Danny Phantom: Stories of the Dead

Spectra and Bertrand

Spectra & Bertrand:

Penelope Spectra frowned. Her green eyes drooped from exhaustion. Yet, she was still a bit glad that her office was finally closed for the day- even if she still had paperwork to do, at least no one else would disturb her.

"Bertrand," she barked, "Get me a coffee, black... I have a feeling I might need it for tonight."

She rubbed her temples at all the paperwork still sprawled out on her desk. Bertrand didn't bother to disobey her as he quickly left her office with a mission. He wouldn't ever disobey her- did she occasionally annoy him? Yes. But he still loved her... Not that she realized that of course- she never would. She was always too absorbed in herself.

She grabbed a mirror from her desk drawer and checked herself for any touch-ups that might be needed. Her flawless skin was almost glowing. Her eyes, while tired, still were perfectly outlined in black eyeliner and eye shadow. Her red hair was still in a perfect shape, the way she wanted it to be. She was beautiful, flawless, perfect- just like she always wanted to be. She would get as many surgeries as needed if it meant staying this beautiful when she was older. She would do anything to stay beautiful. It wasn't a wish; it was an obsession, a need.

I was so beautiful, how did I end up here?

She lay on a hospital bed, draped in standard gown- gone was her designer clothes. She had an IV in one arm and she's been through too many surgeries for her to keep count. The doctors were always doing something to her throughout the past year; she hasn't even had a chance to look in the mirror. It was driving her nuts. She might have cancer, but that wouldn't stop her from looking her best. Nothing could stop her from being beautiful.

"Finally," Penelope muttered, "Bertrand, fetch me a mirror."

Bertrand hesitated, wondering if he should really show her what she looked like. Finally, he gave in and fetched a small handheld mirror. He's just a loyal assistant, Penelope thought to herself. Bertrand had stayed by her side throughout everything, despite her being rather vain to him. He stayed with her and she knew that he would stay beside her.

He handed her the mirror, wincing to himself. She gasped in horror and put a hand to frail cheek. Her skin had started to turn yellow. Her hair was almost nonexistent. What left of hair wasn't really hair at all. No, it thin, almost straw-like. Her cheekbones were more visible than usual due to her rapidly losing weight.

"No," she whispered, a few tears falling, "No! I can't look like this! I can't! Bertrand, go to the doctors! Get them to fix me! I can't look like this! I'm hideous!"

Penelope continued to shriek, almost at the top of her lungs. All of the words that left her mouth were negative- she wasn't beautiful; she was hideous. Bertrand wanted nothing more than to calm her down, assure her that she was beautiful. Though he knew that it would do no good.

I'm hideous, Penelope thought horrified as she desperately tried to use the hospital sheets to cover herself- hide her. No one could see her like this- not even Bertrand. I'm not beautiful... I need to be beautiful... I always need to be beautiful...

Bertrand looked down at the pictures with a sad smile. His eyes started to water, but he paid no mind. There were three pictures in particular he was looking at- the pictures that he had framed on the shelf of his apartment. The first one showed Penelope Spectra, in all her beauty, before the cancer. The second one showed her when she was in the hospital, when she had called herself 'hideous.' The last and final picture showed the funeral for when she lost her battle with cancer. No one besides Bertrand showed up.

He unframed the second picture as stepped on a stool, the picture and a letter in his hand. The picture showed the sickly Penelope sleeping as she didn't want any pictures to be taken when she was 'not beautiful.' Yet, he felt the need to take a picture. He hoped that it would be a memory when she won the battle- but she didn't win. He looked at her picture with a sad smile before he fit the noose around his neck and stepped off the stool.

His body hung there limply. The letter and picture fluttered to the ground peacefully. The picture landed face-up with the letter write on top of it. In his neat handwriting, it read,

I will always think you're beautiful, my love.