Chapter Text
Later, Elizabeth would feel guilt that on her wedding day, her almost every thought was turned towards a man other than the one she was marrying. As it was, on the night itself, her mind was spinning so much with all she had seen and heard that it was a miracle that she made it all the way through her vows without stumbling.
What a miracle had been bestowed upon her - what a gift, that her lost friend had found his way back to her side, after such calamity. What sorrow, that all he had suffered was writ so clearly across his expressive face. Those large pained eyes, dark and glowing, had looked upon her with such impassioned feeling that she had scarcely known how to cope with it, and when she had touched him, his warm patchwork skin, he had turned into the contact the way a flower turns towards the sun.
He was still so strange, and still so beautiful. Still so sad.
Soon, Elizabeth would find the two of them time and privacy, and beg that he should tell her all she had missed of his life, good and bad. She would celebrate his joys, and console his losses. And then, she would turn her hand to the work she had promised him, and do her utmost to find him the solution he craved.
Of course, in that solution lay a dozen more problems, not least of which was the question - should she do it? To grant another life, to build it with two hands from those who had lived and loved and died before, to borrow flesh and blood and bone from bodies that had once been people with thoughts and dreams and ideas, and with them create someone new - who was she to attempt that? What right did she have?
She had not Victor’s arrogance and conceit, his ability to move through the world and expect it to bend to his whim, to wade uncaring through the bodies of others and see them only as parts ripe for the taking. She cared far too deeply to be capable of that.
Not to mention, the logistics of it all. Elizabeth remembered the long weeks and months that William had spent toiling at the tower, the vast batteries and intricate instruments he had overseen the construction of. The nature and purpose of these things, Elizabeth had only vague understanding of - energy had been a most vital component of the process, in vast quantities from both man-made and natural sources, directed with incredible precision through a myriad of needles - Victor had often expounded on his research in their time together, his harnessing of Eastern qi to enable the flow of energy; but he had spoken in simpler terms as one does to a layperson, and likely edited away the true gore of the process, as men ought to when speaking with a lady.
Gore had never bothered her, not even when she was young, but society demanded its rules be followed, and for all his grandstanding, outside of his ideas of his own superiority, Victor was very much a creature of society.
No, the process would be obscure and delicate, and Elizabeth fretted that she would find herself unable to replicate it, whether through lack of finances or lack of knowledge.
But no-one could be expected to live their life alone. The very thought of such loneliness as that which faced the Creature brought ice into Elizabeth’s heart. To know that you are the only one of your kind, to have experienced the ostracisation that your otherness brings, to have years and decades and centuries of such pain and sorrow stretching out before you, unending - surely that was hell in its most literal form.
And he did not request a specific person - he had not asked for someone bound within the constraints of the words wife or child. Companion, he had said, open and yearning, without any design of ownership.
Everyone deserved to have such a person, surely?
The Creature certainly did, and if it took all of Elizabeth’s life to achieve, she was determined to do it.
“Dearest?” A gentle touch to her elbow started her out of her musings, and she looked up to meet Williams' loving eyes.
He stood next to her chair at the high table, the dishes from their extravagant wedding feast all whisked away by efficient servants, his hand outstretched.
“Would you do me the honour of our first dance together, as husband and wife?”
Forcibly putting the events of earlier from her mind, Elizabeth smiled and placed her hand in his.
“It would be my pleasure,” she said, then, conspiratorially, “husband.”
Williams' already bright smile grew ever larger, and he swept her out onto the dance floor as the band struck up a romantic waltz.
Dear William, who had been so good to her. When they had first met, introduced by her Uncle Heinrich, she had expected him to be much the same as the other young men of her acquaintance - snobbish and superior, charming only when they wanted something and entirely uninterested in her as a person.
Instead, William had been quiet and a little nervous, and appeared genuinely interested in all she had to say, which in turn encouraged her to say more.
On the first evening of their acquaintance, they had whiled away several hours, speaking of family and duty and the things that they did to pass the time, and when her uncle had finally interrupted them to drag William back into talk of business, his clever eyes had glanced between them with a matchmakers delight.
Was it love, that Elizabeth felt? She confessed that she was not entirely sure. Fondness, most certainly. Respect and friendship, the kind that she had rarely found in others, being herself both quiet and odd. Whatever it was that hummed warmly in her heart when she looked at her new husband, it was leagues more than she had ever dared hope for when she was first exposed to the perils of the marriage market and the seemingly endless parade of boors and rakes contained therein.
“You’ve been a little distant this evening, my dear,” William said as they swept across the dance floor. “You are not having second thoughts, I hope?”
A laugh bubbled up from Elizabeth’s chest.
“You have heard all of my second thoughts, and my third and fourth thoughts as well,” she replied, very deliberately not glancing over at the corner where Victor was sat, cradling a glass of wine, disheveled and glassy-eyed and blessedly silent.
“You let me talk myself out of and back into this marriage in my own time, with no judgement at all, and for that, I will forever be grateful.”
“My only wish is for you to be happy,” William said earnestly. “I know that no-one may live a full life without regrets, but I never wished to be one of yours. That we have been through all we have, and you are still here, at my side, is a greater gift than any I could have asked for.”
A lump came into Elizabeth’s throat at that, and she pressed ever closer to him, hoping to communicate with her body what her words could not express.
Eventually, the evening came to a close. The guests departed with well wishes and knowing looks that caused Elizabeth’s face to grow warm and pink, and when the last of their friends and acquaintances and distant relations had closed the door behind them, William took Elizabeth’s hand once more and led her upstairs to her bedroom.
With tender hands, he helped her remove her veil and gown and underthings, and she returned the favour. He moved slowly, which she was grateful for, and, upon laying her down on the silk sheets, produced from his pocket a little bottle of oil, which, blushing, he explained might be used to make her more comfortable on this, her first time with a man.
In the end, the experience was a little awkward and a little painful, but William was so sweet and so careful in his ministrations that it could not be called bad by any stretch of the imagination, and as they were lying together afterwards, warm skin to warm skin, Elizabeth found herself feeling surprisingly content with the world.
“Are you alright?” William murmured from his place on her breast, the movement and heat of his mouth an intriguing sensation on that previously untouched flesh.
She smiled softly to herself, petting through his hair with curious fingers. How strange, she thought, that she had twice today buried her hands in a man’s hair, and twice had them push into it like the most loving of cats. How odd, that women touching men - touching them at all, with no lustful intent - was considered so taboo, when men themselves seemed to long so ardently to be touched.
“I am well,” she responded quietly. Pausing in her rhythmic stroking of his head, she touched his chin gently with her thumb, and, once his attention came to rest on her face, asked him mischievously, “Which woman have I to thank, that you were so able to comfortably see me through my first marital act?”
William shot upwards.
“Elizabeth!” He hissed, scandalised, and she laughed, far too loudly for the late hour.
“Oh, come now my dearest William. Surely you may tell your wife of such things?”
Blushing horribly in the low light, William spluttered out “I cannot - I - it is not- not proper!”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at him, not unkindly.
Williams' eyes darted around the room as though searching for some excuse to wriggle away from such an uncomfortable topic. Of course, none were forthcoming , and he finally slumped back down into the pillow of Elizabeth’s breasts, and mumbled defeatedly into them, “Evangeline.”
“Evangeline,” Elizabeth repeated. “A lovely name - for a lovely lady?” And she poked at Williams ribs until he peeked back out at her. Seeing that she would give him no quarter, he sighed heavily, and began to speak.
“That was the name that she gave me - she was an actress, you understand?” At Elizabeth’s nod, he continued. “We met while I was a student in Vienna. I was lucky enough to catch her attention when I attended one of her plays, and I became her patron for a little while. She accompanied me around the city, and showed me… some of the - pleasures of life, and I helped to ensure that she could live comfortably, when she was between roles.”
“What happened to her?” Elizabeth asked curiously.
“Oh,” William said, “She caught the eye of a Count, who was far richer and more interesting than myself, and as I was entering properly into the world of finance and needed to appear more - respectable - the two of us parted ways quite amiably.”
“I am glad,” Elizabeth said sincerely. William looked a little put out.
“You are not even a little jealous?” He asked plaintively.
Elizabeth giggled.
“I am afraid not. You see, in order to be jealous, I would have to be worried that you were not entirely mine, and I am afraid that I have no concerns at all.”
“Well,” William said, trying not to look too pleased. “I suppose that is alright, then.”
From the floor above them, a loud thump rang out, followed by a cut off cry, and William sat up immediately.
“Victor,” he said, sounding worried. “He drank so much, and with his leg -“ Pulling away from Elizabeth, leaving her skin cold in the absence of his warmth, he stood from the bed and reached for his dressing gown.
“William?” She asked, though she knew what he was going to do.
“I am just going to check on him,” he reassured her, and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I will not be long. Try and get some rest, dearest - it is very late.”
Watching as he hurried from the room, Elizabeth sighed, and stood to don her own dressing gown. Though she was not glad to have her husband pulled from her side on their wedding night, she could not deny that she was grateful for the opportunity to complete the task that had been percolating in the back of her mind all evening.
Taking a candle over to her writing-desk, she took out a fresh sheet of paper and a pen, sitting down to write her promised letter to the Creature, who was waiting so patiently somewhere out there in the cold.
My dear friend,
I must be brief in writing this, for I do not know how long I have alone. At the north end of the grounds there is an empty cottage that once belonged to the groundskeeper. The last man who resided there retired several months ago, and a replacement for him has not yet been found. I frequently go there to read and draw in peace, and so may meet you there under no suspicion from the others in this house.
Tomorrow, I shall make my way there about an hour before sunset, when my husband will be seeing to correspondence in his study.
With greatest affection,
Elizabeth.
There. That would serve, at least until tomorrow when she could again sit in his presence and talk of all she had missed and all he had seen - and all that they must do, to achieve what they were setting out to do.
Humming quietly to herself, Elizabeth laid down her pen and blew on the ink to dry it before folding the letter neatly into a little square, sealing it with a dab of candlewax. She stood and made her way over the window, the very same one which had brought her miraculous visitor to her, all those hours ago. Pushing it open, she shivered at the gust of air that curled icy fingers around her neck and ankles, leaning out to tuck her precious missive into the praying hands of the angel statue that stood guard over her room.
Her tired eyes swept over the distant trees, made light and ghostly by the snow that covered their bare branches and reflected back the lunar glow of the waxing gibbous moon, which caused the shadows to all appear darker and more mysterious in comparison.
He was out there, somewhere. Alone in the cold, and her heart ached to think of it. Her eyes fruitlessly scanned the shadows, wondering if even now he was waiting and watching - a sudden flash of movement, and her breath caught - but it was only a barn owl, swooping out of the forest to hunt on silent wings.
Shivering in the chill, eyelids drooping, Elizabeth closed the window, resting her hand on the latch.
“Goodnight,” she murmured, and wished that, wherever the Creature was, her sentiments would somehow reach him, and bring him comfort.