“How dare you set foot back in my manor!” The ghost of Louis seethed.
Objection your honor, Death said. Not having a gavel, Ever heard him thumping his fist on the table, cursing quietly as his pinky finger came loose yet again clattering to the floor. My client is a reaper, who floats. Does this sound like the actions of someone who can ‘set foot’ anywhere?
Ever kept a straight face as he regarded Louis.
“I want you out this instant!” The ghost shouted.
The apprentice reaper didn’t flinch. He looked around the quite empty, very large mansion. The furnishings had all been stripped, leaving it feeling quite empty and lonely. The only thing that remained was the gargantuan portrait that Louis was floating next to.
Ever nodded slightly, getting a tip off from his mentor. “I hear that your daughter Chantelle is on her way right now.”
“How did you know that?" Louis hissed, narrowing his eyes. “Who is your source?” On cue, heeled footsteps echoed up the marbled staircase. She was a picture of refined grace and intelligence. She walked purposefully down the hall, straight towards them. She walked right through Ever, stopping in front of the large portrait of herself, appraising it with arms crossed.
“Of all things, why would you want to keep such a big ugly portrait of me, Daddy?”
“Ugly?” Louis spluttered. He floated in front of her. “I had to fly an artiste trained in the Renaissance Era paint styles to create this portrait!”
Ever had an idea. He quickly floated into the room opposite the painting, transforming back into flesh and blood.
“Ahem…”
Chantelle spun, hand on her chest, wide-eyed. “Who are you?”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“I’m a friend of your father’s,” Ever said, not missing a beat. He didn’t completely know where he was going with this, but trusted his instinct.
Louis and Chantelle snorted simultaneously in derision. The ghost looked at his daughter in surprise.
“Prove it," Chantell said, crossing her arms. "Tell me three things about him.”
“He flew an artist trained in the Renaissance Era to create this portrait,” Ever said cooly, eyeing the painting. “He called himself 'Louis the First' and he hated being called ‘Lewis’.”
Chantelle relaxed, dropping her arms to her side. “My father didn’t have any friends, but those things are all true about him, especially the last thing.”
Louis had fallen silent as he regarded his daughter.
“He was good at pushing people away, including his family.” Her hand crept up to her neck where a heart locket hung.
“You wouldn’t bear him any heirs,” Ever said. Chantelle looked at him sharply. “His words,” he reiterated quickly.
She crossed her arms, sighing deeply. “When you’re a woman in a man’s world, you use every point of leverage that you can.”
“I… I taught her that,” Louis said quietly.
“He threatened to take me out of the will, so I told him that I wouldn’t have any kids. He would be Louis the Last. He took that to his grave.”
Louis had fallen silent again, head bowed.
“In the end, he still left me this house and this,” she turned away, twirling her hand at the painting, “piece of artwork.” She looked at Ever. The hardness had disappeared from her eyes. She almost looked like her portrait now, except the portrait had warmth in her eyes.
“I wanted to tell him that I still loved him but now…” she sniffed, walking along the hall to where there was a conspicuous gap where Louis’ portrait had been, “I can’t.”
Ever shared a look with Louis before walking up to Chantelle. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“I’m sure he’s listening.”
The walls came down and Chantelle wept. The sobs racked her body. Ever stood aside, letting her grieve.
“Daddy if you’re still here,” she said, looking up at the vacant spot where his portrait was with tear-stained eyes, “I’m pregnant.” A laugh interjected before sobs began anew.
Ever looked back at Louis to see what he thought of the revelation but it seemed like he had finally vacated his mansion.
