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When Frankenstein was born, the people in his village knew that he was someone they should shun. The line of squiggles on his arm instead of a proper symbol was proof of that. There must be something wrong with him. How could anyone have a soul mark like that?
Frankenstein was just three summers old when a man from the city came. The priest had heard about the mark on his arm and wished to see it for himself.
Frankenstein watched as the old, gnarled hands reached out slowly, as if avoiding startling an animal, and unwrapped the cloth around the mark. His mother had always insisted that he keep it covered so that people didn’t have to see it.
The smile on the man's face dropped as soon as he saw it and he stepped back in horror.
“Demon script!” he gasped out.
The old hands wrapped around his cross as he started to mumble prayers under his breath, backing out of the room. His Mother cried out and Frankenstein could see tears falling from her eyes. His Father looked at him like he was the Devil himself. Turning his back on them, Frankenstein fled from the room and into the woods.
By the time he was eleven summers old, he had learned why it was that his mark was viewed in such a bad light and why people avoided him as if he had a death curse. It was unique, different from all the other human soul marks he had seen. He did not hold it against them for ostracizing him. In fact he had worked hard to make up for what it - what he - had put his parents through.
Frankenstein had moved to a little house that he had built himself on the outskirts of the woods. It had been hard work, but even at such a young age, his hands had been gifted in making things, just as his mind had been quick to learn.
He studied the plants and learned from whoever would teach him about herbs and healing. Studying and writing notes by candlelight after a long day’s work, he augmented his ever growing knowledge by experimenting on small animals and sometimes on himself.
By his fifteenth summer, the villagers would tramp out to his little hut in search of his medical help. He could make drinks that would help people sleep or stay awake if they had work to do. He generally had better ointments to put on cuts and scrapes to stop infection than those that were readily available.
It was just as he was setting animal traps that he heard the commotion down in the village. When he arrived, he was surprised to find creatures with off-colored skin attacking and killing people. He picked up his hunting knife and moved stealthily, sticking to the shadows.
Frankenstein found his calling when he took up a dropped sword and realized he could keep up with the monsters that were too fast for the village men. His quick mind helped in predicting how to move, even though he felt clumsy, as he had never trained before.
At the end of that night, over half the villagers had died. Even as Frankenstein hurried around with his medical supplies, trying to save as many as possible, he could still hear the whispers.
Some of the living had seen him moving too fast or moving objects that should have been too heavy for a human. Their fear went to their heads and hysteria spread. The next night they rallied in the village, blaming him for somehow calling the monsters to them.
As they started to march their way to his house, Frankenstein could see the ill intentions in their minds. He packed quickly and fled with only that which he could carry on the back of a horse that had lost its owner the previous night.
Decades went by and as time passed, Frankenstein traveled. As he wandered he learned to read and write, but no matter what city he came to and no matter how many human languages he deciphered, he could never find any script that matched his mark.
He wasn’t sure exactly when, but after a number of years, Frankenstein found himself looking at his reflection and came to the conclusion that he hadn’t aged. He already knew that he healed faster than other humans and in fact even faster than some of the mutants he caught.
What Frankenstein didn’t know was how his own healing compared to the race that called themselves Nobles, but now he wished to find out.
He was in the process of going through one of the Noble’s minds, trying to gather any information he could use. If he could just find a way to keep Nobles away from the humans, or find out why they kept creating mutants, then maybe they could come to an understanding.
Suddenly, he caught a flash of a very familiar script that had him pulling out from the Noble's mind, his hand moving to rip the leather guard from his arm.
“What does this say?” he demanded, shoving it in the hapless Noble's face.
The Noble froze at the sight, eyes widening in horror. It wasn’t a look he had seen on many Nobles. They were often too prideful and always assumed that Frankenstein wouldn’t (or couldn't) kill them, despite the fact that they had harmed others.
“Please, let me go! I didn’t know. I’m sorry. Just kill me now.”
Frankenstein was shocked. Not once had one of the Nobles ever begged.
Curious, he looked back into the Noble's mind.
Cadis Etrama Di Raizel will kill me for this. I touched the Noblesse's other half! He will surely kill me very slowly for such a sin.
“Cadis Etrama Di Raizel,” Frankenstein spoke slowly, watching the Noble grow still. “Who is he and where do I find him?”
Resignation and defeat were scrawled across the Noble's face.
“I will take you to him.”
Maybe if I help, the Noblesse will go easy on me?
Frankenstein only smiled.
The Noble led him back to their home island, which Frankenstein had known about, but had never visited. They snuck passed the guards and up to a large mansion. He didn’t need to confirm that this was the place. The Noble’s body language gave it away.
Pulling out the Dark Spear, he ran the Noble through without hesitation, leaning forward to whisper in his ear, “This is for the village your mutants killed.”
A second Noble approached as the last of the Dark Spear vanished. Frankenstein looked up, expecting a fight... and felt his breath catch. Never had he seen a living soul with such exquisite beauty. Frankenstein had met many lovely creatures on his travels, but one glance at the high cheek bones, creamy pale skin and sad crimson eyes that seemed to gaze into his very soul and he was quite beside himself.
How had that Noble pronounced those words?
“Cadis Etrama Di... Raizel?”
The Noble nodded, once.
Pulling up his sleeve, he showed the raven-haired beauty the script on his arm. The script he had hated and feared all his life. The script he had assumed was nefarious in origin. The script that had lead him right here, right now.
“I’m Frankenstein.”
Crimson eyes opened wide even as the exquisite being raised his own arm and carefully pulled back his white lace sleeve. Frankenstein's heart skipped a beat at the sight of his own name.
He couldn't help it, after all those agonizing years of waiting, wondering... He closed the distance between them and cupped a hand to the Noble's cheek. Relief poured off Frankenstein in waves, alleviation of the burden he had always carried, having resigned himself to spending his entire life alone.
“So sorry to have kept you waiting.”
Frankenstein dropped to one knee and kissed the hand of the one who would complete his soul.