Chapter Text
Victor wakes again as he had for the last few weeks, sweat-damp and heart racing. Another dream of burning in that damned tower. He rolls over to look out the balcony doors, searching for the stranger who has been leaving plants outside his doors. There is no stranger to greet him outside his door this morning, just another piece of flora.
Victor sighs. It has been a full week of waking in the morning to find these 'gifts'. He is still unsure of what to make of it. There had been a leaf on the first day, then the next, basil was left. On the third day, there was nothing; the fourth day, a pressed petunia and another leaf. On the fifth day, another autumn leaf. The sixth day gave him two pressed flowers, a hyacinth, and a pansy. The seventh day, yesterday, there was a pressed honeysuckle.
The flowers have to mean something to someone, but why leave them at his door? He surely doesn't understand what they mean. Perhaps… no, he hasn't been to that part of the library in years, decades even. But maybe, maybe it will hold the answers he's after.
Victor grabs his robe and ties it tightly about himself. He steadies himself with his crutch and makes his way to retrieve the newest 'gift'. He reaches the door and recognizes the flower immediately this time. It is a protea; his mother had liked these flowers. She had them imported a few times when he was younger. She had loved how unique they had looked compared to the other flowers that had often adorned the halls.
He pulls himself back to the present and opens the balcony doors. He bends down and grabs the flower with trembling hands. He clutches the flower close and closes the doors. He moves over to the desk drawer where he has kept all of the other 'gifts'. Victor sits for a moment, puzzling over the possible meanings of these flowers.
Victor stands in the large library of the Frankenstein estate. He moves slowly past shelf after shelf of books until he finds the far corner of the library, untouched in decades and full of dust. His finger slowly traces over the shelf, searching for the old, worn book. Finally, his finger grazed the worn red spine; the gilded letters faded. He pulls the book free from the shelf, The Language and Poetry of Flowers.
He moves towards a nearby seat and sets down the floral identification book he had brought with him, and the book he now holds in his hands. He flips open the pages of the identification book, revealing the 'gifts' that have been left for him. Victor does not care for the leaves and sets them aside. He grabs the second gift, the basil. He carefully flips through the worn book and finds basil.
Hate
Hate? Who would hate Victor enough to leave it plainly at his door? Who holds such contempt for him?
Rather than get pulled off into this line of questioning, Victor turns to the next flower —the petunia, anger, resentment. Were all these flowers just thinly veiled hate notes? Did someone truly detest him so? With anger simmering in his gut, he moved on to the next gift, a pair of flowers. The first a hyacinth. Please forgive me. Strange after the last two flowers. The second one, a pansy. You occupy my thoughts. This is becoming strange, but the flowers were paired together. Is there something else here?
Victor flips through the book once more, arriving back at the hyacinth. There at the bottom, paired with a pansy, it means… a betrayal haunts you.
What?
With confusion now replacing his anger, Victor quickly looked up the last two flowers. Honeysuckle, affection. Protea, transformation. These last two just made him even more confused. He spread everything in front of him and took a nearby piece of parchment, and began writing everything down.
Day 1: That blazing autumn leaf
Day 2: Basil, hate
Day 3: Nothing
Day 4: Petunia, resentment, and another leaf
Day 5: Yet another leaf
Day 6: The hyacinth and the pansy, a betrayal haunts you
Day 7: Honeysuckle, affection
Day 8: Protea, transformation
Victor was so absorbed in the paper and flora that surrounded him that he hardly heard the soft click of the library door closing. The still softer click of foot steps approaching him.
"You've missed lunch."
The soft voice of Elizabeth brings Victor out of his head.
"I've been busy," Victor looks up only a moment to see that Elizabeth is carrying a small tray.
"You really should be in your room resting; it's barely been two months."
Elizabeth sets the tray down, revealing a small bowl of soup and a glass of milk.
"At least take a break from whatever it is you are doing and eat something. I'm sure that you know how negatively malnutrition would benefit you, Doctor."
Elizabeth almost spits the last word, like it was poison on her tongue. She was not here for plesantries, only to ensure that Victor would not wither away.
"Yes, yes. I will eat when I get to it. You can just leave it there." He looks up to wave her off, but is caught by her staring at the assortment of flora currently littering the table.
"Where did you get these?" Elizabeth's voice was barely above a whisper. Her finger gently ghosting one of the leaves.
"They've all been left outside my balcony doors. It has been happening for the last week, and I have no idea who is doing so. That is why I'm here, I'm trying to find out who may have done this." Victor gestures widely to the table and its scattered contents.
"Those leaves… they. Wait here a moment, I will be back." With that, Elizabeth turns and quickly makes her way out of the library.
Victor looks back to where she exited, his confusion keeping steady in all the mess. He turns back to the table and picks up the first leaf that had been left for him. He turns it in his hand as he had that first morning. What about the leaves did Elizabeth see that he did not? He set the leaf back down on the table and looked out one of the large windows. Hoping and searching for something that would give him answers.
The large door to the library opens once more and closes with a less gentle click than the first time. followed by the much quicker foot steps of Elizabeth. This time, she is holding a small book. She opens it and pulls out a strikingly similar leaf to the two that Victor has. Victor opens his mouth to say something, but is stopped when Elizabeth speaks first.
"I thought they looked familiar," She says softly, holding her leaf next to one of Victor's.
"Yes, they are all maple leaves, reddened by autumn," Victor rolls his eyes at the obvious comparison. "Where did you even get that anyway?"
"The tower. Your creature had given it to me," Elizabeth turns her head to look away, but Victor catches the look of sadness in her eyes.
"Why ever did you keep it? It's just a leaf." Victor sneered.
Elizabeth holds her leaf closer to herself, "To you it may seem like just a leaf, but to me it was a gift. And one does not throw away a gift." The look of disdain returns to her gaze.
"So what, you truly believe my creature to have survived? To have been able to find me? That's absurd." Victor looks back down at the mess on the table.
"Yes, that is what I believe. I believe him to have escaped and found you. How do you not think this is possible?" She tucks the leaf back into the book. "You told us about how he had healed over a cut from a razor. Is it truly impossible to you that he survived?"
Victor feels the frustration growing; he does not want to think about his creation any longer. It was madness that led him where he is now. He does not wish that madness to come back; it ruined him before. What would it do now? He stood abruptly from the table.
"You foolish woman! You saw what I had done to that tower, what that tower did to me." He motions to the stump where his right leg had once been. "If the product of my madness had truly survived, I don't think it would leave flowers and leaves at my door. If it is smart enough to have found me, it should then be smart enough to end my life."
Elizabeth looks at him, eyes glassy and brows furrowed. Before Victor can get another word out, her hand strikes him. She's slapped him.
"I will not have you speak to me in such a way," She raises her voice, not quite yelling but loud enough to get through Victor. "See to it that you eat something." And with that final comment, she turns and leaves Victor in the library. The soft click of her foot steps fading away.
He is in the lab again. The storm still rages overhead. His experiment lies on the table, no discernible heartbeat. It is a failure. He angrily pounds on the chest of his creation and screams into the vast night.
He leaves the failure still strapped to the table and returns to his room. He pulls his soaked shirt off and throws it to the floor before crawling into bed. He stares at his angel, knowing he failed it. He feels it staring back at him. Its fiery gaze draws him to sleep. It feels like he had only just closed his eyes when he is awoken by the loud crash of lightning.
He stares out into the darkness of his room. He can feel eyes on him. There is another crash of lightning, and he sees it. Standing just inside the doorway, his creation. But there is something wrong; Victor feels paralyzed. Blood seeps from its mismatched pieces. It takes a step closer, and lighting illuminates it once more. This was not his madness; this was something different, something wrong, a devil.
Victor looks about his bed, trying to find something that he can use to protect himself. There is nothing; he is left defenceless. He moves back against the headboard, trying to get as far away from this thing as he can. It's at the end of his bed now, breathing heavily and staring at him. Its eyes are different from that original morning; there's something darker in them now.
"No, no. Don't come any closer." Victor's voice, barely above a whisper.
He feels the bed dip at the end, and the wood creaks under the mass of his creation. Victor draws his knees up, trying to create more distance between himself and it. It begins to move towards him.
"No, stop! I said don't come any closer."
A low growl emits from the creature. Victor feels like prey caught in a trap. The creature is upon him, and he feels its chilled breath on his cheek. It reaches a cold hand out and touches him.
He screams.
"NO!" Victor screams and sits up in bed, his sweat slick hair sticking to his face.
His breathing is ragged as he looks around. And there it is, at the right of his bed. He creation stands there, covered in furs and ratty clothing. Its eyes hold fear in them, the right one reflecting an orange light.
"You. My nightmares come to life. Have you come to kill me? Rid this world of my breath?" Victor speaks, his voice still shaking in fear.
It doesn't say anything. It brings its arms closer to its body, appearing to make itself smaller. It shrinks away from Victor.
"What? Can't you speak? Surely if you were smart enough to find me, you would be smart enough to speak."
Victor looks at his creation, its eyes are sad, and it is looking at the ground. Victor notices something in one of its hands, more flowers. He recognizes one of them, yarrow. He had used it a few times in practice. The other, he is unfamiliar with.
"Ah, so it has been you. You have been the one leaving the flora at my door." His gaze settles on the flowers.
"Yes." The creature responds, voice low and rough with disuse.
"So you can speak," Victor says quietly as if he were keeping it to himself. "Why are you here then? Surely you're not here just to leave flowers and leaves."
"I am alone, and I cannot die." The creature slowly looks at Victor.
"So you've come seeking companionship? Family? A home?" Victor tilts his head as the words leave his mouth. He studies the expressions passing on the creature's face.
"You are all I know in this world, Victor." The creature reaches out his hand with the flowers and sets them down on the bed next to Victor.
Hearing his name come from his creation's mouth once more causes something in him to crumble. His breathing stops, and it feels like the world has paused. He can feel his blood pumping in his ears. He feels everything and nothing all at once. He thinks back to the last time he had heard his it say his name. A choked sound comes from him. He clumsily slides off the bed onto the floor in front of his creation.
"Oh, god. I. I am so sorry." Victor cries; he stares down at the floor.
The tears blur his vision, and he doesn't notice that his creation has joined him on the floor until he sees his mismatched hand slowly reach out. Victor grabs his hand with both of his and looks up.
"I am so srry. I failed you. I failed in every way imaginable." Tears stream down his face. "Can you find it in you to forgive me?" Victor reaches a hand out and cups the side of his creation's face.
The creature leans into the touch. A soft purr emitting from him. His own tears spill down his cheeks.
"My creation, my masterpiece, will you forgive your creator?" Victor rubs his thumb along his cheekbone.
"Yes. My creator, Victor, I forgive you."
Day 9: Yarrow and hawthorn, hope that things will get better