Souls and Stardust: Damascus Roses
It was St. Valentine’s Day and Grell was trying to make herself as scarce as possible. It was the one day in the year where her loneliness and lack of partner was undeniable. Though she wasn’t the only one in the Division without a significant other, she happened to be the only one who openly pursued a partner every single day despite the open rejections. St. Valentine’s Day made her feel embarrassed and that was a feeling she would rather do without.
But it couldn’t be helped today, no not today, since lonely mortals found St. Valentine’s Day the perfect day to end their lives and thus generated a lot of fuss and bother for the Reapers of London- perhaps the Reapers of the world over.
Grell sighed, chin in her palms and elbows on her desk as she waited for her List to be approved and distributed by her boss and the object of her denied affections. In her daydreaming she failed to notice the Reaper at her side until lips pressed a warm kiss to her cheek.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Ronald chirruped, holding out a bouquet of pink roses mottled with red “for my favourite spinster sibling!” Grell’s eyes widened and she snatched the bouquet, cheeks aflame.
“I’ll have your head for that, Ronald!” She shrieked, about to launch herself at him as he jumped back with a laugh.
“Sutcliff.” That voice, oh that voice. Grell sat up straighter, looking over her shoulder.
“Yes William my darling?” The man only rolled his eyes, thrusting a folder at her.
“Your List for today. Agent Knox if you have already completed your assigned deaths I will be more than happy to allocate more to keep you busy.” Behind him Ronald froze, losing his teasing grin.
“No sir, right away sir, going now-” but not before he gave Grell a cheeky wink.
*~*~*
Despite his teasing, Grell was grateful for Ronald spoiling her this year. Ronald was a rascal through and through, but he also treated Grell like family- something she had never experienced and now never took for granted.
She hugged the bouquet close, burying her nose in the red splattered pink petals and inhaling deeply. They smelled heavy and sickly sweet, enticing a soft smile from her as she admired their form. She wondered if there was a way the heaviness of its scent could be bottled and used to forget everything. Absently toying with the velvety petals, Grell stopped in front of her favourite apothecary to see if they had any new wares for her beauty regime.
Damascus Rose Oil: the perfect lady’s accompaniment for clean, soft skin- use every night after washing before bed. Can also be used to ease heart and lung problems, and a tonic for the stomach. Is there a more beautiful way to stay healthy?
Grell touched the poster with a sad smile. If only she could ingest a bottle and have it cure her aching heart. She shook her head, chastising her fanciful thoughts and continuing on her walk to her first victim. The sooner she completed her assigned deaths, the sooner she could go home and escape this blasted holiday.
The roses in her arms were a problem, however, and Grell was too far from home to drop them off. She was, she noticed, close to the Churchyard where her beloved Madam lay. Who better to receive a bouquet of roses than her Madam? Having made up her mind, Grell took a quick detour from her planned path and made her way to the Undertaker’s realm.
She had expected the Undertaker to be there, leisurely ghosting by his ‘children’s’ graves or talking to the grieving family of his latest customer. She had not expected the Phantomhive boy to be there with his butler. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw Sebastian standing a polite distance away, a stroke of midnight in broad daylight, his black uniform handsomely pressed and prim.
Another man who denied her affections openly, though Grell never hoped to succeed with Sebastian. The chase was what she loved the most, and if he caved in to her advances the illusion would be shattered.
Her eyes fell on the boy once more and a surge of anger flooded her veins. It was because of him that her colleagues died. It was because of him that her Madam faltered and betrayed her. How she wished she could cut him up and spill his red ribbons all over her grave and paint her the colour they so adored.
“Ciel Phantomhive.” She spat the name out like something foul. He looked up, thick red roses in his arms he was preparing to lay down on his aunt’s grave.
“Grell Sutcliff.” Behind him, Sebastian took a step forward. Grell threw the roses down and reached for her Deathscythe, swinging it at Ciel’s neck. In a flash Sebastian snatched Ciel’s cane, parrying the blow.
“The young Master is here visiting his aunt. It would do well to wait your turn, Mr Grell.” Sebastian offered politely, discarding the now severed cane in favour of his famed silver cutlery.
“If it weren’t for him she wouldn’t be buried there!” She shouted, swinging wildly.
“You are mistaken,” the butler corrected, “if it were not for you she would not be buried there.” At his words she shrieked in fury and doubled the ferocity of her attacks.
Rage clouding her judgement and tears dotting her eyes, it only took Sebastian a moment to disarm her. In one swift move he swept the chainsaw across and sliced through cloth, flesh and bone.
Crumpling atop her beloved’s grave, Grell could do little but choke on her blood and watch them walk away. She lost consciousness amongst the lingering scent of Damascus roses.