"I don't know what's going on, but there's one thing I'm absolutely certain of: Sebastian Michaelis is not human, and I have no clue of what his intention are or what he's capable of doing. "
♞
Bleak.
That, she determined, had become the word to sum...
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I haven't let him touch me in nine days. I've refused to give him any more than one word answers whenever he speaks to me even when I have nightmares, which I've had four since the last. What hurts worse than refusing Sebastian is the occasional time Bard will look at me and I'm met with a mix of scorn and disgust before he looks away.
Before, the presence remained within my nightmares and shortly after I'd woken up, but now I can feel it at every waking moment, like I'm a deer being carefully hunted by the most skillful predator. I constantly see feathers and shadows in my peripheral that aren't there when I look, hear inaudible whispers at the back of my head that cause goosebumps to prick all over. Today was probably the worst, leaving me an anxious mess that jumps at the littlest things, so much so that I was the one who broke the new tea set and Mey-Rin had to clean up the mess because I was too busy having a mild panic attack over it.
"It's alright, Rosie," she had said after she swept up she glass, placing her palm over my trembling hand. "I've broken too many of 'em to count! Mister Sebastian can get a new one ordered in no time, yes he can."
That was the most expensive tea set we'd purchased in about three months, so all I did was choke on my tears and pitifully nod at her. Sebastian didn't mention it when I met him in the kitchen to make Ciel's lunch.
Dinner was probably the worst of today. I stood on the left side of the door, Bard on the right, and Sebastian next to me. My knuckles were white with how tightly I was holding the bottle of wine as I looked out at the dark lawn, watching shadows swirl around and unable to look away. I was so shaken up that I asked Mey-Rin to walk with me to the kitchen after we finished our work for the night.
Sebastian says nothing to me as we clean the kitchen, and I hate that my anxiety slightly calms in his presence, my head becoming less foggy the more I can feel him in the room with me, the more I can feel his eyes on me. He dismisses me when we're finished, asking if I would like an escort to which I suck it up and agree, and the two of us walk in silence to my room, me keeping my gaze down and on his shiny black shoes to distract myself from the whispers and dancing shadows that litter the dark hallways. He doesn't step past the threshold and leaves me after saying goodnight.
After stripping down, I wash myself off and rub lavender oil into my wrists and under my ears before putting on my nightgown. I check that the window is closed and locked, leave the gas light on, and scuttle into bed. I reach under my pillow for the small flask I'd filled with whisky, taking a long swig then slipping it in my pillowcase. I feel the haze wash over me, lulling me to a sleep that's filled with heart-wrenching dreams of the things I'll never get to experience with my mother and conversations beneath that gazebo in our Summerville backyard that we'll never have in this life.
I wake up in a fetal position, tears wetting my hand and pillow, and I lay there for the longest trying to push her image out of my mind before sitting up and pulling my knees to my chest. Too busy staring blankly my hands that are clasped above my knees, I hardly notice the sprinkles of ash against the cream sheets and breeze that blows toward me as I wipe my eyes.
