Mute (A Black Butler Fanfic)

Chapter 1

Mary-Clara's POV

I woke to hear my mother screaming at the cook. Something about overcooking an egg? I didn't care, not being particularly fond of eggs. But I'd best avoid her for a few hours until she's calmed down.

Dana, my personal butler, entered the room with my breakfast on plate. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. Of course, if I didn't want to go down and eat, she'd bring the food to me.

Dana was tall, with long, thick black hair in tight braids, beads on the ends, pulled back into a ponytail with a rubberband. Big, warm, honey-colored eyes and soft chocolate skin. She hated the maid outfit she was forced to wear on her first day so I asked another butler if he had an extra for her to use. She's been given a few more by other butlers, being very polite and popular among them.

She was the only one who could effectively communicate with me. The only one who'd play cards with me and not go easy. The only one who would ride my horse with me on a sunny day and eat sandwiches on a blanket in the middle of nowhere. The only one who felt comfortable sharing a silence with me and knowing if something was wrong.

I honestly don't know what I'd do without her.

She opened the curtain, placing the tray of food on my lap and turning to my closet. I watched her pick out a few different clothes as I ate my jammed toast and scarfed down the blueberry muffin she had gotten me.

She told me the schedule for today while debating between pants or trousers to go with my favorite jacket. "Today is pretty important. For a few reasons. I'm going on a business trip to the next town over for an interview with a potential new butler. Dahlia is due to have her foal any day now. You need to be there when it happens to clean up the hay and waste because I won't be.

"I'm afraid you're having guests this afternoon who will be staying the weekend. An Earl is coming to chose a new fiance. His previous one recently moved to Australia and being of such high rank, he must chose a new one within the week or his reputation as the Queen's Guard Dog will be tarnished. He'll most likely find interest in your sister if she puts up her usual facade. I expect you to make a small effort, but don't try to win him over if the poor boy is already smitten with Carlotta. Trousers and a lavender shirt or pants and a brown shirt?"

I gesture to the brown shirt with my fork, placing the empty tray on my nightstand. She helps me dress, braids my plain brown hair back, saying nothing when I pull a few stands loose to hide my eyes. I rifle through my nightstand drawer as she makes my bed, finally finding my gun and sliding it into the back of my waistband. It's completely hidden and won't make me uncomfortable when I sit down.

I eye Dana's gun; a glint of metal in her shirt. I had secretly bought guns for all the butlers and myself after my father was killed. I was in the same room as him when it happened, but I never saw the killer. Just the blood and lifelessness of his eyes...

I shake my head, walking past my mirror down the hall, in the direction of the kitchen. Mother is quiet so I assume it's safe to go in. The door opens just before I can reach it and I step backwards warily, fingers twitching toward my gun.

A figure covered in white powder stumbles out, coughing and hacking. I freeze and laugh silently. Poor Henry.

I tug on his sleeve, trying to get his attention. He turns suddenly, fear in his eyes, but he relaxes when seeing it's just me. "Oh, MC, you startled me. I thought you were your Mother. She dumped a bag of flour on my head when she didn't like the way her egg was cooked. I'm sure she's just stressed about that Phantomhive kid coming over, but she has no right to take it out on me!" He growled angrily, blue eyes scrunched up in fury.

I can't take him seriously when he's covered from head to toe in flour. .

I stand on my tiptoes and brush flour from his hair, smiling. I mime sweeping the floors with a broom and his eyes soften.

"Thank you MC. I know Dahlia is due any day now and you're probably worried about her, so I don't want you to feel like you have to do this."

I shake my head and walk inside the kitchen, seeing the large spill of flour. There was a clean spot in the middle where he must have been standing. I walk around it, grab a broom and begin sweeping. Henry tries to help, but I point to his clothes and mime taking off my shirt so he knows to go change. When he still tries to help I playfully chase him with the broom until he leaves.

By the time he comes back with tangled wet brown hair and new clothes, I've piled the flour into a neat little mound in the center of the room and have left.

I walk around a bit (the mansion is beyond huge) before ending up in the trophy room. I shuffle around, looking at old dolls my sister used to play with, tea sets my great-grandparents owned , black and white photographs of my relatives and cousins.

My gaze falls upon my father's cane.

I stand in front of the glass case, staring at the simple carving of a horseshoe at the top of the long, polished stick. Dahlia's father was his favorite. He'd ride Flint every day, no matter how busy his schedule was. He'd put me on Flint's back when I was little, sitting behind me, never going faster than a trot. I still remember the smell of the saddle and his weathered hands holding the reigns on either side of my head.

"What are you doing in here?"

I spin around, panic rushing through my veins as I face my sister, Carlotta.

She had a knee-length sunny dress, ruffles everywhere. Just two years older than me, she was already well into developing curves. Her gorgous blonde hair was piled in an ironically perfect messy bun on the top of her head. Chocolate brown eyes stared into mine. A coy grin played on her lips, saving her 'genuine' smile for those who would give her praise. She was a few inches taller than me, including her heeled sandals .

And then there's me. Trousers, a brown shirt and father's old jacket. Flour probably in my hair. Plain, boring brown hair. A smatter of freckles across my face. One brown eye, one crystal blue. They would have been pretty, had they not been mixed up. I wasn't into dresses or fancy balls like ladies of my rank should be. I didn't know how to flirt or get a man's attention. I don't have any special talents, like painting or a good fashion sense.

Not to mention I'm mute.

I'd be shocked to even inherit the barn when Mother passes. I'm technically part of this family, but for them, technically isn't good enough.

"What would you be doing here? Looking at all my old things? Jealous?" Carlotta laughs.

I say nothing.

"Oh, that's right!" she mocks surprise. "I forgot you can't say anything. Shame really. No man would ever love a mute like you who can't even say 'I love you' back."

She knows I can't answer, that I can't defend myself in an argument. She refuses to learn sign language so she'd be able to mock and irritate me. I've tried to communicate through Dana, but she'd figured it out and only speaks to me directly when Dana isn't there to translate. Any argument deemed important enough is relayed to Mother, who always takes Carlotta's side; for obvious reasons. How could someone as perfect as her be wrong?

I clench my fists, trying to stop them from trembling. She's right, though. Who would ever love a boring, useless girl like me?

I raise my jaw, spinning to point to father's cane.

"Oh. I see." She snarls. "You mean to tell me that he loved you, don't you?"

I nod bravely.

She slaps me.

"You think he loved you? He. Loved. ME!! You were in the same room as him when he was killed. It should have been you!" She starts to cry, speaking furiously through her tears. "Now see what you've done!? My makeup is running. I'll have to put it on again so I look beautiful for the Earl." She sniffs, regaining her posture and sashaying out.

I hope she won't corrupt that poor Phantomhive child.