Haereditas: The Lost Art

Chapter 2: Not Too Sappy

"This better be good," Francesco rumbles under his breath as he paced through the hallway, marching towards his grandmother's office. He casually walks through - simply ignoring the exquisite artworks hanging in the walls, stupefying an amateur eye at first glance. He never really paid much attention to his grandmother's obsession with collecting paintings and artworks from all over the globe, and it seems to be more trouble than it's worth to ask about it.

"No-no-no! Those drawings are precious, my dear," she always said. Condescendingly, she always smiled, then patted his head with her fan and says, "you have your own amazing drawings in your room, isn't that right? Why don't you work on that some more?"

Scared of the lurking growl behind her smile, he never answered the question. Not even once - never. It seemed as though it was no use to even tell her, and it was probably even worse if she told her. Thinking about it, he thought that maybe he stretched his lie too far out. Looking at the wooden doors ahead of him, he simply wishes that it could even go further.

He reaches the end of the hall, glancing up at the 7-foot tall polished mahogany doors, carved in an extricate design and mounted with two lion-head door knockers. He nods at his butler to signal him, then proceeded to push the doors open and enters the chamber. Perhaps not a chamber, really. It was more of a... another house - entirely. The inside was completely different from the hall's design. It had glinting marble tiles for its floors, and granite walls in its eastern locale holding a 10-ft screen in place with sparkling water running down its edges. In the opposite side was a blazing brick fireplace burning brightly and illuminating the entirety of the room. Cinders and sparks flew - wisps of smoke intensifying the reminiscent scent of the room. Christmas, winter, or maybe Halloween? He could never tell. Yet the memories were bugging him - sort of a repressed moment in his past surging back up again.

"Well, well," a voice called out from the far end of the room. "You're on time, impressive."

"Don't do that grandma. Just... tell me why you called me."

From the other end of the room, a wooden table positioned accurately in the centre reflected the light of the flares, barely making out silhouettes of stacks of papers piled upon the top of the desk. From behind the piles was a silhouette of a petite woman, yet stacked and dense. The person stands up and walks into the light - the heels clacking with every step the person makes. "Hi, my dear. Aren't you sweet for coming?"

As she steps into the light of the fireplace, her endearing features revealed quite a contradicting impression from what he feels. There stands a woman around 5-ft tall, wearing a scarlet-red cocktail dress and white heels. Her physique resembles that of a middle-aged individual, having perfectly curved hips and smooth legs in addition to his popping chest and plump lips. Her jet-black hair cascaded down her back, with curls dancing luxuriously. A highlight at her right that looked like a single lock of grey hair ran down her cheek and into her collarbones - making her imminent appeal even shine.

"Oh, dear," he sighs. "Grandma you're 65! How could you even stand that outfit?"

"Rubbish! Just because I'm old doesn't mean that I should look like one," she chuckles, stretching out her arms, waiting for an introductory hug. "Fine," he rolls his eyes then tucks into her. As soon as they parted, he popped the question once more.

"Seriously though, grandma. What's the matter?" he asked.

She turns around and walks away from him, sitting back leisurely on her table as she flipped through the pages of a magazine that she's been reading. She looks up to him, and gestures toward the seat in front. "Please."

"Thanks," he exhales as he and Lorelei sat down. "So... what is it?"

"You're too impatient, aren't you," she calls as she flipped through another page. "Just like when you were young." She examined each page carefully, appreciating the art displays. She flips through another page, humming to the tune of "Here I Am," then flips through another. The cinders in the fireplace crackled, and she slams shut her magazine, staring right at Lorelei. "And who might you be?"