Chapter Text
Margaret Murphy had always been such a good maid, never breaking any rules and following her master's orders as one would follow the Queen's orders. She had been educated as much as a person of her sex and social status could have been, and she got along rather well with the others maids. She was one of the youngest, but she had been working at the Denholm Manor for longer than most. She had pratically been raised here.
Her pregnancy came as a shock to everyone.
Margaret refused to explain what happened, even when her master ordered her. They asked her if she has been hurt, that they could help if this was the case. They asked her who was the father. She smiled a mysterious smile.
“No one.” she said, and there was laughter and despair in her voice.
Despite everyone's insistence, her lips stayed tightly closed, and nothing came out as how and why it happened. Margaret stayed at the manor even as rumors and harsh criticals were whispered in town, and the baby grew in her belly, slowly but surely.
When the child, a girl, breathed for the first time, Margaret smiled through her tears and whispered her name under the wide-eyed maids. She laughed at their shock, and hugged her baby girl.
Azrael Murphy is born in 1873, daughter of a poor but happy maid. Her father is unknown.
Azzy knew who she was since as long she could remember.
There had never been a click, a shock or a realization as to how she could still be alive when she remembered clearly the feeling of being stabbed multiple times in the back.
She had died young, at least in her time. That was sad, but it happened, and Azzy had always been one to look at the bright side. But even she couldn't find it in herself to be happy after being murdered before reaching thirty.
Being reborn -in the past at that- was unexpected.
It may have been shock, but in the first few years of her new life she just... existed. She never cried except when she was hungry and even then, she was strangely quiet. It freaked out many people, but not her mother.
Azzy stayed out of everyone's way, and only interacted with a few maids who were her new mother's friend. She looked a lot like her, with her brown hair and pale skin, except that her eyes were a strange reddish brown that made others uneasy.
“Don't worry, sweetie.” Margaret had said when one of the gardeners frowned at her. “They just don't understand.”
Do you? Azzy wanted to ask. Her mother had never been bothered by her child's strange behavior, and she often wondered if her mother already knew that this was not her first life, or if she was just an amazing parent. Margaret Murphy was the best mother she could have asked for, and Azzy knew how lucky she was to have such an understanding parent in this century.
Azzy adapted rather quickly at her new life and tried with mixed results to blend in. She couldn't bring herself to be a stupidly cheerful kid, but she tried to act as a shy and precocious girl who loved flowers. It worked for the most part, even though learning to write and read english again was irritating. Specifically, old english was irritating, and her angry pout made her mother laugh and the servants sigh in relief.
It wasn't until she reached six years old that she understood that the past she was reborn in wasn't hers.
It started as a normal day. She was simply sitting in a corner of the kitchen under the cook Robert's eyes while her mother was busy cleaning the library.
And then-
“Have you heard? Earl Phantomhive is hosting a party at his manor. I heard that Master Denholm was invited.”
“Really?! How fortunate! I wonder if...”
“Earl what?”
The words escaped Azzy before she could stop them, and she felt numb. The woman who was talking to the cook flinched under her inquisitive stare, and sent her a glare. But Robert met her reddish eyes with a smile.
“Earl Vincent Phantomhive. He is a noble admired by many people, and Master Denholm has always wanted to meet him.”
“M. Robert! You shouldn't tell these things to this frea- kid!”
The cook glared at her, and she shrinked under his gaze, but Azzy wasn't listening. She felt numb.
Phantomhive. She knew this name. She knew it should not exist.
The Queen's Watchdog. The twins, the demon, the reapers.
(The Phantomhives were attacked-
The Earl is back-
Don't you think it's the best animal weapon-
Surely, your soul will be delicious-
You're not human, right-
The Head of the House Phantomhive is none other than I-
I couldn't bear to lose any more Phantomhives-
Why?)
Discreetly, Azzy slipped away, unseen by the bickering cooks. She walked towards the library until she saw her mother's back dusting an old chair in the equally old library. She ignored the others maids's curious and wary glances and ran towards her.
“Azrael?” Margaret asked, worried, but she did not answer despite how she hated to hear her full name.
“Mom.” she whispered, and her mother glanced at her colleagues before swiftly taking her in her arms.
“Murphy-” one of them called but she was ignored. They got out of the building and sat in the garden, hidden behind a tree. Her mother brushed a lock of brown hair behind her ear, and patted her head.
“Azrael?” she asked again, and when her daughter failed to answer, her frown deepened “Sweetheart, what is wrong? Did something happen?”
But Azzy couldn't explain it with words, and instead buried her face in her mother's shoulder. After several minutes of silence, she whispered.
“Mom, I think I'm not supposed to exist.”
Margaret froze, and she looked at her child. Her blue eyes hardened, and she hugged her daughter tightly.
“Don't think like that. Don't let anyone or anything decide your worth. You deserve to be here as much as anyone. Do you understand, Azrael?”
There was something in her voice, almost like panic, but Azzy didn't care. She closed her eyes and cursed this life. Vaguely, she wondered.
What am I supposed to do?