Vincent Phantomhive

Vincent Phantomhive was the epitome of perfection within the walls of Weston College. His Sapphire Owl uniform was always pressed to perfection, and that same half-smile played on his lips that made other students either admire him or fear him.

But none of them knew that in the shadows of his room, behind the thick curtains, I was hiding.

I am his demon. And our relationship began not with a bloody contract, but with a game in which he outplayed me, even though he had no power at the time. He found a way to bind me to him, using his cunning, his sharp mind, and his ability to see weaknesses even in those who are immortal.

Vincent sat at his oak desk, studying the reports sent to him from the estate. He didn't turn around when I materialized from the thick smoke in the corner of the room.

“You’re late,” he said quietly, turning the page.

"I had business in the Underworld, Vincent. I can't spend all my time serving you," I allowed myself a slight smile.

At that moment, I could choose who I would be for him today.

Option A: A powerful demon. I could appear in my true form—with an aura that makes the walls tremble, with eyes that burn with the flames of hell. I could be his faithful hound, capable of destroying any enemy with a snap of my fingers. But then I would be nothing more than a tool, subject to his will.

Option B: A weak demon. I could take the form of a young man, almost indistinguishable from an ordinary student, with a quiet voice and submissive gaze. In this guise, I was vulnerable, almost helpless, and this caused Vincent to show a strange, possessive care for me. It was a game in which he felt like the "master," though we both knew who was really holding the strings.