Kuroshitsuji 1. That Girl, A Durless Heir

_Veni, vidi, vici._

I lived, I saw, I conquered.

A mantra she had taken to heart was now one that excluded her.

She was not a religious person.

She was not a Buddhist, or a Christian, or anything remotely spiritually restrictive. But like everyone else she had a theory of what happened once death had claimed a life and to her it was all about _energy_. It could not be created nor destroyed but it could be _moved_. And when that energy moved it returned to wherever it came from, whether it was heaven, hell, or somewhere in between.

Before this, she had been a plain, unassuming girl named "Terry." She hadn't been exotic or poised so much as simple and unnoticeable, but then again that was how she liked it.

"Terry" was a girl of few and sparse hobbies as she prefered to spend her precious time in more practical ways. Though those she did have, she practiced diligently and with great fervor.

"Terry" had possessed her name for the 19 years she had lived, gone to kindergarten, high school, and finally college.

"Terry" had been terribly bright and had a future in medicine as dictated per her degree. She had a road paved in success lying at her feet even if hard work had never been her forte.

So why, may one ask, if she didn't like strain would she choose such a course as complicated as pharmaceutical practices?

Her reasoning was simple. _Expectations_.

"Terry" was a sick and frail child, possessing a cancerous disease infecting her immune system since birth and she was supposed to have died soon after the first month of her life. Two if she was especially lucky and since hearing the prophecy of her death she was never expected to do _anything_ like her family did. Whether it was in education, eating, walking, or even _blinking_, in their head she was as good as dead. A walking shadow. A spectre in the wind.

"Terry" was _expected_ to do as other ill children did and die like a pitiful, pathetic child cowering in her fear and misery and she almost had if it hadn't been for the way they _looked_ at her.

Those careless glances filled with frivolous _pity_ and _worthlessness_ cast her way by her so called 'family' caused something to _burn_. It caused something determined and angry to _spark_ in her chest and she _refused_ to give in.

Like _hell_ she would just roll over and submit to their stupid and hopeless _expectations_.

"Terry" without a second thought or hesitation, picked up her weak, frail body and _forced_ it through the long process of schooling.

And let it be known that having so many of her teachers attempting to coddle and provide her with the pity she _already_ received at home got old as quick as can be. They learned their lesson as soon as "Terry" reached the requirements to be skipped up a grade and from there she _soared._

But even if she had done well, it didn't change the fact that slowly she was dying, and die she did.

Laying in the hospital with a breathing tube in her mouth and gusts of oxygen forcing its way down her throat, "Terry" reflected on her life.

"Terry's" 'family' had stayed around for perhaps a few days before moving on like she had already croaked. They all had their own lives to carry out, what use was it to fret over the one that shouldn't have existed in the first place?

Though the sting still sparked in her chest their sentiments didn't hurt her, in fact, she _expected_ it. She _embraced_ it.

It didn't matter to her because there was no level of abandonment that could take away the fact that she had lasted longer than _anyone_ could have predicted. So in "Terry's" book, she had issued every medical professional a big _fuck you_ and _kiss my ass_.

"Terry" let the knowledge that if she had lived she would have been more successful than _any_ of her wretched relatives ease her weak little heart.

Besides she would rather have her last moments to herself than be swarmed with people she had never been that close to anyways. And "Terry" liked to think her family at least knew her well enough as the reclusive and observant girl she was to stay away until she was gone.

It hadn't been quick, the process. She had laid there for weeks, breathing capability leaving her bit by bit as her body wasted away to nothing. It hadn't been particularly painful in the traditional sense but in a stifling kind of way that carried a heavy crushing pressure that never left her.

And when "Terry's" heart finally began to fail, she was barely able to roll her eyes at the panicked and worried faces of the doctors as they shouted for her parents.

Honestly, it was like no one had read her diagnosis chart or something, there was no need to look so _shocked_.

"Terry's" attitude may have seemed cynical but she had long since made her peace with her condition. Sure in the beginning she cried and screamed and raged like a demon straight from hell but as she grew older and more capable of managing her emotions, she realized there was nothing she could do but _wait_.

Eyes grew heavy, breaths grew faint and laden with strain as voices fell onto deafened ears. They were doing all they could to save "Terry" but it was a waste of resources because within the hour "Terry Daimler" had been pronounced dead.

Usually, one would think that would have been the end, no more conscious thoughts or beating hearts. Once one was gone, one was _gone_ and "Terry," being the practical and level-headed cusping woman she was, had thought that _too_.

That was up until she suddenly was _not_ suspended inside of an endless void, was sent hurtling towards white and found herself settling in black.

She wasn't sure just how long the black kept her captive, only that it was the thing she was most familiar with. At times she felt almost _physical_, as if she had a presence within her dark space.

She even _swore_ she could hear soft voices murmuring to her in muted words. Maybe that could be taken as a sign of going slowly insane but to tell the truth, she was quite glad for the company.

And so her monotonous existence continued on. Always in the dark, always hearing voices, and she was strangely _contented_ in her abyss.

That was, until the pain came.

It struck sharp, surprising her with its intensity and she could feel everything around her lurch in tandem.

A heavy ringing set in her head as everything shook, twisted, and pulled. And suddenly she couldn't breathe in the air she didn't know she was somehow inhaling. She could feel the life she never noticed belonged to her slipping past her fingers as something tightened over her neck and she _froze_.

"..._out...her...__**OUT!**_" The voice screamed angry and fearful like a vengeful deity, loud enough to invade her sphere and everything exploded into white and movement.

Blinking furiously against the onslaught of raw sensation after the shift, she clenched her eyes shut and with that action she became increasingly aware of herself.

She could _blink_, she could _shut_ her _eyes_. Yes she could do all that back in her circle but that has been more of a mental compulsion. This shouldn't have been possible, her body was gone which meant she wasn't in the material plane anymore.

That was unless _something_ had brought her back.

"Is she okay?" A faint feminine voice asked, drawing her away from her crisis and for the first time she noticed the hands encasing her body. "She's not crying, is she _okay_?"

"Yes madame, she is doing well considering the lack of sound," a male voice assured, "Perhaps give or take a few weeks premature but quietness is common among the weaker bodied infants."

"Can I hold her?" The woman pleaded not missing a beat, tone desperate.

"For a bit." The man nodded. "While I set up a room for her."

She could feel herself being moved and slowly her senses were readjusting to being thrust into this foreign situation. Finally she could feel the blanket swathing her miniature form in a snug coddle. And she was most definitely sure she was tiny for how else could she fit into the loose cradle of this woman's hands?

Steeling herself with all her previous mental discipline, she forced herself to move her ridiculously uncoordinated limbs in a clumsy tango.

Various scenarios and explanations flitted through her mind at a breakneck speed. There was no denying she had died. That much she was sure of; but then what was _this_?

_Why_ did this happen?

_How_ did it happen?

Her mind raced. She was a child, a newborn and there was no way it could have been time travel.

This woman, no matter how her faulty vision made her look, was not her old mother and she, without a doubt, came from her. Where her mother had been a dark blonde, this lady had a curtain of deep, blood red hair. Where her mother had wood bark brown eyes, she had ones that matched the unique shade of her brightly colored tresses.

This was not the woman who birthed "Terry" but the one who produced "her."

Despite her wary and logical mind it was quite impossible to dismiss this obvious case of reincarnation as a mere fluke. "Terry" more than anyone knew of what dangers denial could bring.

Turning her attention outward, she refocused her bleary eyes on her mother(?) and squinted in faint recognition. Her face seemed so familiar...

Listening to her coo and smile in teary happiness, "Terry" learned the name this body and by extension, she received.

Lalonde.

Her new "mother" had named her Lalonde. It was unusual, much more dignified than "Terry" and with surprising ease she adjusted to the title.

"Your father picked that one," her mother explained, a sorrowful pained expression painted on her exhausted face. "I thought it was a bit strange sounding." She laughed, a tad bit bitter.

"Now it's the single most _beautiful_ thing I've ever heard."

Crying rather hard now the woman half bent herself in grief and Lalonde could feel a drop of dread enter her system. It was easy to deduce what was being implicated by those words.

Death was truly a _cruel_ thing.

That explained why she hadn't seen hide nor hare of him since becoming aware. Focusing intently, she slowly raised one hand and started the painstakingly long process of clenching her fingers around a lock of hair.

Soon, the woman noticed her grip and smiled with glittering eyes.

"Trying to comfort your mother, huh? Lolly?" She said wiping her red eyes with a watery laugh. "So much like him."

As her mother shifted her fragile body to the crook of her arm, Lalonde thought back to the doctor's words about her prematurity and wanted nothing more than to let out a long, sailor worthy string of curses. And she would have if she hadn't been so sure it would come out sounding like wet gurgles.

So much for being perfectly healthy this time around.

Eyes reluctantly falling shut aided by the gentle rocking motion and the light beating of her heart, Lalonde the new born baby, fell asleep.

* * *

From her dark cocoon to her prisoner's room in the hospital Lalonde went. For months - _MONTHS_! - she had been kept there, turned into a pincushion and subjected to staring at white masked faces all. Day. Long.

The only reprieve she got from this whole debacle was the daily visits to her mother (who was also interned as a patient) which lasted for an hour each session.

Lalonde looked forward to these times quite a bit so it came as a shock when roughly around two thirty, she hadn't been ritually picked up and carted off to another room. Instead she was carried right past her mother's door and into a place with roses on the ceiling. Laying there in her cloth bundle, Lalonde frowned minutely.

Where were they bringing her if not to her mother?

Shivering, she let out a sound of protest as she was stripped from her blanket and clothes and was set in a shallow basin of water.

Washcloths swiped over skin and the scent of soap filled her sensitive nostrils for a long while before she was lifted out and toweled off.

Watching as they slipped startlingly pink baby clothes onto her small frame, she grimaced internally. If she looked anything like her mother she would bet her left lung it clashed _horribly_.

The nurse who dressed her wrapped her back into a different blanket, this one gray and swept her from the room.

Apparently, wherever they were taking her was a secret because not just her body was covered but her face as well. Furrowing her small brow, Lalonde's curiosity and confusion was only relieved when the blanket was pulled back and her mother's smiling face was displayed.

"Ah, there's my little girl," She chirped as she moved her into the circle of her arms and planted a kiss on her rounded cheek. "I bet you were wondering why you weren't immediately taken to see your mama."

She may have been just a _tad_ confused.

Moving them towards a black expensive looking carriage she grinned softly with the look of excitement printed on her face.

"Well I have some fantastic news!" Her mother announced, her British accent positively blooming. "We get to go home! We've both been cleared as healthy!"

Unsure how to react but pleased to be leaving, Lalonde settled with flashing her mother a gummy smile and snuggling into her as the ride started.

* * *

The next time she awoke - she hadn't even been aware when she had fallen asleep - it had been to the sound of her mother having a conversation with another person.

"Mistress, you must sleep. I know that you have been recuperating in the sick ward but the birth was very difficult, rest. I will care for miss Lalonde!" The woman pleaded, worry tinting her words.

Laughing gaily, her mother shifted her small body closer and grinned.

"I'm perfectly _fine_ Elena, better than fine, _great_ even!" She said with a wave of her hand. "Besides I haven't fed her yet and that is hardly a task _you_ could do."

Lalonde had long since grown accustomed to the thought of this woman's nipple being placed in her mouth and was able to minimize the disgusted scrunching up of her nose.

"Anyhow haven't I told you to address me by name?" Her mother questioned, slipping her gown over and off her shoulders.

Elena looked stricken as if a knife had been driven into her heart.

"B-but it is not proper for a lady of your standing to-"

"Bah! Who gives a _damn_ about proper! I will not answer if you don't use my given name." The red headed woman declared stubbornly, delicate jaw locking.

As she listened, Lalonde deduced that her mother must be pretty high on the social ladder to have a servant refuse familiar speech so profusely.

"But M-Mistress!" The maid gasped incredulously, though her mother merely turned her attention towards her child.

After a few minutes of deliberate silence, Elena spoke resignedly.

"Mistress Angelina."

With a raised brow her mother, Angelina looked at the blushing blonde and smiled in triumph.

"I guess that's as good as it will get for now. Tell me, has my sister and her husband visited here?"

Elena shook her head. "No mistress Angelina, how could they know to if you didn't tell her the child survived?"

"Technicalities," Angelina brushed off with a careless shrug. "What good would it have done to inform Rachel and Vincent if I had lost my baby after a few weeks?"

Skillfully ignoring the organic feeding utensil in her mouth, Lalonde frowned at the names and tried to figure out just _where_ she heard them from.

"Well," Elena began with a thoughtful hum. "I'm sure the Phantomhives would be positively _delighted_ to meet the heir of the infamous Madame Red."

And once again everything inside of her froze and twisted tight. Halted by those names that by all means _shouldn't_ be linked to _anything_ having to do with her.

Could it be coincidence?

A fluke?

A joke?

And what was this about being the heir to Madame Red? Lalonde couldn't _possibly_ be unless...that was who her mother was.

Turning her head fast enough to give herself whiplash she faced her mother and stared hard until her features cleared and evened out and this time she really _looked_.

She was a beautiful woman, her previously longer hair was cut into a neat and stylish bob, thin red coated lips, aquiline nose paired with cheerfully flushed pale skin.

Yes, her mother was a sight to see, in fact she looked exactly as she remembered. Down to the smallest fiber and littlest nuance.

Angelina Durless, sister to Rachel Phantomhive neé Durless who married Vincent, who had a son named Ciel. A sweet boy who became an orphaned child when his parents were murdered, then had gone on to be kidnapped, contracted a devil, and became the lackey of the English Queen.

He was going to be her _cousin_. Angelina Durless, canonically "the ripper," her mother, was his _aunt_.

Lalonde was eventually going to get tangled up with the Queen's watchdog and his demon...

_Oh sweet merciful Mary the Virgin, his __**demon**__!_

She had _just_ been reborn! Albeit into the fictional world of Black Butler but _alive_ all the same! Lalonde had no desire to be ripped apart by a pissed off demon - or _whatever_ else went bump in the night!

She would bet reincarnated souls were like cotton candied _syrup_ for demons, a rare delicacy! She had no idea of knowing how their meeting could go.

Not to mention the death gods! Even if she hadn't died in this world, she had died in _hers_ and took another body. Who was to say that they couldn't sense the fact that she was an anomaly? What if they decided to kill her for cheating death? And just _how_ would she stop them from doing so?

Lalonde needed a plan, she had roughly two to eight years before Ciel was born to prepare herself. She needed to insure her survival, social Darwinism taught her that much. The fittest reached the top while the weakest perished and if she wanted to stay alive she would need to become important whether it was emotionally, intellectually, or anything in between.

Lalonde would not be safe if she was even _remotely_ linked with Ciel. Lizzy and her mother were prime examples.

The way she saw it she had two choices, become a key component or stay her hand and try her best to keep out of it.

In either situation she would need to become a favorite of Ciel's or at the very least someone who would be missed by a group with influence.

Familial bonds only traveled so far. Ciel had ordered her mother to be killed and Sebastian would have done it if Grell hadn't beat him to the punch line. If that wasn't proof, she didn't know what was. Granted, she was out in London murdering prostitutes but it showed that blood was no barrier in dealing with the young lord. If someone stood in his way, that person would go down.

If Lalonde somehow found herself unable to sit it out, she would need to pick a side because right now, with all the life threatening things he would face, she wasn't sure if Ciel's was the best choice for her.

First things first, as soon as she was able, she would figure out if this was the manga-verse or the anime.

She had seen both seasons of the show and had read up to the Circus arc, parts of when he was at the school, and on the titanic.

Now more than ever she was regretting not following up on the series even when she had gotten sick. Though in her defense, she hadn't thought she would have ended up in a different universe.

Turning her head towards her mother, she wanted to sigh. In theory, that all seemed easy but she knew everything would lead to complications.

The question was, would she be able to handle it all?

Closing her eyes she fell into a light snooze.

Probably not, but she'd sure as hell try.

* * *

**Edit: 5/14/16**


	2. That Girl, Her Aunt Is A Storm

The first time Lalonde had met her Aunt Rachel, it had been in a flurry of long blonde hair, lovely blue eyes, and _immense_ disapproval.

The part time tutor and nanny her mother had hired, Cecile, had been in the middle of a lesson in French - she was not yet a year old but her mother wanted her to grow up speaking the language of her father - when the polite sound of someone knocking at the door made them glance over. There had been a slight pause before Cecile had stood up and headed to the foyer leaving Lalonde to wait for _whoever_ had arrived to reveal themselves.

And what a reveal it was.

"Anne darling," The absolutely beautiful female called with a soft smile but Lalonde couldn't help but feel as if there was something a bit more..._sinister_ hidden beneath her tone. "I have come to see my niece and goddaughter - _whom of which you have not informed me of even though it has been quite some time since her birth_."

In a fit of curiosity that had sparked at the word "niece" the young redheaded girl gave a cry and watched as blue eyes - the very same as Ciel's - latched onto hers and in an instant, she was cradled gently in a pair of arms.

"You look so much like Anne it should be a _sin_." Rachel Phantomhive smiled as she cuddled her close. "From her hair to her smile, I swear you could be her twin instead of me."

Holding her at an arm's length away, their gazes connected and the blonde looked positively tickled pink.

"Except for those molten colored eyes!" She cooed. "That you _definitely_ received from Francis I'm sure."

Internally quirking a brow Lalonde decided to take her aunt's word for it, seeing as how she had yet to see a picture of her father.

Swung around to rest on Rachel's hip, the small red haired child clung to the fine silk of the woman's dress to ensure to herself that she wouldn't fall at any sudden movement.

"Come Vincent, doesn't she just look _stunning_?" Rachel called, turning to present her to a Sebastian look alike with Ciel's hair color and burnt eyes. "Isn't she just a _darling_ girl?"

Tilting her head to the side as she took in his every detail as he was doing to her, Lalonde could see the appeal. He was definitely handsome with his sharp, masculine features, and she could definitely see the financial and political appeal of marrying a man like him.

She was sure her aunt Rachel was set for life - for however long she still had to live it.

"She certainly is a bonny child." He smiled holding his arms out and Lalonde decided to be accommodating for once and reached for him. Settling in his hold, she laid her doddering head on his shoulder and let out a little sigh. "One of which I am _honored_ to be the Godfather of."

Silently tucking that information away for later perusal Lalonde instead shifted her gaze to watch her anxious foreign tutor flutter about, muttering nervously in French.

Feeling a bit of amusement at Cecile's expense, Lalonde observed her with a bit of amusement. It must be nerve fraying to have people she had no information on interact with her charge, seeing as she only had two courses of options she could take and both had terrible drawbacks.

She could allow Rachel and Vincent to continue to coddle her and get into trouble with her mother if they ended up not having Madame Red's approval. Or she could take her away from them and risk the scorn of three British elites for slighting them.

Lalonde's malfunctioning conscience kicked in at the increasingly irate expression her tutor was taking on and she took pity on the worried woman. Squirming in her uncle's hold, the golden eyed girl made a grabbing motion towards the blonde Parisian signifying her desire to be held and quickly Cecile scooped her up, looking relieved beyond her years as she did so.

"Mademoiselle Angelina ne m'a pas dit de tous les visiteurs aujourd'hui."(1) She muttered with a 'tsk,' before moving off to the side with Lalonde stationed on her hip.

"Lady Phantomhive!" The familiar voice of Elena exclaimed in surprise and Lalonde turned to face the woman. "I - we were not expecting you!"

"Ah, it is good to see you again Elena." Her aunt smiled, her plump lips frozen in a sweet - poisonous - smile. "So tell me, how long have _you_ known about Anne's daughter?"

Lalonde could see all the normally vibrant color drain from the flaxen haired maid's face at the question and her dark eyes shifted left.

Elena was truly adorable to think her next lie was going to fool a woman as shrewd as Rachel was making herself out to be, but Lalonde gave her points for trying.

"I-I'm afraid I don't know what you are talking about Lady Phantomhive." Elena evaded horribly, the nervous sweat on her forehead _entirely_ too telling. "Now, if Lord Phantomhive and you would kindly make your way to the veranda, Mistress will be done in a bit."

There was a telling silence before pure honey seemed to drip from her aunt's mouth.

"Elena _darling_." Rachel said on what was almost a purr and the maid broke like a dam under the intensity of the woman's niceness.

Taking a few steps down the stairs, the blonde servant fidgeted with the hem of her sleeves.

"I was told a few hours before you came by to visit at the hospital." She admitted softly, obviously not used to lying or avoiding someone she was well acquainted with and inwardly Lalonde lamented on how long it took her to crack

That was _really_ something her mother needed to work on with her.

"Sister I beg you, stop badgering my clientele. Good help is very hard to find and seeming as how I quite like Elena, I plan to keep her in my service." A sinuous voice drawled and Lalonde turned to view her mother, who was currently making her way down the steps dressed in her trademark crimson gown and heels.

And like always it wasn't long before her mother's eyes were drawn to her teeny form. Practically gliding over, Madame Red picked her up into the cradle of her arms and pressed their foreheads together.

"Did you have a good lesson?" She cooed as she rubbed their noses together in an eskimo kiss. "Soon you'll be speaking better French than me."

Facing her tutor she nodded to Cecile.

"Vous êtes licencié," Her mother said, accent clear but pronunciation fairly good for an English woman. "Je vous remercie."

Cecile rose nimbly from her seat and with a curtsy swept from the room.

"Well hello Vincent and Rachel, I'm glad you could make it." Her mother greeted and her uncle brought her hand to his lips.

"And we are glad to be here," Vincent said charmingly, like the graceful guest he was.

"Now why don't we go take a seat on the veranda while I have tea made," Angelina invited. "It's time for Lolly's lunch anyhow."

Leading them to her patio, she took a seat in a lavishly comfortable chair and propped Lalonde up on her lap.

"So I suppose you have questions about this entire situation so let's get this out of the way," Her mother said bluntly with a wan expression and unsurprisingly, Rachel was the first to speak.

"I understand the reasoning behind your actions but I would have preferred if you would have shouldered some of that weight with me." She said with a furrowed brow. "We are sisters and what use is that if we cannot _share_ our problems?"

Frowning Angelina gave a sigh and a shake of her head.

"Rachel - sister, _listen_, I wasn't sure if she would even _survive_ long enough to have need of the announcement of a successful birth," She explained sounding wistful. "and I didn't want to tell you if she was just going to-"

A single hand was held up one dainty hand and her mother fell to silence.

"I already said I understood the reason and I forgive you for not telling me." Her blue eyes implored her sister with an intentness in her gaze. "But next time I have faith that you will come to me and inform me of any events in your life."

Leaning forward, Rachel pulled her mother's hand into hers.

"Can I trust you to do that?"

Despite her aunt Rachel only being the fraternal twin of her mother, at that moment she seemed to be the spitting image of her. Especially with how her eyes seemed to demand agreement and how her jaw took on a determined set, they never looked more alike to her.

Her mother seemed shocked by the spiel if the widening of her eyes was anything to go by but her surprised mask soon melted away into a warm smile paired with glittering eyes.

"Of course." Her mother nodded and like a switch had been thrown Rachel's admittedly intense expression shifted into glitter and sunshine.

"Great!" She clapped with a grin. "Now where's the tea and cake? I am positively starved."

"Vincent let's hurry up and eat so we can start bringing in the gifts from the carriages."

And at that her mother sputtered.

"Gifts? _Carriages_? Rachel that is completely unnecessary!" She objected with a furrow of her brow. "I spoil her enough for all three of us."

"Oh nonsense." She waved. "There's no harm in buying her _more_ things, besides what use would there be having a toy maker for a husband if I couldn't bring a dozen hundred toys for my darling niece Lal here?"

Her aunt Rachel sent her a wink and Lalonde giggled, feeling pleased.

If they wanted to shower her with expensive, pretty things who was _she_ to object?

1- Miss. Angelina didn't tell me there were going to be visitors today (or something close)

2- You are dismissed, thank you.

* * *

**So yes, I'm editing this story.**

**Edit: 5/14/16**


	3. That Girl, She Makes Waves

Lalonde Durless, by all accounts, was a blossoming prodigy.

By the year mark she was starting to combine words to make simple sentences in both languages, much to her French tutor and her mother's delight. She could do math, she could display her comprehension of reading materials, and she could easily follow conversations. Lalonde displayed a level of understanding parents only _dreamed_ of their drooling, screaming demons possessing and though it made her feel proud to be acknowledged by so many, there were definite drawbacks to her new found infamy.

Now that she had informed others that she got on well with her educational material, suddenly her workload began to increase and she was expected to show off.

If anyone pointed to her, they would whisper about the up and coming baby genius and how she was going to become a great medical practitioner like her _mother_, become respected like her _mother_, and take up a scalpel and become a surgeon like her _mother_. Lalonde wanted to do nothing more than to go back and make sure she had kept her mouth shut. Boredom had been her motivation to learn and it was a cruel and manipulative mistress.

Honestly, she had no idea how other children dealt with this attention. The moment anyone showed a single iota of "superior" intelligence, everyone hounded that person like they were a mine filled with diamonds, pearls, and rubies.

Ignoring the woman attempting to coerce her into talking with her useless babble, she nuzzled into her mother's neck and whined the words 'sleepy time' in French.

She was only lucky being smart didn't necessarily attract (too much) negative attention, aside from a few of her mother's close friends' prodding. Lalonde was happy the world she was born in wasn't one where children were _expected_ to act like this. Where they were tools to be gauged by how much mental awareness they show and the amount of talent they had.

Here, Lalonde supposed, they fed her genius tendencies not expecting much but for her to be successful and rich, or rather to either do as her mother did or become a trophy wife and for that she was both grateful and ungrateful. Ungrateful because in the Victorian era women had a role, especially young girls. If she did as expected and everyone praised her. If she deviated from the course she was scorned. That was certainly what her mother faced as a woman who became a doctor and that was what made Lalonde grateful.

If she was to do as her mother did then she could be so much more than a pretty face to be married to a man and pump out children.

But she didn't want to be a doctor.

Before she had died, "Terry" had been studying to make medicine and that was what she would continue to do if nothing got in her way. Lalonde knew of the shady underworld that covered this version of England and honestly, she was not below selling to the seedy to practice on her own time. From poisons to antidotes, she had learned to create. Whether if it was from her classes or her quite illegal perusals, it was a well earned skill. And Lalonde was sure if she expressed interest in getting any of the ingredients to her mother, she'd have them all within two days.

But all that could wait until she was older. She was positive she could make do with chemicals under the sink. Ammonia and bleach were pretty interesting components and chemistry was her strong suit.

This entire thing had started when she had first spoken to her mother and the crimsoned eyed woman had burst into tears, thoroughly startling the young child.

Unsure what to do but willing to fall back on her previous technique of quieting her, Lalonde crawled up to the weeping woman - because she was still too weak to walk - and tugged on her bangs until liquid filled red eyes connected with two sunspots.

"Maman, non."(1) She pouted, willing her eyes to water and in less than two seconds flat Lalonde was cradled to her bosom.

"I love you so much!" Her mother smiled, pure joy radiating from her lean frame and flushed cheeks. "I wasn't crying because I was sad, I was crying because I was _proud_."

An "oh" expression stole over her face as Lalonde giggled, voice high in pitch. "Heureux!"(2)

Laughing her mother rubbed her nose to hers and pressed a kiss to her rounded cheek. "Yes heureux my beautiful little Lolly."

Needless to say, for the rest of that week Lalonde was positively beaming in pride at her accomplishments and compliments. She had even played nice with all the strangers who were fascinated by the half French little girl.

And her willingness led to her being constantly surrounded by new faces she refused to memorize.

Closing her eyes, she gripped the fabric of her mother's dress tighter in her miniature palms.

Her mother was finally branching out again since her time and the death of her father. Lalonde was more than happy to help her reconnect with her friends because as much as she liked basking in the light of her mother's smile, she couldn't monopolize her time as selfishly as she had been doing.

But as a woman's shrill voice raised a few octaves, Lalonde flinched and resisted the urge to scowl and realized that this was becoming a nuisance.

She would rather do without all of the socialites in her face.

Ears perking up at the mention of arranging a playdate between the woman's child and herself, Lalonde blanched, her delicate face twisting in horror.

They wanted her to make friends with nose picking brats and by golly, she was going to let them for the sake of her mother.

And if Lalonde wasn't being so selfless she would definitely say that this was her worst idea yet.

* * *

**1 - Mom, no.**

**2 - Happy.**

**Lalonde meets a familiar character next chapter for a playdate, see if you can guess who it is. ;) I apologize for the lack of length.**

**Beta'd by CompYES.**

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**Edit: 5/15/16**

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**If any of you like Star Wars go check out my fic A Force Users Guide To Dealing With The Darkside ( And Also Sith Lords ).**

**And if you like the Dark Hunter Series by Sherrilyn Kenyon go check my fic World Eater.  
**


	4. That Girl, She Ensnares

"_This" _\- **French**.

* * *

_Well this_, Lalonde thought staring warily into starstruck green eyes as she contemplated making a strategic retreat, _might be a problem._

Standing before her was Edward Midford, who was the son of Alexis Leon and Francis Midford and the elder brother to the not yet born Elizabeth Midford

Standing before her was Edward Midford, who _apparently_ had a crush on her.

Lalonde, with a small pudgy hand, carefully pried away the arms that were clutched around her tiny shoulders and she squirmed away from the prolonged hug. The six year old toddler pouted but obviously wasn't deterred because as Lalonde stood and began to waddle away, the blond haired boy followed.

From their first meeting where he had brazenly walked up to her and - she quoted - screamed the words "I like red!" directly in her face, the boy had developed some _infatuation_ with her.

Now at first when he had told her that she had been a little flattered having never been complimented by a non blood related member of the opposite sex but her positive feelings on the matter had quickly dwindled.

The fact that he had gave her locks a rather vicious tug after his little declaration hadn't endeared him to her at all. Not to mention the damn boy wouldn't stop putting his grubby little finger into her hair or keep them to himself.

Her irritation with the situation had resulted in her shoving him away from her and consequently to the ground, causing the child to scrape his palms and knees and cry for a solid hour. And sadly because Lalonde hadn't meant to make the little idiot weep, she had decided to comfort him with a one armed hug which honestly might have been a mistake on her part. As was witnessed by the sparkles that seemed to flutter in his eyes at her afterthought act of kindness, Lalonde was _stuck_ with him.

At least until the point where the boy moved on from his crush and found himself a suitable wife.

But that didn't mean she had to _like_ it.

Shooting the boy a peeved look, she toddled over to her huge pile of presents and tried to tune him out.

Lalonde was turning four today. It had officially been four years since she had died and been given this body. To others this simply marked a milestone of age but to Lalonde, it was proof that it would take a lot more than passing away once to off her.

She was still here and she would continue to be here and nothing that the future would hold would change that.

Observing the pile of brightly wrapped boxes, she idly wondered which one housed the chemistry set she had been harping about for the last few months. She had been particularly obvious about wanting one so it would stand to reason that they would buy her one. Lalonde took a step forward and had been about to grab for one of the boxes when a hand had clamped down around hers unsuspectingly.

Trailing her sunspot eyes down to the fingers tangled around her slack digits, Lalonde blinked and stared up at the cheerfully smiling young heir.

Cocking her head to the side, the young red head quirked a brow because this was new and _completely_ unwelcomed.

"...Qu'est-ce que tu fais?" She questioned but when she saw his unresponsive and confused face she reluctantly switched to the common tongue.

"I _said_ what are you doing?" Lalonde repeated in English as she mentally noted that she would need to remember that not everyone's "first" language was French.

A look of dawning surfaced on his face and he puffed out his little chest in pride, and Lalonde was forced to admit that the sight was adorable.

It was too bad he was annoying.

"I'm holding your hand!" He declared and he said it with such a proud voice that for a bit, all Lalonde could do was stare.

Sighing Lalonde pinched the bridge of her nose and glanced up at the ceiling. She would really need to bust this kid's bubble before he got it stuck in his head that this was behavior she would allow him to have concerning her person.

"...No." She deadpanned as she wiggled out of his grasp and walking over to the group of adults that consisted of the Phantomhives - who she had become quite close with, the Midfords, and her mother. Sliding her hand into Angelina's, she gave it a squeeze and turned on her puppy eyes technique.

"_Maman, he won't leave me alone_." She stated, making sure her tone reflected none of her frustration but all of her annoyance because as flattering as it was to have fanboys, she wasn't interested.

"_Play nice_ Lalonde." Her mother smiled and she pouted because she _really_ didn't want to. She had been nice to her friends and countless aristocrats that visited the mansion to pinch her cheeks but to ask her to entertain Edward was just too much.

"Such an intelligent girl." Francis said as she watched Lalonde shoo her son away. "You must be very proud."

"I am, she takes so much after her father." Madame Red said with an air of wistful happiness. "It's quite amazing really."

"I don't know Anne," Rachel began with a contemplative expression.

"There seems to be a lot of you in her, especially when concerning her expressions." She commented as the group of adults glanced at the scowl on her face.

"Not to mention she seems to be the spitting image of you." Alexis said, eyes tracing the similar curve of her face and her crimson hair. "She's even developing your fashion sense Madame _Red_."

Her mother mock scowled. "There is nothing wrong with maroon! In fact, I think it emphasizes her unique coloring!"

"And it does Angelina," Vincent agreed with a closed eyed smile. "Especially those golden eyes of hers."

"Aren't they gorgeous?" Her mother agreed. "We were so sure that my features would dominate her face. I'm happy at least a splash of his coloring made it through."

"So," her mother said after a pause. "how is the business Vincent? I hear sales are booming."

And at this point, Lalonde ceased paying attention.

Wandering back over to pile of gifts, she began reading the tags to see just what was hidden behind its colorful wrappings.

_Paint set._

Not what she was looking for.

_French poems book._

No but she'd put that to good use later.

_Jewelry, dolls, blocks, and clothes._

No, no, no, and no.

A dozen or so boxes later Lalonde sighed and looked around. This wasn't going the way she pictured it.

A hand touched hers and Lalonde whirled around to face Edward. A thought occurred to her, and with no little amount of trepidation did she roll it about within her head. She didn't like the thought of emotionally manipulating someone who would eventually be close to her family, especially if they seemed to harbor romantic feelings towards her, no matter how childish they seemed to be.

But even if she didn't like it, she really wanted to find that chemistry set and well, some sacrifices must be made.

And that was why she squared her shoulders and stepped closer to Edward.

"You want to hold my hand right?" She asked with a quirked brow and an easy smile.

Edward gave her a series of eager nods. "I like Lalonde's red!"

She waved his enthusiasm off.

"Oui oui," Lalonde said, "Flattery will get you nowhere. Now do you know your letters?" He was the heir of an influential family, he damn well better.

"Yes!" He nodded frantically and Lalonde furrowed her brows.

"Do you want to see?" He chirped before taking in a deep breath, preparing to sound of the alphabet but Lalonde quickly slapped her hand over his mouth.

"Oh no I believe you." She smiled indulgently and the child smiled even brighter. "and I'm _very_ impressed."

Taking his arm she pulled him over to the pile of gifts and gestured.

"Now I want you to look on these tags right here," Lalonde instructed. "and find any that say C-H-E-M, okay?"

The blond boy nodded, so happy to please her that it was quite alarming.

Turning back to her own search, it only took twenty five more presents on her part and forty on his - such a hard worker - for Edward to find what she was searching for.

"Lalonde! I found the C-H-E-M!" He called, an accomplished grin on his round face and she made her way over to peek at the title.

"Chemistry and botanicals." She read before she nodded. "Good work."

Lifting the package she clutched it to her chest and resisted the urge to giggle.

"Lalonde!" Her mother called she knew it was time to cut the cake. About to turn on her heel she caught the pensive and fidgety look on Edward's face and she sighed once more. Sticking out her hand she waved him over and and internally rolled her eyes at his near euphoric look of delight.

"Come on, a deal's a deal."

With a rather embarrassing squeal, he latched on and Lalonde tugged him towards the large table in the center of the room muttering a low "this means nothing" to the boy. A sentence which she suspected sailed right over his head at the gleeful feeling of her _consensually_ touching him.

She rolled her eyes, what a _child._

Catching her mother's amused look, Lalonde shrugged refusing to seem like she had been caught with her pants down.

"I owed him." She explained, hefting the wrapped gift up to eye level and her mother gave a fond sigh.

"You couldn't wait, could you?" Her mother tsked with a shake of her head. "Well, come along, the birthday girl needs to have the first slice of her cake."

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**5/19/16**

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**Lalonde is four years older than Ciel and Edward is two years older than Lalonde. So when Ciel is 12, Lalonde is 16, and Edward is 18. That might be a wrong timeline but I'm not changing it.**

**Go check out my Star Wars SI-OC story.**


	5. That Girl, That Gun

The first time Lalonde became interested in firearms, she had watched her mother patch up a gunshot wound. It had been gruesome and she suspected that she had freaked out the patient due to how little she had reacted to the carnage but regardless of that fact, her mother had allowed her to sit and observe.

"This is what I do for a living." She told her while retrieving the gauze from her small hands. "I help the sick and injured, and I'm sure that's what you want to do as well, based on the chemistry set you've become obsessed with. So I think you should know what you're getting into."

"Do you want me to be a doctor?" She asked, settling onto the chair in the far corner. "Like you?"

"Not particularly but I know you are interested in the medical field." Angelina said, wiping at the wound until traces of red could be seen. "So I thought why not give you a head start, I think you are mature enough to at least see this."

Nodding, Lalonde turned back to watch her finish up as she listened to the boy began to excitedly chatter at them.

The guy - a teenager really, with ginger hair, green eyes and a faint Irish brogue - had been so pumped about the circumstances in which he had gotten hurt that it was mildly discerning. It was like listening to a preacher go on and on about the grace of God but with less love of life and more about how excellent his weapons were at taking it.

"The feeling you get when holding a firearm is the best in the world." He sighed, acting as if her mother wasn't sewing his gaping arm wound back together. He was a fanboy of a different sort and he was more terrifying than Edward. "The shock and recoil, the build up, it sure is _great_."

"But it's _dangerous_." The golden eyed girl murmured, brow furrowed as she slid her eyes down to his injury. "It could _kill_ you."

The boy gave a shrug even as he winced at the movement.

"Of course it could, _anything_ used for offense or defense poses a risk." He agreed with a grin and a nod. "That's just how everything goes!"

Lalonde hummed, raising her brow. "Then why weren't you more careful, if that's the case?"

The boy turned beet red, coughed into his hand, and scratched at his nose.

"I uh, actually had been practicing without anyone to spot me so um, this _could_ be my fault but who's really to say?" He chuckled nervously. "Besides I'm not the most attentive person, I'll be lucky if my mum let's me continue the lessons after this!"

Frowning because there was no way getting hurt so badly was a fair trade off, Lalonde glanced over to the gun settled safely in its pouch. It was an inconspicuous piece, deceptively delicate looking and didn't give a clue on the power it held encased in its barrel and shells.

"Ah, don't worry lass." The guy said, sliding into his shirt after her mother had finished her procedure. "The safety is on so you're protected from my stupidity."

But still she stared, perhaps a bit more interested in the weapons than advised. The boy noticed this as a sly smile stole across his face.

"You know, you can get lessons when you're older." He suggested and Lalonde cut her gold eyes at him. She would have to work on concealing her thoughts better. "It's a fine art, respected and long lasting. I'm sure there's the perfect gun for you out ther-_ACK_!"

Jumping in surprise, Lalonde looked at her mother who had whacked the boy atop the head with a book. Said male was currently clutching his skull like it would break apart if he let go.

"Trying to sell your hobby off to my daughter, Maguire?" She questioned with a twitching brow and a growl as the boy cowered. "And what have I told you about handling guns without the correct supervision?!"

"Not tah." He grumbled, glaring up at the red headed woman. "God yah _crazed_ banshee, I could sue yah for malpractice!"

The look of "I'd like to see you try" on her mother's face was absolutely comical.

"And what do you do? You go out and do the _complete_ opposite!" She exclaimed throwing her arms up into the air. "Such a reckless fool of a boy!"

"Hey!" Maguire pouted. "I was perfectly _fine_!"

"AND I'M NOT A FOOL!" He exclaimed for good measure.

"So why are you here now?" Her mother narrowed her crimson eyes. "If you were so 'fine'."

"Are you _daft_ woman! I shot myself!"

"Then you're obviously not fine, you _dimwit_!"

Lalonde glanced one more time at the bickering duo and over to the firearm innocently laying there before she left the room.

She could swear Uncle Vincent had gotten her a BB gun recently, the only thing she had to do was find it.

* * *

Frowning at the slight sting in her hand Lalonde shifted her hold on the BB gun and took aim. Taking care to pull the trigger after she locked her arms and squared her shoulders to keep the pressure off her joints, Lalonde watched as she missed the target.

She liked to think she was getting better after weeks of shooting at trees but it really wasn't healthy to lie to herself.

And she never lied to herself before so she wasn't going to make a habit out of it now.

Her brow furrowed as she stared down at her thin and bruised arms and she realized that she wouldn't be able to sufficiently shoot unless her muscles got stronger or she got a much more manageable gun.

And because her mother didn't exactly know about her new side project, the second option wasn't relevant.

Sighing as she lifted the barrel to aim at the red circle she had drawn on the bark, Lalonde pulled the trigger and managed a smile when the bullet finally hit its mark.

Seven times out of ten she was unsuccessful but she reasoned that with time she could improve.

Although she would definitely improve more if she had a teacher but that was no dice.

Retaking aim Lalonde sighed.

She would have to figure out a plan in regards to her gun handling, else whatever skill she could gain would go to waste.

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**Edit: 6/9/16**

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**This is a short chapter but the next one will be longer! Also if you guys have any ideas for this story please tell me!**

**I put a poll on my profile go check it out please!**


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