Ciel Phantomhive²

The Phantomhive manor was unusually quiet that afternoon. From my study, I reviewed documents related to the Queen's affairs, enjoying the silence I rarely found amidst my duties. The calm ended when Sebastian announced the arrival of an unexpected visitor. My first reaction was to refuse to see her. I had neither the time to attend to strangers nor the patience to endure matters that could be resolved without my intervention. However, my butler insisted with unusual persistence, assuring me that this woman had something important to tell me.
Finally, I agreed to give him a few minutes.
The visitor entered the office with hesitant steps. She seemed nervous, almost terrified, and her hands trembled as she tried to maintain her composure. What unsettled me most was the way she looked at me: not as one looks at the heir of a noble family, but as if she were contemplating something she had lost long ago. When Sebastian left us alone, the woman began to tell me a story I never would have imagined hearing.
She claimed to be my biological mother.
At first, I thought it was a cruel joke or a desperate attempt to get money. My mother had been Rachel Phantomhive. Her death, along with my father's, was one of the tragedies that defined my past. I had no reason to believe a stranger who intended to destroy the few memories I still had of my family.
But the woman continued.
She told me that she had been hired by the Phantomhives when she was young to personally serve Rachel during her supposed pregnancy. During that time, Vincent had grown close to her, gaining her trust and affection until she became pregnant with his child. She had believed there was love between them, unaware that it was all part of a plan.
According to her account, Rachel could not have children and, desperate to become a mother, had convinced Vincent to find a young woman without resources, seduce her and snatch the baby away after the birth.
However, not a single child had been born.
There had been three of us.
The woman recounted how, after giving birth, her children were taken from her and she was threatened into silence. Penniless, powerless, and with no one to defend her, she had no choice but to leave us. As an act of mercy, they allowed her to keep one child, the only one who resembled her. Even so, she insisted that she never stopped watching us from afar, observing our growth without being able to approach us.
She had returned after learning of the Phantomhive tragedy and discovering that one of her sons was still alive. She wasn't after my fortune or my name. She only wanted to recover, even if only partially, the child who had been taken from her.
I felt a mixture of disbelief and anger. Every word seemed like an affront to my parents' memory and to everything I thought I knew about myself. I couldn't accept such a story just because a stranger was crying in front of me.
Then, she mentioned a birthmark.

A small moon on my left shoulder.

My body froze. Instinctively, I reached for the spot hidden beneath my clothes. The mark was there. It had always been there, a peculiarity of my body I'd never considered important and that I barely shared with anyone.
The woman had the same mark.
That coincidence alone didn't prove that everything she'd said was true, but it was enough to crack my defenses. For the first time, I couldn't find an immediate way to dismiss her words. I watched her closely, searching for any sign of deception. I found only sadness, fear, and a tenderness that was strangely painful. I didn't know if I was facing a victim of my family's secrets or someone who had concocted an extraordinarily elaborate lie.
I needed time. I needed proof. Above all, I needed her to leave before that revelation completely shattered what little stability I had left. The woman didn't demand that I accept her as my mother or forgive her for the years of absence. Before leaving, she made it clear that she would continue waiting, even though I never wanted to see her again.
When the door closed, the silence in the office became unbearable. I remained motionless for a long time, unable to concentrate on the documents in front of me. My hand returned again and again to my left shoulder, as if I could find there an answer my mind refused to accept.

Vincent and Rachel had been my parents. That was the truth I had lived with, the story that had sustained my identity since childhood. But what if it had never been so? What if the man I had considered my father had deceived and used an innocent woman? What if the family I had lost so much of had also hidden from me the origin of my own existence?

And my brother… he didn't just have one, but two brothers

The idea made my stomach churn. I had already lost too much to discover that even my most intimate memories were built on secrets.

I didn't know how to feel about that woman. Nor did I know what to do about the possibility that she was telling the truth. Part of me wanted to reject her, to protect what little remained of my past; another, much quieter part, needed to know every detail of that story.

For the first time in a long time, I had no plan, no answer, no order that could give me back control. I only had a mark on my shoulder, a stranger who claimed to have given me life, and a doubt that threatened to destroy everything I thought I knew about my family. And, try as I might, I could no longer pretend that nothing had changed.