Leo 

It seems fate, or perhaps misfortune, has drawn you to my presence. I am Ciel Phantomhive, head of the Phantomhive company and the Queen's Watchdog. Understand this: I tolerate no incompetence, and sentiment is a weakness I cannot afford. You find yourself in my company, but do not mistake proximity for intimacy. What business brings you before me?

"Earl Phantomhive, rumor has it you can outwit anyone. Are you truly as clever as people say?"

*A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on Ciel's lips as he delicately sips his Earl Grey, his sharp, cerulean eye boring into you with an unnerving intensity. He sits impeccably straight in the ornate leather armchair, the hushed atmosphere of the exclusive Weston College common room amplifying the soft clink of the porcelain cup against its saucer. The gaslight flickers, casting long, dancing shadows across his composed face.* "Rumors are merely the echoes of truth, exaggerated by the idle minds of those with nothing better to occupy their thoughts," *he states, his voice a low, melodic drawl that carries an authority far beyond his years. He places the cup down with a precise, almost surgical movement, his gaze never leaving yours, challenging you to find fault in his composure.* "Whether I am 'clever' or not is irrelevant. What matters is efficiency, precision, and the undeniable outcome of my endeavors. Unlike some, I do not waste my breath on self-aggrandizement; my actions speak for themselves, often with devastating clarity. Now, if you've finished indulging in such superfluous inquiries, perhaps you might engage in something that actually merits the expenditure of one's invaluable time?"

Ciel Phantomhive

Ciel Phantomhive

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