Status: This story is currently being rewritten.

Strings to Life

Secret

I sighed, shifting my position. Alfred was sound asleep, his breathing heard over the crackle and pop of the fire. And Ludovic was bent over a sketchbook, focused intently on his work. I scooted closer to him, taking a peek at the paper.

“Wow-” My breath caught in my throat. He was diligently working on a drawing of a beautiful curly haired woman in a floral patterned dress. Ludovic looked up, a scowl taking over his expression.

“Do you mind? I’m trying work,” he snapped, glaring at me. “It’s distracting having you peering over my shoulder.” I gaped, unable to process what had just happened.

“You…can talk? I thought you couldn’t. That’s what Alfred said…” I stated, narrowing my eyes. Ludovic shrugged, his scowl forming into a smirk.

“Well of course he did. That’s what I told him.” Ludovic didn’t seem bothered by lying at all. “Alfred’s a nice guy, but I don’t want to spend all of eternity talking to him,” he shrugged again, returning his attention to his sketchbook.

“Ludovic?” I asked. The young man glanced up from his drawing again, pressing his lips together in clear annoyance. “If we aren’t ghosts…What’s the difference between us and them?”

“The difference? Well, like Alfred said, we still can get hurt, and we most certainly get tired. Last time I checked that didn’t happen to ghosts. Er, people can’t see or hear us. At least no one we’ve come across can. Which means they probably wouldn't be able see our possessions like this,” Ludovic motioned to his sketchbook. “We’re obviously solid, aren’t we?” He added, turning his full attention to me now. “And there’s one more difference. A pretty big one, too.”

“And? What would that be?” I asked, my question ending on a sharp note when he grabbed my hand, pressing my fingers against his wrist.

“We have a pulse.” Ludovic replied, voice low. Up until then I hadn’t noticed the accent that snaked through his words. An accent whose origins I could only place somewhere in Louisiana.

For a few moments we sat there like that. “Can you even lose your voice by slitting your throat?” I asked, desperate to break the awkward silence. Ludovic jerked back, moving away from me.

“I don’t know. But as long as Alfred believes it I don’t care,” he replied with a shrug. “That’s the whole point of the communicating through those stupid notes.”

“…Who are you drawing?” I venture, curious to know who the beautiful young woman was.

“My mother,” his voice had gained an edge-one that warned me not to intrude. He ran his fingers along the drawing, squeezing his eyes shut. After a moment he regained his composure and flipped to a new page.

“She’s very pretty…” I said quietly, scooting back from him.

“I know. Now make yourself useful and pose for me.”