, too.)
He's -
"Oswald," he says, simply, eyes and hands feeling for the lock to pull apart and throw off. "Do you want to leave here?"
Not just in the sense of waking up; but getting out here and having the dirt wiped off of his cheeks and face, his Glen cloak something more useful than anything else here. This place is desolate and disgusting, smells too heavily of blood and wax, and he finds the lock.
A lock in a dream... what an irony.
no subject
But he has no hope left. Even so...
"More than anything." He manages to squeeze out, blue eyes widening. Was there any point to feel the stirrings of hope anymore? Was this man a man whom he could trust? Had he any choice?
"I want to go home."
no subject
Oswald is not a cold man; he merely knows that what's not his business is simply not his business. He's not keen on confrontation where it's not needed.
He doubts he'll have to worry about that here.
And so, he plays with the lock without a word, finding it just as easy to take off as anything else. It's surprising, really, does it say anything for Ciel's mindset at this time? Maybe, maybe not, Oswald tugs the lock and there it goes, cold metal on the ground once Oswald has dropped it as if it's nothing at all to him.
"Well," he starts, pulling this bird's cage open and reaching out his hand, darling heart, "come along, then. We don't have much time." Probably. Oswald doesn't fancy staying here longer than he has to and he doubts Ciel wants to stay here much longer, either.