fanfiction: kuroshitsuji
an exercise in futility
Character/Pairing: Edward Middleford, Lizzie Middleford
Edward Middleford had always loathed Ciel Phantomhive. Lizzie used to always go on, and on, and on, extolling his numerous virtues, which quite frankly, he did not perceive. It appeared to him that Lizzie's whole life revolved around the earl and her existence was solely dedicated to counting down the years, months, and weeks until she was married to the brat.
His father was similarly hopeless. His only consolation was that he was not as bad as Lizzie. No one was as bad as her, actually. Marquis Middleford consented to his sister's fantasies, and so Edward avoided conversations that tended to center around his father's "anticipation of the day when the Middleford family would acquire a cute son-in-law."
Thankfully, his mother was more reasonable than the other two, but even she approved of Phantomhive even if she did not proclaim it quite as enthusiastically and frequently.
He didn't really think really think he could possible hate Ciel anymore until that day. When Lizzie got the news, he watched as the color receded from her cheeks, as her hands trembled, as her knees gave out, and as she sobbed, cried and screamed with such anguish that it permeated his skin and he felt his heart literally fall to his stomach. He was also utterly helpless to help her.
After that was weeks, months and years of crying.
And then, one day, there was silence.
She stopped crying eventually. She stopped living too. She only spoke when spoken too (even then her responses were limited to monosyllables), she loss her appetite, she never went out anymore, and her smiles (her smiles degraded into painfully pinching the corners of her mouth upwards) never reached her eyes anymore.
Edward stopped talking to Lizzie. Well, Lizzie didn't really talk to anyone. Their constant bickering stopped too. He remembers his mother's remarks from long ago that if they stopped quarreling, peace and quiet would be achieved in the Middleford household.
Now there was quiet, but there was no peace.
Lizzy had lost the ability to be happy anymore, and God forbid he would deprive her of the quiet she had retreated to.
But holy, bloody hell. He was not going to allow the absence of his sister in his wedding day. She had been absent from his life for the past years, and he wanted at least one day where she could be Lizzie again, even if it was only for outward appearances.
They had a fight that afternoon. She had shook her had no, and directed her gaze one more outside the window. (She always sat by the window, gaze unfocused, constantly waiting, waiting, waiting).
Edward corrects himself. It wasn't really a fight. He shouted at her while she stared out the window, her hands fisted in her lap.
That was how their mother found them. Him, shouting at her until he went hoarse, and Lizzie, pale and quiet (and still waiting, waiting, waiting).
His mother pulls him away, shuts the door to the salon Lizzie occupied and tells him quietly: "I believe it would be better if your sister does not attend the wedding."
What Edward hated more than the fact that Lizzie wouldn't be present in his wedding was the irrevocable truth in his mother's words. So he carefully and forcefully enunciates every profanity in his considerable arsenal, and directs them to Ciel Phantomhive.
The marchioness regards him, expression unreadable and tells him how futile--not to mention how idiotic--it is to hate dead men.
The hysterical laughter he lets out, passes through his lips, and tastes bitter in his mouth.
"Then you should tell Lizzie how equally--no! How supremely more futile and idiotic it is to love a dead man."
His mother's parting words stay with him until his wedding day, until he is standing at the altar, until he notes the absence of his sister in the front pew.
"She knows, Edward."
Character/Pairing: Edward Middleford, Lizzie Middleford
Edward Middleford had always loathed Ciel Phantomhive. Lizzie used to always go on, and on, and on, extolling his numerous virtues, which quite frankly, he did not perceive. It appeared to him that Lizzie's whole life revolved around the earl and her existence was solely dedicated to counting down the years, months, and weeks until she was married to the brat.
His father was similarly hopeless. His only consolation was that he was not as bad as Lizzie. No one was as bad as her, actually. Marquis Middleford consented to his sister's fantasies, and so Edward avoided conversations that tended to center around his father's "anticipation of the day when the Middleford family would acquire a cute son-in-law."
Thankfully, his mother was more reasonable than the other two, but even she approved of Phantomhive even if she did not proclaim it quite as enthusiastically and frequently.
He didn't really think really think he could possible hate Ciel anymore until that day. When Lizzie got the news, he watched as the color receded from her cheeks, as her hands trembled, as her knees gave out, and as she sobbed, cried and screamed with such anguish that it permeated his skin and he felt his heart literally fall to his stomach. He was also utterly helpless to help her.
After that was weeks, months and years of crying.
And then, one day, there was silence.
She stopped crying eventually. She stopped living too. She only spoke when spoken too (even then her responses were limited to monosyllables), she loss her appetite, she never went out anymore, and her smiles (her smiles degraded into painfully pinching the corners of her mouth upwards) never reached her eyes anymore.
Edward stopped talking to Lizzie. Well, Lizzie didn't really talk to anyone. Their constant bickering stopped too. He remembers his mother's remarks from long ago that if they stopped quarreling, peace and quiet would be achieved in the Middleford household.
Now there was quiet, but there was no peace.
Lizzy had lost the ability to be happy anymore, and God forbid he would deprive her of the quiet she had retreated to.
But holy, bloody hell. He was not going to allow the absence of his sister in his wedding day. She had been absent from his life for the past years, and he wanted at least one day where she could be Lizzie again, even if it was only for outward appearances.
They had a fight that afternoon. She had shook her had no, and directed her gaze one more outside the window. (She always sat by the window, gaze unfocused, constantly waiting, waiting, waiting).
Edward corrects himself. It wasn't really a fight. He shouted at her while she stared out the window, her hands fisted in her lap.
That was how their mother found them. Him, shouting at her until he went hoarse, and Lizzie, pale and quiet (and still waiting, waiting, waiting).
His mother pulls him away, shuts the door to the salon Lizzie occupied and tells him quietly: "I believe it would be better if your sister does not attend the wedding."
What Edward hated more than the fact that Lizzie wouldn't be present in his wedding was the irrevocable truth in his mother's words. So he carefully and forcefully enunciates every profanity in his considerable arsenal, and directs them to Ciel Phantomhive.
The marchioness regards him, expression unreadable and tells him how futile--not to mention how idiotic--it is to hate dead men.
The hysterical laughter he lets out, passes through his lips, and tastes bitter in his mouth.
"Then you should tell Lizzie how equally--no! How supremely more futile and idiotic it is to love a dead man."
His mother's parting words stay with him until his wedding day, until he is standing at the altar, until he notes the absence of his sister in the front pew.
"She knows, Edward."