Chapter Text
1850 - Buckingham Palace, London
The great hall of Buckingham gleamed like a jewel, its high windows casting light upon centuries-old tapestries and marble floors. At the far end stood Queen Victoria, solemn yet radiant in her black mourning dress, her small frame dwarfed by the weight of monarchy-and by the quiet awe in her expression as she regarded the woman kneeling before her.
Velanna Ashbourne knelt, her gloves hands clasped tightly before her, heart a tempest beneath her ribs. Her dark hair shimmered beneath the sunbeam filtering through stained glass, her green eyes locked on the floor-but burning with a fire few dared meet.
The Queen stepped forward, holding a ceremonial sword. Its polished blade had touched the shoulders of many, but this moment, this woman, was different. This was not a knighting borne of lineage or war-but of shadow and silence, of blood spilled in the name of justice.
"You have served this Empire without herald or trumpet," Queen Victoria intoned, her voice barely above a whisper yet echoing like thunder. "In the veils of secrecy, you have hunted the cruel, the hidden, the damned. For that, I name you Dame Velanna Élise Delphine Ashbourne
The sword touched her left shoulder, then her right.
"Rise, Knight of the Crown."
Velanna stood, breath shallow. Her chest ached-not from pride, but from the memories of what brought her here: children sold, innocents broken, monsters in silk suits. And still, the work was not done.
As the applause echoed in the hall, she did not smile. She only bowed, eyes on the Queen, her oath silent, but eternal.
---
1887 - London
Thirty-seven years passed like the flick of a blade.
In the Queen's private chamber, thick with incense and the weight of secrets, Victoria's eyes were sharp again. Age had weathered her, but her mind was steel. She stood by the window, looking out across a gaslit London, the city coughing beneath industry and filth.
"They're still at it," she whispered. "Trafficking. Disguised under the masks of charity and nobility. I want them destroyed."
Velanna, ever silent in her emerald cloak, nodded once.
"They've taken to high society now. The heart of the beast is a masquerade ball. Tonight. You'll go."
Velanna nodded again, her face unreadable. "And if they strike again tonight?"
"Stop them," the Queen said. "At any cost."
---
That Night - The Ball at the Rutledge Estate
Velanna moved through the crowd like a ghost wrapped in silk. Her green ball gown shimmered with pearls and silver-thread embroidery, the frills catching the candlelight like ripples of moonlight on a lake. It matched her eyes perfectly, a green like forest shadows before a storm.
Her dark hair was pinned with emerald combs, each step precise, her breathing controlled. Beneath the silk corset, pressed tight to her ribs, was a hidden silver dagger-its blade dipped in a rare poison that paralyzed the soul before the heart stopped.
Laughter echoed. Strings played. Champagne bubbled. Masks covered the faces of monsters.
She brushed past a tall man in black, whose hand clutched the wrist of a terrified girl in lace.
"Excuse me," she said sweetly.
And as she passed, the blade found his side-just a flick, like a kiss of wind.
He screamed.
Gasps rippled. But no one helped. They never did. Nobility stared, masks frozen in polite horror.
Then, chaos. The ring's members recognized her, too late. Whispers turned to shouts. Guests fled. But some-men with cruel eyes-stayed and drew weapons.
In the storm of panic, two figures stood firm.
Ciel Phantomhive narrowed his eyes from the stairwell, hand on his cane. "She's not one of ours."
"No," Sebastian said beside him, lips curled in amusement. "But she's...delightfully efficient."
Velanna darted, unseen, through the curtains and climbed through an open window. The drop was at least thirty feet, but she landed in a crouch, unbroken. Supernaturally graceful. She looked up-and saw two figures at the window.
She smirked and winked.
Then vanished.
---
Moments Later
The grass was soaked with dew, flowers swaying in the moonlight-nightshade, belladonna, foxglove. Fitting, she thought, for what tonight had become. She was halfway across the field when her heel snapped.
"Bloody things," she muttered, kicking off both shoes with disdain.
Behind her, footsteps-too silent to be human.
Sebastian.
She kept running.
Eventually, she stopped. He stood across from her, crimson eyes gleaming like polished rubies in the dark.
He held her shoe, dangling it from a gloved finger.
"Did you drop this, my lady?"
She rolled her eyes and replied with cold charm, "No. I abandoned them. You should know how uncomfortable those things are."
His grin was a blade. "Pity. They suit you. Elegant, sharp. But no doubt you prefer your claws."
Velanna gave a slow smile, then added, "Apologies, but I must cut this rendezvous short. Your demonic scent is beginning to turn my stomach."
Before he could respond, she pivoted-using her heel to flip open a concealed trapdoor in the grass. Without another word, she slipped through, and the door slammed shut.
---
The air was thick with rot. Cracked stone walls, iron bars, and the sound of distant sobs. Velanna strode forward, torch in hand. Her face was hard, but her eyes ached.
Children. Dozens of them. Some sickly. Some silent. Some already gone.
She moved from cell to cell, breaking locks, whispering comfort. Her hands-once painted in elegance-were now soaked with blood and grime.
One small girl clung to her skirts. "Are you an angel?"
Velanna knelt. Her hand brushed the child's cheek. "No, darling," she whispered. "But I'm here to take you away from this hell."
With a blade in one hand and a child in the other, she led them out. Anyone who stood in her path died without a sound. She killed with precision, with fury, with purpose.
The tunnel led them into a forest clearing.
There, Scotland Yard agents-discreet ones-waited. The children were taken in, blankets offered, names recorded.
Some clung to her like a mother.
But she gently pushed them away, standing alone again in the moonlight.
---
The dungeon was empty when he arrived. Only the scent of death remained-iron and sorrow.
He followed the trail above. Saw her. Watched her handing over the children, standing tall with no hint of pride, only silence.
He approached.
"You caught me," she said, not turning around.
"I fear I did," he replied.
He extended a parchment with a faint grin. "An invitation. Should you ever feel the need to to get rid of more people like the people who do things like this."
She looked at it, then at him. "I might consider it. On one condition."
"Oh?"
"Keep your demonic self to yourself."
His grin deepened. "Agreed. But I cannot promise it won't crack in your presence-certainly not in front of one as fluent in the occult as a witch."
Her smirk matched his. Their eyes locked.
Predator. Prey. Which was which?
Hard to say.
But in that moment, they both knew:
They would get along swimmingly.
---