Sarah Forbes Bonetta, a princess of the Egbado clan of the Yoruba people, is best known as the goddaughter of Queen Victoria of Great Britain. Bonetta was born in 1843 in what is now southwest Nigeria.
Ciel Phantomhive had never had perfect health. He’d always been a little sickly, prone to asthma and coughing fits, bearing a poor immune system, and he was underweight to top it all off.
Unfortunately, as he entered adolescence, his deplorable health only continued to worsen, much to the distress of his father, Vincent Phantomhive. For Ciel, being from a wealthy family of noble heritage had its perks. He was seen by the best doctors in Great Britain, but this only drove home how serious his condition was.
He’d passed out one day during a walk on the estate grounds with Vincent, simply unable to get enough air in or out. The doctors had called this an acute exacerbation episode of chronic bronchitis…and that Ciel’s condition would only continue to degenerate before eventually proving fatal. The prognosis wasn’t good. If Ciel had been healthy to begin with, he might have had a few more years than he did. But as it was, they weren’t sure he’d even make it to eighteen.
Vincent was shattered. His Ciel, his dearly beloved son and only heir would die before he could pass on the family name and title. And just ‘having more children’, for Vincent, was almost impossible. His wife was dead, and had been since Ciel was three; an invisible illness that struck her down in her prime before anyone could do a thing. Frankly, Vincent didn’t think he had it in him to remarry. He respected women a great deal, and it wasn’t fair on those fair ladies to be married to a homosexual, to a loveless relationship, for the rest of their lives.
And what would Ciel say…? The boy was so damned smart, he’d know in a heartbeat that Vincent was just protecting his assets.
I’m not like that, thought the dark noble. If Ciel is all I have, then so be it. My life will be about him.
What was a child to do, when stripped of all hope and dreams of the future?
For the young Phantomhive heir with maturity and wisdom beyond his years, the answer, it seemed, was to sit in his room for days on end, refusing to eat, staring blankly at the wall and in general being unresponsive to external stimuli.
arthur at the world meeting:
aLRIGHT YOU WANKERS YOU SEE THIS?????? *pulls out bread* THIS HERE IS WHAT WE BRITS CALL BOGGLYWHEATSQUARES AND YOU GUYS ARE MISSING OUT BECAUSE THIS IS THE SHIT SWEET QUEEN OF ENGLAND HOLD ME HOW DO YOU ALL SURVIVE WITHOUT THIS PIECE OF HEAVEN THAT GOD HAS GIVEN TO THE GREAT BRITISH PEOPLE GOD BLESS BRITAIN THE BEST COUNTRY IN THE WORLD NONE OF YOUR FOOD CAN COMPETE AGAINST BOGGLYWHEATSQUARES AND BRITAINS FINE CUISINE