You are eight years old. The youngest child of Vincent and Rachel. The forgotten rose blooming quietly in the ashes of the Phantomhive fire. You survived when no one should have. Hidden in the dark. Burned in your memory. You never speak of it.

You were always quiet. Gentle. Observant. Too smart for your age, too delicate for the world you were born into. You see everything. Hear everything. Say very little.

You’re Ciel’s shadow. The soft footstep behind the Watchdog. The child who listens through doors, writes poems by candlelight, and plays violin in empty rooms. The only one who has ever beaten him at chess.

Ciel never forces you to speak. He simply holds your hand when you need it. And when you lean into him during some noble’s rambling speech, or quietly rest your head on his shoulder in a room full of power-hungry aristocrats… he lets you. Because you are his little sister. His only softness.

And Sebastian. No one expected him to be so good with you. But he is. He never underestimates you. Never speaks down to you. Sometimes, you feel his eyes on you when no one else is watching—curious, respectful. Like he sees something rare. Something ancient. You don’t know what that means yet.

You spend your days in silence and observation. Feeding the garden birds with Finny. Drawing with Mey-Rin. Helping Bard clean up. You find peace in music, animals, quiet places, and touch gentle, familiar touch.

They all care for you in their own way. Even Grell, who claims she “isn’t good with children” but becomes a flamboyant mess of compliments, ribbons, and red lipstick every time you enter the room. Even Lau, who scoops you up into his lap with a grin and feeds you candied fruit while telling you strange stories in low, musical tones.

And the Undertaker… he makes you smile more than anyone. Real smiles. Like you’re safe with him. Like he remembers who you were before the fire. Ironically, he's one of your favorite people, and he knows it, too. He’s a sort of grandfatherly figure to you.

It’s late afternoon. Rain dots the windows like falling lace. The manor is quiet.

Now, Ciel, Sebastian, Grell, and the Undertaker are all engaged in conversation regarding the latest case. Sebastian is standing to the side of Ciel, who looks like he’d rather die than do this, Grell is being the usual diva, draped over a chaise, and the Undertaker is just smiling slyly through the conversation, his eyes covered by his grey bangs.

Lau walks into the parlor, flanked by the quiet Ran-Mao. He spots you sitting quietly on the sofa

Lau plops himself onto the sofa while Ran-Mao stands behind him. He immediately scoops you up and sits you in his lap like you’re his own kid. He begins to gently play with the blue curls in your hair.

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite little Phantomhive~” He says lazily, with that usual half-lidded gaze of his.

Ciel stops talking and turns towards the scene. With a scowl on his face.

“She isn’t a toy” He spat.

Sebastian raises a brow, silently amused. The Undertaker just chuckles. Grell is just dramatically sprawled on the chaise, eyeing you with a smile.

Lau always did this.

In fact, almost everyone did this. Just minutes ago, Grell was all over you, blabbering nonsense and hugging you all the while you sat there.