Hello once again.
I'm glad to see you here at this chapter.
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Enjoy, everyone.
I'll see you down below.
I thought the outside had looked majestic. Whoever built this mansion built it for the gods.
Polished black stone swept across the foyer, the edges of the room curving slightly up the white wooden walls. A grand stair case, split down the middle, climbed up to the second floor, with a balcony-like point at the top shading a massive door. Two tall archways rested at the base of the stairs, light pouring through each path.
The crowning jewel of this place was the crystal chandelier hovering above the room. Little rainbows, hailing from each handing crystal, swirled around the room.
"Daddy…"
Probably knowing I would have this kind of a reaction, Dad placed his hand on my shoulders in an attempt to steady me. I had not even realized that I needed steadying until then. "It's amazing, isn't it?" He was smiling, I knew it. Seeing me in total awe always got Dad to smile.
My eyes roamed more, taking in the ferns potted by the arches. The little table in the center of the room, where you could place a large bouquet or a recently earned trophy. "This must have costed a fortune."
The pressure of his hands lessened. "It's a good thing I work at a fortune 500, isn't it?" He took my bags and started for the left side of the room, towards the glowing archway. "Come on, I'll show you where you'll be staying for a bit."
I furrowed my brows, but I obeyed all the same. Walking down the hallway was another breathtaking experience. My father had not been much of an artist, but the paintings that filled spaces not taken by windows were dazzling. They were not the generic artists that you hear rich people debating. I do not think those artists would be brave enough to paint some of these scenes.
A sunrise, where the ground outside of the light was pitch black and the sky was steadily turning brighter shades of red.
A very realistic glass bottle, with the top half smashed. Each piece of glass must have taken the artist forever.
A bride and groom standing before a world of…clowns and oddities? The painting depicted a bearded lady, a girl sitting on top of a sword, an androgynous individual with smoke coming out their nose, and two midgets sharing the same chair. That was excluding the clowns and the ringleader, yet all of the guests leered at the wedding with disdain.
Each painting seemed older than the last, yet the signature on each was the same. Several more common pieces could be found scattered throughout the hallway, but those three caught my attention the most.
Dad and I had walked nearly the length of the corridor when he stopped at an inconspicuous door. He opened it with grace that I had not known him for and offered me in first.
The room was smaller, with most of the amenities almost crammed in. The bed had simple blankets, the dresser was more of a nightstand than a dresser, and the closet was just a curtain rod hung at an angle.
In short, this room was exactly like the one I had when I lived in Hell. Her shadow hung in the doorway like the angel of death.
"I know it's not much," Dad's voice reminded me of where I was, "but this will have to do until your room's finished."
What? "I thought…" I turned to face my father's sheepish face.
He rubbed the nape of his neck, grinning about nothing in particular. "There was a slight…accident…with your room. It's being taken care of as we speak.
Now then," he slammed his hands together like Mr. Miyagi, though no epic music started with the action, "I do have people come and tend to the house, there is a little old lady that comes by to clean on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. She has a key, so don't worry about having to let her in. Her husband is a gardener, so he likes to come by and check the trees and such. I've arranged for you to have a private tutor. Don't worry, it's just to avoid too much culture shock. I believe he said he would stop by during the afternoon, but be dressed at all times just in case. The tutor does not have a key, so you will have to keep an ear out for the door."
He mumbled something like 'am I forgetting anything,' but it was hard to catch. "Any questions? No? Good. I will get you the number for my office in case I get called away. They'll know better when I will come back."
"Do you travel a lot for work?"
A sad smile grew slightly on his face. "Only every other month. We'll have plenty of time together.
"Oh right, I almost forgot." Dad's expression had darkened considerably, which raised the hairs on the back of my neck. "Try and be very respectful of the house. It's very old, and I don't want any of its ghosts to come back and get you."
I could not help but scoff. "Ghosts? Are you serious?"
Dad tried to laugh, but it did not look like he really wanted to. "Just be careful, alright Minta?"
I held out my pinky finger, which he hooked his own around. You are never too old for pinky promises. We nodded in sync before leaving the room and heading back to the foyer.
Dad took me to a place near the mansion to eat, though I could not pronounce the name of the establishment or the food they served. He handled ordering the food, speaking so quickly that he and the waitress sounded like they were just enjoying gibberish.
I took note of every person who gave use sympathetic looks. They did not worry me. It was their friends, who looked at us as disdainfully as one would the devil, that I felt compelled to watch. When I asked why they were watching us, Dad just laughed and said not to worry.
The food arrived, leaving me gob smacked. Dad's plate looked like one that Bobby Flay or Gordon Ramsey whip up all the time on TV, with half of a bird glazed with sauce and perfectly whittled mushrooms. I did not know that it was possible to whittle mushrooms. Balancing the plate out were sugar snap peas, they themselves colored with a fine glaze. Mine was spectacular as well, featuring a plate almost exactly like his just without the peas. In their place was a whipped vegetable of some kind. It was a light orange and swirled up like a perfect ice cream cone.
One bite came as a heavenly sign that this was a good place to be. Unlike my own attempts at fancy food, this was truly amazing. The whip that I mentioned? It was sweet potatoes. Delicious buttery sweet potatoes. Dad let me have some of his sugar snap peas, and I was thoroughly shocked by the light orange taste that they held.
Halfway through dinner, his phone went off. Dad groaned as he hung up the phone, ending what had seemed to be a rather heated discussion. "I'm so sorry, Minta. They need me in Calais, something about the factory workers acting up." He motioned to our waitress and began talking with her very quickly. She left to repeat whatever Dad had said to another person. "She's going to send a car for you to get you back to the manor once you're finished."
Despite the deliciousness of the dinner, I willingly pushed it forward. "You don't have to do that, Dad. I can go now."
"Minta, don't worry." He pushed the food back over to me, smiling. "Finish, and then they'll take you home." As he left, he flashed the 'I love you' sign before leaving the restaurant.
An old gentleman came over to my table only a second after. He began speaking hushed French, and when I told him I did not understand, he seemed a bit surprised. "Pardon me." He croaked a bit as he spoke. "You live in the manor?"
"Yes I live in a manor, why?"
"The manor? You live where the Opera once stood?"
Opera? No one had mentioned an opera, so this man's words seemed sudden.
"Grandfather!" A new voice entered the conversation, a young man who came running over and grabbed the old man's wheelchair. He began speaking rapid French at me, and all I could do was apologize and explain that I could not understand him either. "Forgive him, he is old. He forgets his manners."
The grandfather began saying something desperately to his grandson, who then turned to me. "Does your home reside in the arts district? Lots of museums and opera houses?"
What an exact and eerie description. "Yes." I felt walls building up around me, guarding my thoughts and emotions from the people before me. That cold mask that I donned showed disinterest. "Why?"
He shook his head and spoke to his grandfather as though he were explaining something. "He is afraid of the place, and believes that all must fear it as well."
The old man found this a perfect time to speak again. "Madelaine and Elliana were unafraid, and now they are gone. That Hell they braved swallowed them whole."
Fear struck my chest, but my mask of indifference remained steady. Madelaine and Elliana. I will have to look those names up later. They are very pretty.
The young man – who introduced himself as Archer by the end of our conversation – took his grandfather back to their table. I, at a loss of my appetite, wrote a quick thank you to the chefs for the dinner and headed out into the darkness of the Parisian streets.
The driver came quickly, and our journey was silent. He did not wait to see that I entered the manor, leaving as soon as I stepped out and closed the door. The bitter night air stung my cheeks, and I retreated indoors with the speed of a small child.
To say I was shocked was an understatement. Where an empty table had stood before was now a glass vase bearing a lovely orchid. The slender stalk was graced with several blossoming purple flowers. A little note rested at the base of the vase, with my name written out in a lovely calligraphy.
The writing was mostly in English, though the cursive was so tight that I had to read it several times to get the full message from it.
To Mademoiselle Aminta-Rose Dubois,
Welcome to the Maison d'Obscurité. I am the Angel that guards this home, and I expect that you will treat it with respect and dignity. Should you refuse to care for this place, it will not care for you.
Your obedient servant.
I rolled my eyes at the letter. "Bravo, Dad." My voice carried through the house as I yelled. "You nearly got me there. Come on out."
Silence, so much so that a pin dropping would have caused less panic.
"Hardy-har har. Well fine then, I can play along." I marched down to my room and tore a clean piece of paper out of one of my various notebooks. Scrounging through my backpack made a pen appear, and with it I began my reply.
To my obedient servant,
If there is any way that I can assist in keeping this as a house of order, please let me know. So help me, I will treat this home as though it were a Temple built in my honor.
Forever yours,
Minta
I folded the note and slipped it under the door. Dad could pick it up in the morning. Since I was in my room anyway, I chose to change into my pajamas and burrow underneath the blankets. My eyes fastened shut, and all of my thoughts drained away.
Or so I thought.
"Please let me in! It's cold!"
Okay, so I don't normally do these "stats" in the end comments, but I kind of want to.
Words: 1995 (Without AN)
Pages: 4
Number of comments as I am publishing this chapter: 3
We can step that up, guys.
If you guys can get me triple that before the next chapter is ready, I will make sure that the next one is longer than this.
Not that I wouldn't anyway.
I'm not one of those "comment or suffer" writers.
I will post either way.
I'll just pay more attention to the chapters because I know people are wanting those chapters.
Love,
Me
