Her Butler, Imposter

Happy little Genevieve had everything a fifteen year old girl could've possibly wanted, a nice house, parents who left her to do as she wished, a nice fiancée, but when one has so much one can only expect that the universe would balance out the happiness with misery, and should the universe tip the scale to make one very unhappy rather than an equal amount of happy and unhappy well then the universe is doing as it pleases, and the one on the unhappy end of that is simply unlucky. Genevieve Abbey is unlucky.


1. Prologue

"Maga, is this truly the end?" She asked as she watched the Phantomhive Mansion burn for what would be the third and final time.

"Yes, Mistress." He affirmed and a small smile glanced her lips.

"No need for formalities, Maga, dearest. You are not longer contractually obligated to do anything for me, it's my turn to keep up my end of the bargain we made six years ago." She unbuttoned the top button of her dress and pulled the fabric aside just enough to expose the intricately designed pentagram on her shoulder, made in the prettiest of purple inks. An identical mark lay on Maga's wrist, binding the two of them together, but not for much longer. He'd take her soul soon, and she was fine with that. She was at peace. She had gotten what she wanted. Revenge. She'd never been so content, not even before everything went wrong.

"I will be treating your soul with great respect Mistress. I've cultivated it this long, a few more hours of proper treatment will do you no harm." He smiled, and she knew then that everything was over. He never smiled, never. He wasn't the kind to smile, and she knew that if he was smiling this was an iconic moment for him.

"What's so special about my soul Maga?" She asked him as the carriage bounced and tumbled down the dirt road in the opposite direction of the one they had come. She didn't know where he was taking her, but she didn't particularly care either. Her life was over, and as far as she was concerned no matter what he said every moment of the rest of her short life belonged to him.

"Nothing in particular, My Lady, rather the it is the things that have touched your soul that make it unique. Not many have lived through what you have, my dear Mistress." He told her, kissing the back of her hand as though to assure her of her worth.

"Will it hurt?" She wondered, there was no fear in her. There was no need for fear. She knew that if she was hurt it was only a part of the bargain, it was nothing that could be helped.

"Yes, but I will do my best to assure that the pain is as minimal as possible." He smiled again.

"Will you stop smiling, you don't smile." She snapped. It was irritating her. She liked his stoicism. It had been one of the only constants in the last six years.

"My apologies, Mistress." He said, his face blanking. She sighed in content and looked out the window at the orange lighting up what should've been a pitch black sky.

"Mistress." Her butler called to her, and she turned to face him.

"Get down under the seat please." He said to her.

She crooked her head, but did as she was told just in time to watch several knives lodge themselves into the floor of the carriage, piercing right through the roof of the carriage. She had learned never to question the advice of her demon butler.

"It looks like it isn't quite over Mistress."

She sighed. "Damn, and I was so looking forward to having my soul eaten." She said dryly as there was a loud thud on top of the carriage and it lurched. She braced herself as best she could as the carriage rocked unstably. He actually laughed. She hated it when he showed emotion.

"Stay here, Mistress. I'll handle this." Maga told her, and she nodded, though he most likely couldn't see her. So they hadn't finished as they had assumed they had.

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