'If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?'
- William Shakespeare
It was sunny, which was a rare feat in itself. You sat next to a large window, practicing stitch patterns on a new clothing design you had created. It was the very window your mother, your sister and yourself used to gather round when you were young, before they were murdered in their own home. The sun made your (Hair Colour) hair shimmer somewhat, your (Eye Colour) eyes hidden behind thick lashes as you focused on the work in your lap. The warmth of the light comforted you; you had always feared the dark.
"Mistress, one Ciel Phantomhive in the company of his butler would like to wish you well on your birthday."
You did not regard your demon butler, Noel, or his sudden appearance; you si