My Wight Wife Stayed up Late Model Kit Building! 3

It’s a rare sight for an undead to become embarrassed. Flushed cheeks are hard to achieve when your blood isn’t circulating, but your wife is trying her hardest. She paces back and forth inside of the manor’s lobby with a furious pout. “Non, non, non,” she mutters to herself. “Stupid woman.”

“Cecille, darling?” you ask, hoping to pull her out of her moping. “There’s no need to be so upset.”

The Wight stops in front of you and shakes her head, “My behaviour was disgraceful! A woman of my station should never stoop so low as to argue with a junior!” Part of you knows that this isn’t the problem, she’s worried that somebody might have overheard her talking about Redanner.

“Nobody was even near us Cecille, I’m sure that Lady Amanda will not think anything of it anyway.” You play along anyway. No need to wrap yourself up in trying to convince her that it’s completely normal to have hobbies of her own. You cross your legs and take a sip of the tea that your zombie maid prepared for your return. Zombies are dull until they get enough spirit energy, but they’re very good at following routines. “Are you going to enter her contest? It’s clear that she desires to win it herself.”

Your wife clenches her perfectly manicured fingers. “Non, I will not show my face there!”

You sigh, “But you said you would, and the Cecille I know would never leave a promise unfulfilled. Don’t you want to show her up? Winning her own model contest would be a good way to do it.” You suggest in a singsong tone. Your wife is clearly conflicted. Her pride versus her… pride. You are the only person who she’s ever told about her hobby, she flatly refuses to even speak of it in public.

“Non, I will not. I will not give her the satisfaction.”

You put the cup down with a frown, “That’s a shame, I even bought you a little something…”

Cecille stops pacing and narrows her eyes, “You bought moi something?”

“Maybe, but since you’re not interested in competing, I guess I’ll save it for later. You just bought something yourself, didn’t you?” You lean back and smile. If Cecille could sweat, she probably would be right now.

“Hah, there is simply no way that you have obtained something that I could not myself!” It’s true, you have the same bank account, but money isn’t everything. You’re a savvy buyer, where as your wife likes to use brute force.

“Remember how I went on that business trip a few weeks ago?”

“To the East?”

“Yes, that one. I found something. Something that’ll blow Amanda’s creation out of the water. But such a thing is only deserving of the highest effort, and it’d be a shame to put it together without showing anyone.” You turn the screws tighter and tighter.

“You are a mean, mean man! Fine! I shall take part in this farcical competition. What did you find?”

Having already planned for this exact situation, you reach under the sofa and pull out a large box, sliding it towards your flustered wife. “Mon Dieu! You didn’t…”

“I did.”

A limited edition, titan-grade, premium release of the titular Redanner; UBR-348-X. Not the V2 that reduced the level of detail and joint movement in favour of stability, this is the original hand-grenade version that would fall apart in a stiff breeze. Incredibly rare, and incredibly impressive when put together. This thing was impossible to get your hands on, and if you could find one it’d bankrupt most people. When you’re undead nobility though, money is no problem. You’d been hiding this damn thing in the house for weeks. You didn’t want to spring it on her until your anniversary, but there’s no time like the present.

“Is that the V1, husband?”

“Why, yes, it is.”

Cecille levitates the box into her hands and stares at the elaborate cover artwork. Her eyes narrow, “Ohohohoho! What a splendid model!” Cecille holds a hand up to her face as she laughs. “Lady Amanda doesn’t stand a chance!” With nary a thanks she dashes away, casting an invisibility spell on the box to hide it from prying eyes. That’ll keep her busy for a few days. You hope it doesn’t interfere with her work…

By the time you’d wrapped up your duties for the day, Cecille had already entered battle mode. The desk was littered with the remains of runners, the spray gun was out, and your wife had removed her dress in favour of a white t-shirt and track pants.

She holds a piece up to the light and scrutinizes it with an intense eye. Your wife is a habitual perfectionist, she would not be happy until every part was sanded, painted, and top coated. It’s impossible to talk to her when she gets like this, but you decide to try anyway.

“How is it going, honey?”

She grunts, “Good.” She clips out another piece with her Chief God Nippers ™.

“Try not to stay up too late, we have work tomorrow.” You kiss her on the cheek and strip off, placing your clothing into the wash basket and slipping under the covers of your huge bed. You drift away, listening to the sound of your wife’s work.

---

She didn’t sleep.

Well, she doesn’t need to sleep, none of the undead do. But still, for the sake of a healthy mind it’s important that they turn themselves off now and again. When you awoke, Cecille was still working on the model. Having progressed onto painting each piece, painstakingly taping over details in the process.

“Cecille, it’s morning.”

You approach her and tap her on the shoulder. She snaps out of her trance and looks at the grandfather clock in the corner. “You are right! I lost track of time.” She bows her head apologetically and stands from her seat. She stretches, causing her shirt to hike up and expose her stomach. You wrap an arm around her waist and pull her into a morning kiss.

“Let’s go get cleaned up.”

Normally, your wife prefers to get prepared separately from you. While your own routine has lengthened considerably over the decades as you acclimatized to the noble life, hers still dwarfs your own. The same attention to detail is given to her makeup as her models. Bathing with her is a rare treat. Every Wight has their own kind of captivating beauty, like a painting. But that image is carefully cultivated and meticulously monitored. They desire to be beautiful in practice as well as appearance.

[Censored by the pastebin police, please visit https://archiveofourown.org/works/30588929/chapters/75456035 for the uncut chapter.]

With her wrath abated for the moment, you dry yourself and Cecille. “What are you wearing today, dear?” you ask.

“Hm, Adele found a nice red dress that I’d like to try.” Cecille disappears into her wardrobe and begins shuffling through the hundreds of ornate dresses that she’s collected over the years. Adele is a strange woman, aside from being a Lich. In her own words art is a science, so despite her demeanour she’s very good at picking out gifts for your wife.

Red? You pick through your smaller collection of suits and find a nice red waistcoat. Black jacket and trousers, white shirt, black tie. You scope yourself out in the mirror, looking good. Cecille emerges in her new dress, “What do you think?” As usual it exposes a large amount of real estate in cleavage and thigh. But it’s very modern, with ruffled fabric that makes the other parts of her look bulky and insulated.

“Trying something new?”

Cecille nods, “Oui, Adele describe it as “trendy,” but I am not so sure.”

“You could make a paper bag look good Cecille.”

“Is it a paper bag? Or is it a wonderful dress?” She asks.

“It’s wonderful.”

Satisfied, she nods and twirls in place. The droopy eyed modeller that you’d woken up to having been replaced by a woman in a position of immense responsibility. “What are we doing today?”

You pull out the itinerary, a piece of paper that your assistant prepares every evening, “Hm, nothing urgent has come up since yesterday. We can check in on the town, and Adele would like to see you.”

“Ah, I should thank her for such a wonderful gift,” Cecille claps her hands together and smiles. She glides over and takes your arm in her own. You walk through the corridors of the manor towards Adele’s room.