Foolish Mortal

By: 1000th Ghost

Emily was stupid.

Nicer words could be used, words like "flighty" and "unprepared" and "impressionable" and "unwitting". But really, she was dumb as a doornail.

And this was perfect.

His first wife, Lilian, was not remarkably intelligent, but she was perceptive. She knew and understood too much of the world around her and therefore suspected far too much.

Emily would never be aware of anything. That he had come to the funeral of her parents for the express purpose of whisking her and her newly-acquired fortune away. That this scheme was all Leota's doing - that Leota wanted the money as much as he did. That Little Leota's father was not so far away. That Madame Leota was anything more than a hired medium.

Emily would never be able to make decisions for herself. She might have deep thoughts in her head somewhere, but goodness knows that they were too deep to make any sense. She presented the "distant staring" appearance better and more frequently than anyone he had ever encountered. Only once did he interrupt said wide-eyed, blank contemplative session to inquire what she was thinking about.

"The pattern on the wallpaper," she replied dimly and smiled that lovesick, adoring smile of hers.

He never dared to ask her again.

Emily needed his strong, authoritative, imposing character to tell her what to do. And he needed her affluence. It worked out wonderfully for everyone.

Her beauty was a much appreciated stroke of luck. His second cousin could have been homely, plump, missing an arm, for all he knew, any number of undesirable traits. As it was, she was the sweetest of sixteen, slender and blooming with newfound womanhood, with red rosebud lips and blond curls. He probably would have approached her even if he hadn't been obligated to!

Her disposition matched her lovely looks. Constantly sunny and smiling and full of an innocent glow. She knew nothing of the darkness that invaded his Mansion, his guests, his life. She could see past - or, more likely, was oblivious to the existence of - the melancholy that sometimes overtook him. She brought light to the tomb, and he doubted that even the most aggressive spook could extinguish it. She loved him in spite of, and, he fancied, partially because of, his foreboding home and heart.

She loved him. That was perhaps the stupidest of all. A few pretty lies, a few promises of happily ever after, and she was his. But it was not simply the naïveté of her love that was doltish, or even the immediacy, it was the intensity. Suddenly, after only a few hours of knowing him, he was the love of her life, her reason for living. She loved him blindly, and the blindness might be her downfall, but it was inspiring nonetheless.

This beautiful, cheerful, stupid girl with a heart too big for her own good. This girl that somehow was everything he had ever wanted. That he loved as much as she loved him.

He was only mortal and just as foolish as her.

The End