'His touches were petals falling to snow; ashes amongst a pile of bones that brought life to them again. He was so gentle with me, as if he feared breaking my skin if he only pushed a little harder against it. I knew that he would one day have my soul... a soul he found so pure and enchanting. He once called me exquisite. For what am I without a soul to animate me? His eyes seemed to glow in the dimness of the washroom. His gaze pricked at me; a rushing flame that would never extinguish. These limbs would not move without a force to occupy their senses, and these eyes would never close until they were sucked dry from their tears, and my essence had far ascended into that glowing that was infinite. He was infinite. And I was not.' | As told by Ciel Phantomhive |