Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The rain lashed against the windows of the apartment in thick sheets. A brilliant flash of light cut through the sky. The entire building shuddered in the resounding boom of thunder, cloaked again in darkness.

"Come on," the student muttered, frantically checking the apparatuses around the copper tub. Wires and tubing hung haphazardly around the room. Batteries and fluids in glass and metal canisters were arranged all around the cramped living quarters, the lines leading from them to a great copper tub. Inside the tub lay The Experiment.

The pride of the Ingolstadt student lay in the copper tub, lifeless. Dead.

"This is it," Frankenstein muttered. "Waldman insisted this was best left to God. No - this is within man's grasp. I can claim it! Life and Death are ours to control!" He breathed heavily, rearranging a part of the great apparatus. A patchwork of skin. Tight, steady stitches holding all its parts together.

"My Opus Magnum..." he said, trailing a hand along its cheek, lightly tracing one of his lines of stitches. Victor had chosen only the best. An esteemed nose, pearly teeth. The tongue of a lawyer sat in his creation's mouth. Dark, lustrous locks covered its scalp. Only the best.

The building shook again as the storm quickened.

"Come on," Victor muttered, casting his eyes out the window at the horizontal sheets of rain. "This storm's supposed to be the one," he muttered through clenched teeth. He'd checked on his arrangements before the storm had begun. He'd studied the meteorological data. He set up his rod on the roof, based on the designs of D. Devis and M. Franklin. "I insulated the wires; the electricity should be sufficient..."

He offered up a silent prayer - a petition for success.

The lightning struck.

The thunder boomed.

The metal tub blinded him with light.

Blinking hard, he rubbed his furiously. He couldn't see. He needed to see. He needed to see for himself what happened! He looked upon the tub. In it, his creation twitched and jerked. One agonized hand gripped the side. He gasped. Victor could hear the metal groan as it deformed under his creation's grasp.

Then, the eyes opened, and it cast its watery gaze on him.

"My God. I did it. It lives," he breathed, a mad smile on his face, his own eyes wide at his success.

"Pulse, I need to check its pulse!" he said, fumbling to quickly feel the beat. "56 beats per minute; weak, but steady." He swallowed, moving a hand to its face, pulling back a lid. "Pupils dilated," he flitted back to the pulse. "No... 32... growing weaker..." he pulled back, running a hand through his short hair.

Another brilliant flash.

The creature's mouth was wide in a rictus grin, and its back arched again with the influx of the shock. The creature itself seemed to groan as its lungs forced air out, ever muscle contracting. Victor scrambled, willing his eyes to see again. "Don't you dare die on me! I give you life! Me! My gift to the world is life!" he barked at the creature.

As the energy abated, it slumped.

"No..."

Then, its hands gripped the side of the tub and pulled. The copper twisted again. It slipped hard back into the tub. Victor rushed back to its side. It was still breathing. Weak little huffs, but life ran through it yet.

It continued to pull itself up, its eyes clenched closed in a grimace of agony.

Then, it opened them, casting its watery gaze upon him.

"My God. It lives," he breathed, his own grin slipping from his face as the true enormity of his accomplishment came crashing down upon him.

He'd wrenched life from the hands of God. He'd succeeded. He'd succeeded.

"Ah -" the creature breathed, reaching out a hand, every muscle tight with rictus from the energy of the lightning that was now coursing through its veins. Reaching to him. To grab him. To harm him?

Victor's heart was in his throat as he took a step back, stumbling into a stool. He twisted as he fell, a jumble of bony limbs, wooden legs and shattered glass. A gasp escaped his lips as the air was forced out of his lungs by the fall. Swallowing deep his choking saliva, he blinked back into sobriety, his gaze falling upon his creation.

Suddenly, he couldn't breathe. The thing was lying, twitching in the tub, and he couldn't breathe. He needed air - fresh air! None of this stale, dank miasma that choked him in his apartment. He fled into the storm.

The creature blinked slowly, every bit of its form in utter agony. The lightning that brought life to its form had set every synapse on fire. Its very blood burned, but it had not the means to douse the painful flame.

It grasped the edge of its metal womb, pain lending strength to its grip. It breathed a shuddering breath and hoisted itself upright.

The simple bit of cloth its creator had left on him - whether for its own modesty or the innocence of his creator - fluttered to the floor in a white heap.

He scanned the room. There had been another presence there, someone watching over him. Where was that person? Could they help? Did they know him?

He found the other presence scrambling to its feet, a strange expression on its face.

It was not a kind expression. It was not love.

Achingly, he reached out for the other person. Help me. Lead me. Show me.

He moved to exit the copper womb, slipping in the slick mess of its innards. He staggered, a flurry of limbs, reaching and grasping and flailing. Couldn't he just stand? His muscles ached with his every endeavor. He groaned in pain.

He heard something shuffle. He looked.

There, stumbling, crawling away from him. A creature with dark hair, wearing long garments - there, it skirted away from him.

He gritted his teeth, forcing one leg, then the other, over the side of the copper tub. He wobbled, trying to find his balance, before collapsing to the floor.

Move, he urged himself. He reached one arm, then another, and dragged himself across the floor. For every meter he gained, the other placed just as much in distance. Would he never be able to catch up?

A brilliant light flashed through the air outside the room, and a thunderous boom shook the floor he stood on. His body reacted violently to the latent energy of the air. he froze, every muscle again contracting. He grunted in pain as the stitches and muscles strained and tore, Pus wept from his wounds.

Help me, he pleaded with his eyes, dragging himself toward the other in the room.

It scrambled to its feet and fled.

He was alone.

Alone!

And the pain! It still hurt so bad! Would no one help him? Please?

He continued dragging himself, seeing a portal - another area? Safety?

He wept, blood, pus, and tears all at once and he continued dragging his wounded form. There, in the center of the new area, was something large and soft appearing.

Could he bring himself to it? Drag himself up? Would it be worth the effort?

He still had the energy to try.

Gritting his teeth, pain through every synapse, he pulled on the soft cloth, hoisting himself onto the soft surface.

If he shut his eyes... would he be able to open them again? Or would he return to that great emptiness? He was so tired...

He fought to keep them open, but the pain was so much.

Would it be the end to close them?

Would he still be there if he did?

Exhaustion overtook him.

Victor stumbled through the stormy streets of Ingolstadt. He raked a hand through his wet locks, flinging droplets into the downpour. "God..." Victor bit out, his eyes bloodshot. The tears were indistinguishable from the rain.

He'd fled so quick, he'd left his cloak at home. The rain had quickly soaked through his waistcoat and shirt, and it was November and he was freezing. But he couldn't go back. Not with what was in his apartment. Not with what he'd done.

"Unless... Henry?" he muttered, bile rising in his throat.

Henry always brought clarity. His dear friend was in the flat below his own. His dear friend whom he'd shunned for two years.

Could he make amends?

Would Henry still accept him?

His stomach flipped.

He gritted his teeth, hot tears streaming down his face. He groaned.

"God, Christ; Why?" he sobbed, rubbing a hand across his face. He looked up, toward where he presumed his apartment to be. He could hardly see it, the rain was falling so heavily.

Yes, he'd shunned his friend for many months, but perhaps now was time? He could make amends. He had to make amends. No could. No try.

Henry would help him think. He must gain clarity of mind.

He made up his mind, heaving quietly into a park bush. He breathed in a deep breath, futilely wiping the rain and bile off his face. He made haste back to his building, shaking himself dry like a dog as he entered the building's vestibule.

He hastened up the stairs, light footfalls echoing in the empty stairwell.

Then, arriving at his friend's floor, he stopped.

This was it.

Henry would open the door. He had to.

He knocked. Hard. Fast.

God, please come. Don't leave me. Don't desert me.

Nothing.

Darkness all around him, and there was nothing.

He sobbed, his heart leaping back into his throat.

He would have to deal with what was Up There alone.

Suddenly, there was shuffling in the room behind the door, and the locks clicked open.

"Victor?" the blond said, squinting his eyes in the dark, a lone candle in a hand. His voice was a harsh whisper. "What the devil are you doing at this hour? It's scarcely 3!"

"Oh, Clerval, my dearest friend! I don't know whether to call it my greatest success or failure!" Victor said, the words pouring out. Henry waved his hands, gesturing for Victor to lower his voice, and he did, dropping his pitch to practically a whisper as his friend invited him into his apartment. Clerval lit lamps and stoked the fire on the stove, finding a tea kettle and setting it on the growing fire.

Maybe Clerval thought tea would help calm him, but what he'd done? Oh, this was more than simple tea could handle.

"The storm was perfect; everything was perfect! I don't know what went wrong. It is wrong!" Victor continued.

"You're going to have to start from the beginning, Victor. You've sequestered yourself up in your room for months. The devil have you been playing at? I've been watching those strange shipments come up the stairs and nothing come back down. You never answered my knocks; you never let me in," said Henry, leveling a tired, but clear, look at Victor.

Victor froze. He had neglected his friend. From the beginning? Could he? He swallowed, licking his lips. "My dearest Henry, you must understand - I was set upon a mission of greatest nobility. Dr. Waldman, he challenged that I could not. But I did!" Victor said, his eyes manic, before a great despair cast a shadow over his features. "Oh, God, I did it."

"What did you do, Victor?" Henry asked, gently laying a hand on his friend's forearm.

Victor flinched away from the contact. Henry looked quizzically at him.

"What did you do?"

"I - it was madness to even attempt, yet I did. I stitched every fiber of Its being together," Victor said, his voice shaky. "Dr. Waldman had put me to the task first. Little encouraging hypotheticals. We can renew life in plants - cut off the root and bury it, and a new onion springs forth! But animals - entirely different. We started with little experiments; tiny challenges. I started by making the muscles twitch. Inanimate, soulless pieces of meat; the thighs of a frog, of a chicken, of a cat; I learned how to apply electricity to make them kick anew.

"I -" Victor shook, first his head, but then his entire body quaked. "I sought to go further. I sought to go beyond. Dr. Waldman cautioned me, and now - now -!" Victor broke down into a fit of heaving coughs. The bile resurged. No! He would keep it down! He wouldn't further soil himself before his friend! He had to - he had to hold it together, just a little more! God! Henry sought to stabilize his friend with a hand to his back. "It's - It's upstairs. In my apartment. Help me get rid of It; help me destroy It," Victor pleaded to his friend.

Henry let Victor lead him up the stairs to the apartment. Victor was leaning heavily on him. How sick had his friend gotten in these two years? What happened to him? His hasty explanation explain nothing.

And every step, he could feel Victor grow heavier, his breath quickening, his skin clamming, his whole body quaking. The rain must've set a fever upon him.

They reached the door to his room, and found it open. Henry cast a look to his friend. Victor was pale as a ghost, a small inarticulate sound escaping his throat.

"Alright, my friend?"

Somehow, Victor grew paler.

"Come, we'll get you seated. Your bed, maybe?" asked Henry, pushing open the door.

He wasn't expecting what he saw.

What had he been working on?

It was a mess. It was like someone had come and taken all sorts of strange and occult items from every laboratory and every witch's lair and stuffed them into one room. Peculiarly, there was a massive copper tub in the center of the chaos, coated in a shiny sheathe of gore.

Oddest were the set of giant handprints embedded in the sides, as if the metalworker had taken the tub in hot, heated hands and warped the sides to his specifications.

His heart dropped.

"Oh my God, forgive me," Victor whispered.

"What am I supposed to be seeing here?" Henry asked, concern coloring his voice. "Is that blood?" Henry asked, pointing to the streak of gore leading from the tub to... Victor's bedroom? "There, on the floor," he said, moving closer. Red, rusty streaks coated the boards. Carefully, he squatted down, dipping his fingers into the rust and bringing them to his nose. Sniffing, Henry detected the iron. He cast a glance back at his friend before turning his attention back to the streaks heading into the side room.

"Victor, what have you done?"

Henry stood and slowly advanced to the side room. Something had dragged itself there. Something bleeding. Some thing.

Cautiously, Henry placed his hand on the door to the side room, and gave it a light push. It swung open without resistance.

There, on Victor's bed. It was quietly huffing, as though in pain. Its black hair clung to its neck; silky and slick with some fluid. Its eyes were closed, but its naked form, riddled with stitches where limb joined limb, lay on top of Victor's blankets. It's chest almost mechanically rising and falling. It was massive.

It was alive.

Henry turned to his friend. "Who is this man?" he asked, though he feared he already knew the answer.

"A monster, such that I should never have brought into the world," replied Victor.

Henry studied the creature more closely. It smelt of death; formaldehyde clung to it like a cologne. He drew nearer the creature's face. It bore a look of exhaustion, its mottled black lips parted, pearly teeth below. The stitches along its limbs, he saw, were weeping. And Victor made this.

"Victor - have you a cloth?" Henry asked softly.

He heard his friend rummaging behind him. "What for? To smother it?"

"No; there's some fluid along - your - stitching," Henry replied. It was strange to think the thing as "Victor's." He shook his head. "It must have hurt itself when you dragged it to your bed. I'm going to see if I can clean it up at all, but I would remind you that I am but a humble history student - medicine and physics have always been your field."

Henry heard Victor cough behind him. He turned to see Victor standing behind him, a cloth and a dark bottle.

"It's ethanol. It should help to sterilize the wounds," Victor said numbly, lifting the bottle.

"Thank you," Clerval said, accepting the items.

"Or you pour it into the things mouth and end it," Victor added.

Clerval shuddered at his friend's words. He held some of the cloth over the lid of the bottle and decanted some of the volatile liquid onto the cloth, taking it and dabbing away at the weeping pus and blood.

"You gave this poor bastard life. We'll not be killing anything until we've had a proper night's rest."

"It was dead to begin with; it wouldn't necessarily be a murder."

Henry wheeled on Victor. "Christ, Victor! What's gotten into you? I don't know the specifics, but believe me: I won't add murder on my soul at whatever ungodly hour this is because you don't want to deal with the consequences of your action! Shut up and help me!"

Victor stood silent. Perhaps that might have gotten through to him.

Henry worked quietly, the repetition of dabbing and blotting a soothing meditation. He could be calm. "You know," Clerval said, breaking the silence through a grimace, "medicine and physics was always your forte. Leave me to the libraries and books."

When Victor didn't respond, Henry paused in his own ministrations and turned. Victor was still incredibly pale, and his sweat - for much of the rain had dried in the dry heat of the room - lined his hairline. Henry sighed, setting the cleaning cloth neatly to the side of Victor's creature before turning to his friend.

"My dear Victor, we'll get you settled right as rain and we can talk more about," and he waved his hand in a gesture at the creature lying on the bed, "that, in the morning. I think it will be best if you slept down in my rooms," Clerval added, seeing as how Victor's eyes kept darting worriedly toward the creature lying on the bed. He'd make sure everything was locked up, and then he would let Victor sleep in his own bed. He could take the couch.

It looked like Victor hadn't had a good night's rest in some months time. Had he not slept well since they'd stopped speaking? He hoped it was but the shadows of the lamps accentuating the bags under his friend's eyes and general gauntness. He felt a weariness creeping upon his own self. What time was it now? Casting an unconscious look about the room, his eyes found the answer. 10 to 5. Christ. It'd gone right past late and straight to early. I'll end up sleeping through lecture, Clerval thought to himself wryly. We're supposed to be covering Volney in the morning...

Light filtered through the unwashed windows, dancing off motes of dust. The giant on the bed stirred. It hurt. But less? There's warmth...

He remembered hearing voices. They'd been communicating with each other, but not to him. What had they been saying? Would those voices ever talk to him?

Their cadence had been quick and hushed. Was there something he should be afraid of? Should he keep quiet and hushed now, too?

He took a deep breath.

His chest no longer ached so much. The lungs no longer burned when they swelled with air. His ribs still felt sharp, but not as much as before. His heart's every beat no longer held the electric shock that kept him moving earlier.

And the warmth - what was it? He'd been cold and in pain before he closed his eyes.

His eyes! He was here again! He didn't disappear!

He opened his eyes. For the first time, he could actually take in his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was the white cloth draped over his form. His long legs still stuck out at the end, falling off the edge of the softness, but the cloth? It was... nice. It kept him warm. It was good.

He tugged the cloth toward his face. It did not smell of himself. Something else. Warm tones. Sharp tones. Something faintly caustic that tingled his nose.

Taking another breath, he righted himself, his hands sinking into the soft plush of the thing under him, his bare feet sliding more firmly onto the wooden floor below. His face moved into the beam of light and warmth. He closed his eyes for a moment. He wouldn't disappear if he did. He could bask in the warmth of the ray.

He took another breath.

Carefully, he moved to stand. His muscles protested. His abdominal muscles were already revolting from the action of sitting upright. He collapsed on himself, banging an arm against the frame of the soft plush. It stung. But he wanted more of that warm beam. He grit his teeth and stood again.

This time, he wobbled, but found his balance. The muscles hurt. His entire core was protesting the movement. But he wanted to see the source of the warmth for himself.

Overcoming the pain, forcing one foot in front of the other, he tottered toward the light, letting himself fall onto the frame surrounding it. Wood. Sturdy. It supported him. Cautiously, he reached his hand to feel the inside panel. It was cold and hard. As he dragged a finger along, it left a smudged streak behind. He inspected his finger. It was covered in a layer of black and grey fluff. He rubbed his finger and thumb together. It didn't come off. He frowned. Was this mark now part of him forever? He looked at the portal and discovered there was a view through it. The light and warmth played differently through the streak he'd made; the picture on the other side somewhat sharper now.

Before him, stretching on and on, were seeming hundreds of geometric shapes, all ending in cheerful little red and black triangles. He tapped the pane. It vibrated. There was a notch in it. He slid a hand into the notch and pulled up.

The window rattled up, and he stumbled back in surprise. The ray of light was much clearer now, as were the shapes he'd seen, but there was something new. A cold permeated the room. And the noise! There were sounds coming from below! Moving back to the portal, he could feel a cool breeze chill across his flesh. He closed his eyes, letting the air wash over him, delighting in the strange sensation of tiny little muscles contracting. Curiously, he brushed a hand on his arm. The littles hairs continued standing upright. Shivering himself, he moved away from the window, back to the soft rectangle. The cloth. It was warm, he thought, draping the blanket over his shoulders.

He looked around the little room. The ceiling was of an adequate height; he had no need to hunch. Though, curious, he reached a hand up to feel the ceiling. It was firm and rough. Returning his gaze to the room around him, he quickly took inventory of his surroundings. A side table. The bed. A small table with a chair.

Curious, he sat in the chair. It was small for him. His knees came up and knocked against the top of the table, making a little feather jump and some papers scatter to the floor. It was not meant for him; it was constructed for someone much smaller than himself, much like the thing he'd slept on. Was nothing here suited for him?

He moved, angling himself just through the portal that led to the next room. It was much larger than the one he'd woken up in and in a complete state of disarray.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest; there was too much going on - there'd been electricity - pain - hurt - help - fear - alone!

He found himself curled up in a cornered. He'd shut his eyes. When did he do that? Why was he breathing so hard?

He dragged his hands through his black hair, letting the texture soothe him. This was his. This was him.

His hands. Those marks. What were they?

He breathed and looked up. The room around him was a mess. Shining shards littered the floor. Wooden things like those that had been in the other room were overturned. Papers were scattered everywhere.

In the center of it all was a copper tub.

It called to him, and he obeyed.

He followed its pull, stepping gingerly through the chaos.

Then, sharp pain! He staggered, reeling back from the bite. One arm quickly shot out to a random furniture piece for support, leaning his weight onto it while he brought the pained foot up for inspection.

There. A little sliver glinted at him. With clumsy fingers, he shifted his weight and picked the splinter out, holding the offending piece up to his eye for inspection. Strange, how such a tiny piece could sting. He cast his gaze back to his foot - even with the bit gone, the mark it left still stung and the pallid white flesh wept a deep burgundy red from where he plucked it.

He wiped it with the pad of his thumb.

A new bubble of red slowly started to form.

He furrowed his brows, licked the pad of his thumb and wiped again, this time holding the thumb to the wound for a few seconds.

He then removed his thumb, eyeing the wound, daring it to bleed.

The tiniest little dot of red formed.

He set his foot back to the ground.

Looking back around, he found himself at the great copper tub. It was a massive thing, and strong as it appeared, the sides of it were deformed. He traced a hand along the warping. Why did it fit his grip?

He shifted a foot, and felt himself slip a little on a piece of paper on the floor. He lifted his foot. A little blossom of red now stained the white page.

He bent to pick it up.

It was covered in a black ink which characters that swam in his vision. He blinked his eyes hard and tried to make sense of it, but the lettering refused to hold for him. He grimaced, letting the paper flutter to the floor as he stalked away, a little bloody footmark following him.

There was one more door.

He went to it and tried the handle. The knob turned, but the door refused to open.

He gave it a shove.

The door stood still.

He huffed. Was this all there was to be? These two rooms? From the window, he'd heard noise and commotion. Would he not be able to learn what was below? Was he destined to be stuck here? Alone? He moved back to the window, this time leaning out. It was a long drop to the ground. Could he survive a fall of that height? His limbs ached enough as it were...

He paced back to the door, looking at it more closely. The metal knob had something to do with it. He squatted, trying to see into the piece. He turned the knob, and saw a piece of metal shift between the frame and the door. He pushed and pulled, but the door did not move. He tried the mechanism again, watching the metal bit. In, and out. No, there, below it. There was another piece of metal that stood still. If he could find a way to get that bit to move he might -

He heard noise - feet plodding up the stairs, voices growing closer. Some primal fear spurred him to move. To hide.

Victor had passed out hard after Clerval brought him in from the storm. He felt cold, shivering under the sheets even though Clerval had stoked the heat. It was late when Clerval had set him to bed, considering that he'd sought his friend some time between the hours of late and early. He'd slept for a solid hour, dead to the world, but then it became fitful. He tossed and turned until, at last, he decided he could take no more of the bed. What a waste, thought Victor. Clerval could have used his own bed far better than I...

He stumbled into the still-dark sitting room, spying Henry dead asleep on the sofa. He glanced at the clock on the wall. 7:10. He knew Henry had an 8:00 seminar. With trembling hands, he placed some water to boil on the stove and a pan to fry some eggs and toast. At the very least, he could gift his friend a few extra moments of sleep. It was the least he could do. It could never repay him for his kindness, but he would at least make sure his friend was fed. God, what time did they even get to sleep last night? Victor ran a trembling hand through his hair. Why couldn't he stop shaking?

Not long enough, Clerval thought to himself as he continued to smell something. He winced. God, why does my back hurt? He blinked his eyes open. Ugh, too bright. He brought a hand to his face and let it fall over his eyes, in a vain attempt to block the light.

He sniffed the air again. Coffee?

He dragged his hand down his face and rolled over, cracking open his eyes. That was not his pillow. He was on his sofa? Why...? Victor.

He slowly got himself up, moving gingerly as the sofa killed his back. He was no longer as spry as he'd used to be.

"Victor?" he called out groggily.

"Clerval! Good! You're up - Quick, I made you breakfast. Here, eat, eat," said Victor, already moving a cup and plate to his seat at the small table.

"Vic- wait, wha- slow down! It's too early for all of this!" said Henry, his voice thick with exhaustion.

"Well, you have class in half an hour's time - I needed to make sure that you had something in your belly. Keep you focused and energized for whatever texts you're discussing now. No distractions, yes?"

Henry narrowed his eyes at his friend, his mind thinking but slowed by the lack of sleep. He ate a bite of eggs. Victor was here. For once, the man was here. He'd disappeared, holed up in his apartment for months. He took a sip of coffee. Why was he here now? What happened last night? Last night! The Experiment! Did that really happen? Had he really brought something to life?

"I need get to lecture, but don't think our conversation from last night is over," he said, leveling his gaze at Victor. "Whatever it is you've got in your room, if it is truly alive, you're to keep it as such until I get back."

Victor stood by the table mutely. Good. Stew on your mess, Henry thought, picking up his satchel of notes.

Victor was alone again. Clerval had left him again. But it's not permanent! He's just going to class! He'll be back!

He still trembled when he thought of last night. It wasn't supposed to be like that. He had accomplished it. His greatest achievement: he had created life from death! So why did it frighten him so?

'Keep it alive,' Clerval had told him before leaving. Dare he go back to his room alone? Dare he see what he'd done?

He shook. No. Not yet. He couldn't face it yet. He swallowed, going to wash the dishes. Clerval wouldn't turn him out if he could be useful. Always something bigger and better, and look where it's gotten you...

He put the pan onto a rag to let it dry, his face contorting as he reached up to grab his hair, hot tears threatening to come. No! I need to master this! I - it's the only way!

What did he leave in his quarters last night? What horror had he brought? He needed to know. Clerval said not to kill it yet. So, breathe. Back to your Methods. Assess the Risk: is there one?

He released a shuddering breath. He could do this. He was alive. Henry was alive. His experiment was alive. Henry and he had both been alive the previous night; his experiment had not. So, net life? Started with two, now there's three? That - that can't be all bad, yes?

He released another breath.

He hadn't eaten anything for breakfast. He had no appetite. But what of his experiment? Would it need to eat like people? He gave it a stomach, intestines, bile ducts, liver and kidneys - it was absolutely anatomically perfect. So, logic would necessitate it need something for nutrition.

Clerval still had a few rolls on the counter. He took two, wrapping them in a handkerchief.

He locked Clerval's apartment as he left, the little handkerchief package an inconspicuous anomaly to his haggard appearance.

You just have to go in and see if it survived the night. Pulse and breaths were waning; it very well could have expired in our absence, he thought as he arrived at the door.

"Right," he muttered to himself, testing the handle. "At least Clerval was intelligent enough to lock my quarters when we left; no one in, nothing out."

He unlocked the door and pushed it open, muttering to himself as he then entered the room and closed the door behind himself.

Turning, he caught movement from the corner of his eye. His breath caught in his throat. Scheiß.

"Hello?" he called out to the space, steeling himself. He was here now. Whatever it was, he would face it. Whatever he'd created, he would master it.

He squinted, searching slowly. Herr Gott, what a mess, he thought. Tubes and wires that he'd so painstakingly laid were like a rats nest; some, he'd noticed, had become detached and were lying idle or slowly leaking liquid onto the floor. Tubes and tables and contraptions had turned into a forest of wood and glass, complete with dead, fallen trees. The great copper tub stood empty in the center of it all, stained with a strange rust and green patina, and forever marred by a pair of massive handprints like some edifice to an ancient god - one from one of those savage cultures that were appeased by blood sacrifice.

He moved deeper into the room, aiming for the only table left somewhat clear, neatly tucked away from the chaos in a corner. It was where he'd been keeping his notes, and where he'd left his notebook At least, where he thought he left it. The spot was bare wood, his black book nowhere in sight. Looking back at the tub, he'd noticed some pages scatter there, as if blown by some cold wind.

He set his kerchief down on the empty table and heard a sound. It was close - very close. It sounded like a choked breath. Victor could feel his pulse quickening, the sweat coming to wash over him. He took a step back and looked down into the shadows below the table.

There it was.

His creation had folded itself as tight as possible below his table. It was a strange, almost comic sight. His creature looked up at him with its watery yellow eyes, its black hair swept behind its face. It clutched its legs with its arms but, with his creation's awe-inspiring proportions, it was absurd to see such a man imitate the actions of a frightened child.

Equally alarming was just how silent it had been before.

Victor took a breath. He could do this. It was his creation. He leveled a stern gaze at the thing. "Alright. I will count to three and you will come out from below the table and stand before me," Victor said.

"One," he said, stepping back and away from the table.

"Two." Victor raised an eye. Why isn't it moving?

He paused, frowning.

"Three," he said with a touch of finality. "Why are you still under the table?" he asked, disbelief coloring his voice. At the very least, he was beginning to quit his trembling. His creation, however, said nothing. Victor could only hear its labored huffs of breath.

He squatted down, trying to get eye level with his creation. "Come on. Out with you," he said, his hands resting on his knees. He sighed, shaking his head. "Has the process of reanimation turned its brain into that of an idiot?" he muttered to himself. Rolling his eyes, he walked backwards, still squatting. This time, gesturing with his hands, he encouraged his creature to come out. "Come on. Out and up," he said, pantomiming what he wanted it to do.

"Out and... up," breathed his creature. At this, Victor paused. Such a sweet tenor. Truly, the voice box, esophagus, and mouth he'd chosen were perfect.

"Yes, you. Out and up. I want to see you," Victor told his creature.

Very carefully, his creature edged out from below the table, unfolding its limbs until it stood at its full height. Victor was of a naturally small stature to begin with, but seeing his creation? He felt like a child in its presence! Why did I make it so big?

His creature, seeming to notice his discomfort, immediately slouched its shoulders, trying in a vain attempt to disguise its godly height. Victor beat down the laughter at the sheer strangeness of his encounter. The fear, what he had done, his sins to get here, it was all melting away as he beheld his creation in the morning light of his cramped apartment lab.

And it was naked.

Chapter Text

It was naked.

It was his creation, and it stood before him naked.

Somewhere, it had found a blanket, but the way it was wearing it around itself was doing nothing for its modesty. It was just tossed over its shoulders like an old lady with a shawl. He could see on its legs where the piloerector muscles were forcing its hairs upright in little goosebumps. His creation was cold and it had found a blanket.

Well, it seems to have base survival capabilities, Victor thought to himself.

His eyes traced its form, half shrouded by the bedsheet. It had been perfect in death, while he'd had been at work. Every limb, every organ - it was perfection. Even at 2,4m in height, it was still perfectly proportional. He'd designed it to be perfect. Large to be easier to work, but still absolutely perfect. He'd seen to every detail, formed every muscle, sewn every stitch. It had been perfect.

But now? Life had made it uncanny. Things that were still now moved; it was now an ever-changing perspective. His creation could no longer be viewed as he'd been at work: still, posed, perfect. No. Now it could move. Now he could see all his stitching, every mistake, every imperfection. The bits he reinforced to prevent deterioration. Where he had to go over again because the suture snapped. But the eyes? Perhaps they were the worst piece. His fabricated tapetum lucidum gave the eyes an odd yellow glow in the shadows.

"Well," Victor said, his eyes studying his creature. He was torn by two major feelings. Success. His creature lived. Horror. His creature lived. He swallowed, and moved to access the table. His creature seemed to noticed his intent and it shuffled out of the way. He was still its creator. He was still its master. He would control it.

He harrumphed. "You're likely to be hungry. I doubt you've found anything in the way of nourishment since you've started exploring my apartment. So, here," he said, unfolding the kerchief, revealing the two rolls.

"Eat," said Victor.

The thing did nothing except stare at him blankly.

"Eat," said Victor more forcefully, this time tearing a small piece of bread and consuming it himself.

"E-at," replied his creation in a soft voice, pointing at the food and then its own mouth.

-Moments Earlier-

Hide. When the door jostled open, that's what his body told him to do. Hide.

He'd been alone in the morning. Someone had been near him last night, but they'd left him. He'd reached out to them, and they fled from him. They'd left him alone then. He'd then awoken alone.

And now the door was jostling.

What was it? Was it them? Were they coming back for him? But if they'd abandon him... why?

His heart quickened as he hid.

He heard the voice call out into the room. Not a shout; not a protest. It wasn't harsh. Just... alerting others to its presence?

He remained frozen in his spot under the wooden object. He wouldn't speak. He didn't know how. If he repeated what the man had said...? But what if he didn't want to attract the man's attention? What if the man was searching for him to... to... to do something? To inflict pain like how he'd first woken within those dark hours last night? He shivered involuntarily. A little labored huff escaped his lips. His eyes grew wide at his noise.

The footfalls drew near him. No! It heard him! He tried to curl up, smaller, smaller! But there was nowhere to go; wall to his back, those feet drawing ever closer before him.

The man squatted down in front of him. He was a peculiar thing. Pale, smooth skin. Dark hair close-cropped to his scalp. Thin lips. Dark brown eyes. It wore dark clothes over its form, while he only had this cloth.

They stared at each other for a moment, and he could see a strange flurry of expressions cross the other's face - too fast for him to make sense of.

The man staring at him took a breath, standing to speak. He didn't know what the man was saying. The man had stepped a few paces back, giving him space which he found he appreciated. But he didn't know what the man wanted of him.

The man spoke levelly. Not yelling; not kindly. Just plainly. Then! This was different. Two followed one - this pattern had to mean something, spaced as it was. It didn't follow the flow of the man's voice when he spoke before. What did it mean? The man had incorporated pauses between these sounds - they were significant! But why?

The man said something else, then squatted back down, a look of disappointment on his face. He'd done something wrong. The man wasn't happy with his actions. Why? He hadn't done anything - was that why? The man wanted him to do something?

"Out and up," the man said, gesturing with his hands. Beckoning. Out and up. Out and up. What did they mean? The man's hands drew toward himself before flicking in an upward motion

Out - he was hiding. Out - come out of hiding? Come out from under the table. Come out of the darkness, out of the shadows? Out?

And up? Flicking up. Stand up? Rise? Up?

Was that what the man meant?

He tested the words with his own tongue. "Out and... up," he said. It was hard to force those words out from his chest. His breaths couldn't carry like the other man. Yet, a strange expression crossed the other man's face. Not malice. Something... good? Him speaking... was good?

Carefully, he edged his way out. He took care not to jostle the legs of the table; he'd found he could easily disturb the whole structure that way, and it would make an alarming clatter when it fell. He did not like those sounds. So he edged his way out carefully.

Once free of the wood over his head, he stood up. The little man was easily dwarfed by his own form. Yet - was that correct? Was the man truly little? The soft pallet in the other room did not fit him. The sitting object was small. Even the glass and wood pane seemed small for his hand. Was the little man actually the one proportional in this place? Was he the anomaly? Or were there others just as tall as himself, and this place merely a construct for the little man? It was a puzzle for later...

As he stood, he saw a flash of fear cross the little man's features. Had he done something wrong? He slouched - could he become small and proportional like the little man?

A strange expression that he could not place crossed the little man's features at this. He was left puzzled.

The little man moved over to the table, and he shuffled out of the way. The little man had brought something with him? Placed it on the table? He watched the little man fumbled with a small piece of cloth.

"Eat," said the little man.

What did that mean? Eat? Was that what it was called? Was it something he was supposed to do? What was "Eat?"

The little man repeated the word, a little more force behind as if saying it louder would impart the meaning. It didn't.

What helped was when the man tore a piece of thing and placed it in his own mouth. The man swallowed, and the piece was gone. Was that "Eat?"

He copied the man.

He tore a little piece of the thing. Hard shell, but softer innards. "E-at," he repeated after the man, watching him, trying to see if he'd guessed the meaning correctly. Again, his lungs refused to co-operate, and his pronunciation was nothing like the tiny man's.

Yet, the tiny man seemed pleased. His voice was clumsy and didn't seem to fit him, yet the tiny man seemed to take delight in it nonetheless.

The tiny man spoke again. "Yes, you eat the food. Use your mouth to chew and your stomach will digest it to give you energy," he rambled, the words streaming together in his own mind. What did they all mean? He didn't know, only that they pertained to this act of "Eat."

He ate the bread.

It was drier than he thought it would be. For something so soft, there were occasionally hard bits inside it. When he plucked one of those uncomfortable bits from his mouth, the tiny man looked upset. "Grain. It's edible - eat it," he'd commanded. And he returned it to his mouth, chewing the harder bit and eating it the same as the rest of the "Bread."

As his creation ate, Victor studied it. Good working jaw. Muscles in good function for deglutition. No noticeable ill-functions so far. Skin was pale, hints of yellow - possible jaundice? Studies have shown sunlight was a good remedy for jaundice in babies. Would he have to bring it outside...?

"How are you feeling now?" Victor asked it, allowing a clinical façade to wash over him. Don't think about the consequences. Think of the now. How was it functioning?

The creature stared at him blankly.

He dragged a hand down his face. "Of course. You can't comprehend what I'm saying," he sighed. As the creature finished the bread, he took it by its elbow, conscious of the size difference between them. He led his creation to the side bedroom in the apartment and gestured for it to sit on the bed.

"You need to sit. I need to take your vitals, perform an evaluation. I need to see how your doing after... " he said, his voice trailing off. After what? It's creation? He brought it to life? What was it? Human? Anatomically it was as such. It was constructed with the same rubric as any human. But the nature of it receiving its spark of life... It was no man of woman born. Artificial. He would need to monitor if it could physically support itself in the days to come. Just because it had been constructed as man didn't mean it would continue living as such. The cat had returned to death after a few hours. His creation, the one standing before him now - it was still alive after those hours in the night. Would the blood continue living in its veins? Would the fluids he gave it continue supporting its contradictory existence?

He shook his head, harrumphing.

He searched through his surgery kit, digging out a stethoscope. He looked at his creation. It was sitting on the bed as he'd commanded, watching him with an expression he could only describe as "curious." Perhaps this isn't a hopeless endeavor, after all.

"I need to monitor your breaths. To make sure your lungs have no damage," Victor explained, holding up the metal end of the device.

The creature looked at him, uncomprehending.

"Right. I'm going to place this," he gestured to the metal end, "on your chest. Breath deep. Like this," and Victor sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then pointed at the creature.

He watched the tiny man come closer with the metal thing. It was a strange device, and it sounded like the tiny man was trying to explain what it did. He sat still, not comprehending. The thing, he guessed based on the tiny man's gestures, was supposed to go on his chest. But do what? What was its purpose? He didn't know, and the tiny man spoke used too many words he didn't know.

Then, the tiny man was moving aside the blanket. He shivered as his bare flesh was exposed to the ambient temperature of the room. Did it have to touch him? What would it do? As soon as the metal tip touched his flesh, he flinched back, pulling distance between himself and the thing, letting loose an shout of shock. That thing stung! Right on his heart! No, he did not like the metal thing. He didn't know what it was for, he didn't know how it worked - all he knew was that the bit that was supposed to touch him hurt! His yellow eyes were wide with fear as he trained them on the metal thing. No. He did not like.

The little man fell forward as he jerked away, frowning in surprise. "What's...?

He would not hear it. "-Nno!" he bit out. He'd thought he'd heard it used once before in the confusion of the previous night

He backed up as far as he could, clambering backward and away and! Down!

He gave another grunt of surprise as his hand had gone to land on more soft bed but found nothing but air, his whole body falling, his legs kicking out in surprise.

His creature backed away from him so quickly it fled right off the bed. In its frightened spasming, it kicked Victor square in the face. Victor groaned in pain, letting the stethoscope fall around his neck as he reeled back, quickly bringing his hands to his face to staunch the bloody nose and what would probably develop into a black eye.

"Urg..." He groaned.

And then there was banging at the door.

"Victor! Open up!" It was Clerval. Was lecture over already?

"'m cm'ng" Victor mumbled, stuffing packing - just some random scraps of fabric - into his nose. "'n you stay 'ere. 's Cler'al," Victor said, turning to his creation. He hoped that it would understand. Instead, it was a flurry of gangly limbs scurrying up from the floor and back onto the bed, curling up tight and small. Its black hair was wild on its back, cascading around its face. Its eyes were still wide with fear.

"Come on, Victor. For the love of God, open up, man!" Clerval called again from the door.

"Stay 'ere. I'm le'in' in Cler'al," Victor told the creature one final time as he left the room. He prayed it would obey.

Victor fumbled with the lock, Clerval knocking all the while. Clerval stumbled, fist falling in one final rap as the door swung open.

"Well. About time. You'd shut me out so long before, I almost thought you were going to make me find security to break the door down," his friend said, chuckling nervously. Then his friend looked around, and Victor felt his heart break. There, the judgement. In the dark of night, it had been easy to write the events off as a nightmare, a fever dream. But now in the daylight? His work laid bare.

"Jesus, Maria, and Joseph, Victor. What were you doing here?" Clerval said, his voice soft. A strange tension pulled it.

"You barely believed me last night," Victor replied, testing his nose, seeing if the blood was finally coagulated.

"How many months?"

"A year to the day," Victor replied. Was it... shame? Did he know shame? "Though, I suppose longer. The preliminary research took the better of a year prior, though I truly only began this part of the endeavor a full year ago. Dr. Waldman and Dr. Krempe - they both tried to put it from my mind, but I couldn't. Krempe first - he'd dismissed my research as rot. Folly. "Nothing but smoke and mirrors of alchemists and magicians, young Victor! Agrippa? What rot! Study the true masters of physics and biology!" Bah. Waldman was only mildly better. He'd encouraged my start - those little late night experiments in the lab. Always after hours, our work. I wanted to try to restore the muscle tics in the flesh of the dead. It started with frogs and rabbits, and Waldman had been there, guiding my hand. Then a cat," Victor ran a hand through his hair. "That was where Waldman abandoned me, a year ago. He'd seen the cat earlier - run over by a cart, the stray! He knew it had been dead. And he'd seen it again, after I brought it back, mewling for milk. It died an hour later, unfortunately. But it was all research for my Opus Magnum!"

Clerval continued gazing around the room, a look of disbelief on his friends' face as he took in the chaos, his gaze ultimately settling on that great copper tub.

"For a year I labored after that. It had to be perfect; no half job where it'd just end up back in the grave. I reviewed my notes, hand selected every piece. He would be perfect, I'd thought. It had to be perfect. My Opus Magnum: stealing Life back from Death. Never again, Henry, would a father mourn their son, or a child their mother..."

His friend's face was pale as Clerval turned back to face him. Victor could see him taking in the tub. It was a massive thing, and the handprints - the strength needed to deform the metal in such a way would have been tremendous. Victor watched Clerval's face carefully, taking in every tic for every potential response. He needed to steel himself for whatever judgement his friend would cast upon him.

"And I trust that - that giant from last night - he was the culmination of that year's labor?" Clerval asked him, the look in his friend's eyes pleading for him to deny it.

"Yes," Victor answered, swallowing a lump that threatened to get caught in his throat. "It's- it's in my bedroom. I thought to move it to my bed for an examination, but..." he trailed off, gesturing to his nose.

Clerval laughed a humorless laugh, toned by his disbelief. No smile shone on his face. "Almost serves you right, my friend."

My friend.

All hope wasn't gone.

Clerval - saint that the man was - had not deserted him.

"Come, Victor. Let's look at him," Clerval said, taking a sharp breath. His friend was here beside him now, but he was not happy with Victor's actions. Still, it was better than outright rejection. "You said you brought him to... life... last night?"

"Yes," Victor said quietly. Why do I feel shame? Why do I care whether Clerval approves or disapproves of my handiwork?

"Your... creation's likely scared out of his wits right now. Have you even had the thought to explain anything to him?" Henry said, taking Victor by the shoulder, prattling on. It was okay. Everything was going to be okay. He was numb to the world, but Henry was okay. Gaining confidence, he walked alongside his friend until they reached the door. Victor continued on toward his creation.

"I tried, but we're on uncharted ground here. I'm not sure if something happened to its brain during the reanimation process but -" Victor cut himself off when he realized Clerval had stopped, rooted in place.

Victor turned, looking at Clerval. "What's wrong?" he asked.

His friend was paler than before, his eyes rooted to the giant curled on the bed, piercing yellow eyes locked on his friend's form.

"He's," Clerval began, his breaths shaky. "He's a lot different in the daylight."

"I hand-selected every organ, every limb," Victor commented quietly. "I performed every stitch of labor. It was supposed to be the perfect human."

"Do I want to know where you got your... supplies from?" asked Clerval, a flash of horror on his friend's face, his gaze still fixed on the creature before him. Something on his cheek tugged awkwardly, like the skin was stiff. Victor knew he'd mentioned before, but perhaps now the full revelation was beginning to set in? Is this it? Is this the part he runs away? Just as I had done last night? Run away, cast me off, wretch that I am...?

"No," said Victor. He'd intended to stop. Every instinct inside him was telling him to shut up, to bury it all, but something inside him made him continue. "But as my friend, I believe I owe you at least something of it. Especially after everything last night." Especially after everything before that. "I paid some... gravediggers a very handsome fee for the privilege of perusing the recently deceased." As he saw his friend's face fall further into horror, Victor tried to amend it. Soothe it, sugar-coat it. Make the Devil's work palatable! "Please! I tried not to desecrate the remains of the loved; I found my parts mainly in the potter's field. Criminals, the unwanted..." If it had only been as much. It had to be perfect, after all.

"Dear God, Victor..." Clerval breathed, his wide eyes firmly set on the monster curled on the bed. He was shaking.

"Please, you must understand," begged Victor.

"I am trying. I truly am," said Clerval, a frown deepening on his features. Clerval never frowned. "But what you've done... Every moral and ethical code," Clerval shook his head. "Does 'Respect for the Dead' mean nothing to you?" Clerval retorted.

"Please, you must understand! I only undertook such an endeavor because of the dead!"

"No, you did this because you didn't think about the consequences. Science and medicine is about the why you should or should not do something, and how it affects things greater than yourself, not why not. God, damn it, Victor! Did you even think about the consequences of this life you brought into this world? Did you think of the consequences it would hold for you or him?" Clerval demanded, righteous anger coloring his voice.

"I had - it was to better society," Victor replied indignantly.

"'Better society,' my ass, Victor," said Clerval. "You didn't think. All that great genius in your head, and you decided you were smarter than your professors."

"They were holding me back!" retorted Victor.

"They were trying to stop you from - " Clerval's voice choked as he gestured wildly at the creature on the bed. "This!

"Well, congratulations, Victor. You did it. You brought life to what was dead. Now what? You gave him life - it would be murder to end it, whether it was ill-begotten or not. You better not turn him onto the streets; he wouldn't survive a day out there." Clerval dragged a hand down his cheek, exhaling heavily. "Christ, Victor. Why did you go and make the bastard so large?"

"... it was to better work on the details," Victor replied quietly.

"Well, look where that attention to detail has gotten you. You fed him?"

Victor looked up at his friend, confused. "Fed him? Yes - he ate some bread. I need to see if his digestion worked."

Clerval rolled his eyes. "Bread? Seriously? Not milk or something simple?"

"It ate it!"

"I'm sure. Did you offer him any water to wash it down?"

Victor looked back at his creation. It was beginning to uncurl.

Henry rolled his eyes, sighing in exasperation. "Of course you didn't. Find him a cup, feed him some water. His throat must be parched. Don't they teach you anything in Natural Philosophy?" Clerval ordered. As Victor moved to head to find a cup and a decanter, Clerval grabbed his arm. Victor halted.

Clerval looked him in the face. Something was off about his friend's appearance, now that Victor had a moment to look more closely - something stiff about his cheek. Clerval spoke. "He's yours now. All - how tall is he?"

"2,4 meters in height," replied Victor.

"All 2,4 meters - God damn," said Clerval, eyebrows raised, releasing Victor's arm to pull a hand across his mouth. "Christ, Victor. He's your responsibility. I will help you care for him, but it's on you to help integrate him into the world. Teach him to read, write; morals and ethics. Everything you know... God, 2,4 meters?"

Clerval watched his friend administer to his creation. What had Victor been thinking? Grafting death to death, putrescent limb to form an equally putrescent creature. Created from rot, his friend gave the horror before him the gift of life, such a thing that only God himself in heaven could do. At least, it had been a miracle from God.

Had Victor thought to challenge God? Henry cast a quick glance at his friend. No. Victor may have delusions of grandeur, but to go as far as trying to rip the Art of Creation from The Omniscient? Surely even he knew which lines were never to be crossed.

The thing sitting on his friend's bed was monstrous in the idea of the term. He could see his friend's handiwork all throughout: stitches here where one skin was joined to another, skin tone matched most deftly. The stitches themselves were thin, tight, and even, as though by a master tailor. The muscles underneath sat as though clay sculpted by Victor's hands. There was no denying the creature was constructed. As God formed Man from Mud, has Victor formed you from rot?

Yet, from the horror of its creation, the monstrosity had a strange sense of innocence to it. Massive pallid bulk - in form, the thing was an adult. But in its actions? As it sat huddled on its bed, condensing its size as small as it could, Henry could not help but feel as though he were watching a child. As a whole, it was a living contradiction. Dead, but alive. Grown, but a child. Alive for barely a day, but bearing the scars of a lifetime's abuse.

He made the mistake of looking into the creature's yellow eyes. Fear for the unknown. Exactly like a child, but embedded in the face of a man. Those yellow eyes pierced into him, seeing into his core like a child sees through the lies and airs of adults and their society.

Innocence.

Intelligence.

It was human.

"Do you have a name him?" asked Henry suddenly.

"What?" asked Victor, frowning in confusion as he continued taking vitals.

"Have you named him? All people need a name. We need something to call him besides "You" and "Him" or, God forbid, "It"" remarked Henry.

"It's not a person, Clerval," replied Victor, rolling his eyes.

"No, maybe not in the traditional sense of the word," said Henry, looking back at the person on the bed. "But you said yourself: you... built him of all the "finest" human parts, in accordance with the ideal human form. You made him to be human. As a human, he needs a name."

"No, it does not," huffed Victor. "And it's not human. It's a failure," his friend said, examining the hand of the giant carefully.

"You gave him life."

"I gave it a pitiful existence."

"But he lives and breathes despite the odds set against it. Even dogs are given names, Victor. Would you count him less than that?"

Victor huffed, sitting back from his work to look at Henry. "Why are you so hell-bent on keeping this wretched thing alive? Like a litter of sick puppies, I should have snuffed out its life as soon as I realized my folly. And it is folly, Henry! Look at it! Could this ever be normal?" Victor said, waving at the creature on the bed, his breath coming in hysteric hitches. "I can't -" his voice cracked. "Henry; I don't know what to do. It was supposed to be the Adam of my labors, the pinnacle of my work. But now? I'm sure I've failed all my courses; I haven't shown up to class in almost 9 months time," Victor said, laughing bitterly to himself. "I can't. I need to put this behind me. There are some things we all would have been better off not knowing. But I can't do that, can I? If I could just kill it, be done with it - I could return to class, or - or - or I could go back home to Elizabeth and my father; I could give up all science, just study law and politics and follow in his steps; I'd hate it but..."

"Victor," Henry said softly. He moved closer to his friend, and laid a gentle hand on his back, massaging in firm circles. "What's done is done. Everything has consequences, and we must live with them. If he is too much to bear alone, let me help you. We'll speak with your advisor later. Explain something, make up an excuse. No one has to know, but you owe it to him to give him a name. You cannot kill what you have given life; that would be the greatest of sins. Give him a chance - a true, fighting chance - to be the pinnacle that you dreamt him to be. I will not let you have murder on your soul."

Victor heaved a heavy breath. Henry offered him a handkerchief. He hated Victor for what he'd done. For shutting them all out, and only reaching out to him now that things had spiraled out of control. Victor was nearing hysterics, and the complete unknown that was Victor's creation was quietly observing them from his bed. Henry was in dangerous territory. He wanted to scream and yell at Victor, but what would be the point? His friend had already emotionally shut down.

"You want me to name it?"

"Yes."

"Adam. My greatest failure. My greatest success."

"Adam," the tiny man said. The word felt significant. No, it was not just a word. "It is your name. It is what you will be called, and how you will call yourself."

"Adam," he said, testing the syllables on his tongue. His tongue was still clumsy, and awkward, but he was finding that, with use, it was becoming better. His lungs still pained him, and his throat still felt raw, irritated with every breath he took.

What were the words? "I... am... Adam?" he said, trying to string together a phrase from the clips of conversation he'd gathered from the tiny man.

The fair man looked shocked at his words. Had he done something wrong? But the tiny man had no such expression. Was he right in his choice of sounds after all?

"I am... Adam?" he repeated, carefully pointing to himself.

"My God, he speaks," the fair man said, blanching. Adam quickly cast a look at the tiny man. Both were strangers to him, but the tiny man - he'd been around just a little longer. The tiny man seemed jittery around him, but the tiny man had given him The Bread. Although, the tiny man also stung him with the "Cold Metal."

"Of course it does. It's not as eloquent as I had imagined for it, but it appears to be learning."

The fair man turned to him. "I am Henry Clerval," the fair man said, holding out a hand. What was he supposed to do?

Before the silence could grow too much, the fair man reached out. His small hand slipped into a comfortable grip in Adam's own, and the fair man shook their two hands up and down once, a faint little smile gracing his lips. Was this some sort of greeting?

"Well met, Adam," the fair man - Henry Clerval said.

"Well... met... Henry... Clerval," Adam repeated.

Henry Clerval turned and cast a look at the tiny man.

"I'm not shaking hands with it," said the tiny man, making a move to go and inspect something else about his person.

"Victor..." Henry began.

"No. I know it inside and out. Introductions are just a fake farce," the tiny man - Victor - said.

Henry cast another look at Victor. Each of these looks held meaning, and Adam didn't know what it was. At least, not yet. He could learn. He would learn to talk with these people.

Victor huffed. "I am your creator. I brought you into this world."

Adam extended a hand to his creator. Victor did not take it.

Adam frowned. Then he reached out further and took Victor's hand into his own, much like how Henry Clerval had done with him. Maybe Creator Victor was not as versed as Henry Clerval was in introductions? He was learning. Creator could learn, too.

"Well... met... Victor... Creator," Adam said, gently shaking the tiny man's hand.

Victor had a large frown on his face. Had he done something wrong? He looked to Henry Clerval, but the fair man was staring at Victor Creator with a look of disappointment, not himself. Clerval seemed to notice Adam was watching him, and the fair man cast a friendly smile at him. Clerval, it would appear, thought he acted correctly for the situation. Victor is wrong? I acted right?

"Hardly a day old, and already the fellow has better manners than you, Victor!" Henry chided Victor, his tone friendly. Was this how people interacted?

"Now, my dear friend Adam," Henry Clerval said, casting his critical eye upon him, "has my dear friend Victor taken it upon himself to give you the grand tour of his humble abode?"

Adam stared at Clerval wide-eyed. All those words. What did they mean?

At his confused look, Clerval laughed, patting him gently on the back. "No worries! Victor was likely more worried about your health from last night, seeing as you've only just come into being, isn't that right, Victor?"

That ending sounded needlessly harsh, and Victor stirred, an uncomfortable look on his face. "I was trying to conduct a physical examination. I needed to see how it was faring compared to the cat."

"Well, because your host and creator has been found negligent, I will give you a quick tour of your current home," said Clerval.

At his blank look, Clerval took the opportunity to further clarify. "Home, where you will live and stay. A safe place. A shelter from the elements. A place for privacy from others."

It did not help too much, but, perhaps, it would form good groundwork to better know the word.

"This is Victor's sleeping chamber. His bed is what you're currently sitting on. He's supposed to use it to sleep at night," Clerval said, casting a pointed look at Victor who simply folded his arms across his chest. "But sometimes, he gets caught up in his work. Last night, though, it looked like you needed his bed more," Henry finished, gesturing to the soft form under him. Bed. Sleep.

"Is that... last night... what happened?" Adam asked.

"What?" asked Clerval. Adam flushed, trying to think of how to make himself understood. There was so much he didn't know.

"Last night... I... to here... to The Bed... and..." he pointed to his eyes, pulling his lids down.

"You closed your eyes... You went to sleep!" Clerval said, piecing it together. Adam smiled. He was understood! He was learning how to make himself understood!

"I closed... my eyes. At night... did not... know. Victor... gave life - I... did not... know if... life..." and Adam made a rolling motion with his hands.

"You did not know if life..." repeated Clerval, thinking. His eyes shot to his forehead as he spoke again, "You did not know if life would continue in the morning? Now?"

Adam nodded his head. Morning. Now.

"You thought when you shut your eyes, you would die?" Clerval asked.

Adam did not know that word. "What is... "Die.""

It was Victor who spoke this time. ""To Die" is for your life to leave your form. You become nothing but an inanimate sack of flesh, exactly as your were before. You don't move, you don't breathe, you don't think. You stop existing. You stop being here."

"But I... did not... die... last night."

"No," said Victor, muttering something else under his breath. His creator's mouth twitched. "You survived the night. You lived."

Adam nodded, absorbing the new words eagerly. Live, Die, Morning, Night - there were so many, but the more he knew, the better her could understand Victor and Henry, then!

Clerval clear his throat. "Getting back to the tour. Victor's writing desk is there, near the window - Victor, did you leave your window open? You've got all your notes scattered from the window," he said, plucking a couple of thin sheets from the floor.

"I hadn't touched the window since the first chill of October!" Victor said defensively.

"I... opened... the window," Adam said, piecing together what they were asking. "There was..." and he couldn't find the word to describe what he'd felt on his face when he'd first awaken. He felt his cheeks, his hands ghosting across his features as he remembered the warm beam. How could he make them understand the sensation? He looked frantically about the room, but that warm beam from earlier was gone.

"It's alright," Henry consoled him.

Adam shook his head. "It was... a - " here, he smiled, using his fingers to point to his face "-thing."

"A good thing?" Henry guessed.

"It was... a good thing!" Adam affirmed, nodding his head with a smile. He looked back toward the window. Henry had moved and closed it; the room was a lot less cold. The little bumps that stood the hair on his arms upright were beginning to fade back into smooth flesh. "It was... from..." he trailed off as he slid from the bed toward the window, quickly covering the distance in the tiny room. He bent down at the window, searching for that bright orb that had cast the rays of warmth on him earlier.

"The sun?" Victor proposed.

"That would make sense. A "good thing" near the window? It could have been the sun." Clerval craned his neck to see up at the sky through the glass. "There's too many clouds now; I can't see the sun."

"It was... from there," Adam said, pointing while crouching down to imitate Clerval's angle. Yes. This had been the angle at which he'd seen the warm rays. "I cannot... see it... either."

"I think Victor's right. You probably saw the sun, or at least felt its warmth on you."

"Warmth?" Adam asked. Was that the term for what he'd felt?

"Like wrapping a blanket around you. A touch of heat. Warm. Nice," replied Henry.

Adam straightened up from his crouch, nodding as Henry explained the term. Warm. He smiled. "The sun... it was... warm... on my face. It felt... nice," he said, using the words.

Henry and Victor exchanged another glance. Again, Adam felt as an outsider, dumb to this inaudible, incomprehensible way of communicating.

"I'm glad. Maybe if we can find you proper clothes, we can take you outside to explore in time," said Clerval.

"Outside?" ask Adam.

"Oh, no!" replied Victor. "No, no, no!"

Henry folded his arms across his chest. "Why not?"

"It's," Victor began, flailing his arms at Adam. "It's huge. It'll never fit in outside. Scheiße, what am I going to do when I need to move home - no!" Victor huffed. "It's not going outside."

Adam frowned. Was outside a bad thing? Clerval suggested it, so maybe it wasn't as bad as what his creator thought? He noticed Clerval was frowning, too.

"Victor. We can deal with taking him outside later, but our first priority is to get him dressed. He can't live his life in your blanket. You'll need your blanket back for sleeping in your own bed."

"It can keep the blanket."

"Damn it, Victor. I'm not suggesting that you need your blanket back. I'm telling you that Adam needs clothes as a basic human right. A shirt on his back, breeches on his legs, and shoes on his feet. It doesn't have to be fancy or well tailored. He just needs something," replied Clerval rather harshly.

Clothes. Was this so he could look more like them? Clothes to cover his form? To hide what he looked like underneath? Victor and Henry both wore many layers of fabric. Was Clerval suggesting he should put on the same?

Victor rolled his eyes. "Fine. Alright? Fine. How do I get him clothes? Nothing I own would fit, and even borrowing anything from you... it's much too large to fit into anything. God, why did I make it as such."

Clerval opened his mouth to speak, but Victor held up a hand. "It's rhetorical. It was easier to work on. That's why it's 2,4m tall," Victor said, his lips pulling tight in a wry expression. "But the matter remains: where would its clothes come from? What would fit? If we were to take its measurements and go to the tailor, he would laugh us out of his shop thinking it but a prank. After all, what man could ever fit Adam's proportions? Perfect in every way but height!"

"So we'll think on this. But I must attend to my studies. Victor, until later. Adam," Henry Clerval said, looking straight at him, "it was a pleasure to make your true acquaintance today. I look forward to seeing you again on the morrow."

And Henry Clerval left.

Alone again, Victor turned and looked upon his creation. How fast it had learned surprised him. Before Henry had arrived, it was fearful and dumb. It could hardly string two words together. But now?

Its vocabulary was small, but there was a keen mind at work behind those yellow eyes. It caught on quickly to syntax and to the different meanings. Victor had given it an intelligent adult mind - he'd received word on the death of a past professor of the college. He designed it to be perfect, after all. Every organ, every limb: hand picked from the finest mankind had to offer. Tongue of a lawyer. Voice of a tenor. Hair of a young woman. Desirable. No expense was spared. For what money couldn't buy, he took the risk to obtain himself.

He cast a glance at his creation, who was standing by the window, peering out the glass with its loathsome face. Noble nose, high cheek bones - aesthetically beautiful. But on his creature? The different parts formed a hideous whole. The nose was afflicted by tones of decay, sinking and clinging deeper to its cartilaginous bridge. The cheeks were sunken and stretched. Its flesh altogether appeared to lack the warmth of life. Nothing fitted exactly right, all moving and sliding in just the slightest way of wrong.

There were some things he would continue keeping close to his chest; some things that even Clerval would find unforgivable. The truths of its origin? He would carry that to the grave.

But for now? Clerval had pledged to help him keep his monstrosity alive. Could, then, he continue the experiment? It lived, so could he continue to monitor it? Mentor it and sculpt it into something he could be proud of? For Henry's sake? For his family's sake?

He coughed, deeply and violently, and he felt his heart race at his thoughts. It certainly was not the perfect idol he'd intended, but was there any hope in it? It was intelligent - was that goodness? Perfection? Or another thing that should horrify him? How much would its intellect grow?

His questions were quickly outgrowing what he had answers for, and before he knew it, he was out cold.

Chapter Text

His creator had collapsed.

Clerval was gone, and his creator had collapsed.

He didn't know what to do.

Adam tore his hands through his hair, pulling as he flew to Victor's side. Victor had been performing "physical examinations" on him; Victor said it was to ensure he was healthy. Could he do the same to Victor? No! He didn't know how! He hadn't the means!

He brought his hands down shakily, running them over the tiny man's form. Hot. Limp. Wet. Victor hadn't looked like this at first. Victor's body was drenched. His body was too hot. It had too much warmth. Could he cool it down? How would he cool it down? He didn't know!

Clerval.

He had to get Clerval.

Carefully, he scooped Victor into his arms. He tugged his blanket around them both and hunched as he fumbled the lock at the door. He seen Victor and Clerval fumble with the mechanism. He figured it out. He bent low to ease his large frame through the door.

This room was completely different. There was another door across the landing, but Adam remember Victor mentioning something about Clerval residing "below," having pointed down to emphasize the point. Down.

Adam looked down and saw steps in perfect gradations leading from one floor to the next. They were tiny, peculiar things. They didn't give him much room to land, and he had to gingerly angle his large foot to fit on the steps.

Carefully, he eased himself down. One step. Two step. More than he could count step.

Slip step, and he slid down, hitting two steps before landing hard on his thigh. He felt something wet and slick trickle from the site of the impact. He righted himself on the midway landing. Victor was okay - he'd made sure to shelter the tiny body from his fall, hugging him tightly. He heard voices from the room across, but they were not Henry's voice. He needed Henry. No one else would understand.

Upstairs, a door creaked open. Adam heard voices speak: "You hear something?"

He slipped once more, but caught his footing before fully falling. Again, he was presented with two doors. He stalked close to one, listening for the tones of the voices behind the door. Were they familiar? He move to the other door. Silence.

He knocked.

Silence.

"...Henry Clerval?" Adam asked softly through the door.

He heard something shift behind the door. Above he heard the voices again, "It sounded like something large fell? Hello?"

Footsteps.

They stopped.

Silence.

Suddenly the door swung open, and a surprised looking Clerval greeted them. "Adam? What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"Victor..." Adam began, shifting the blanket that shielded them both.

Above he heard the voices again, "It sounded like something large fell? Hello?" one of the voices called out.

Henry Clerval cast a glance toward the ceiling - toward the voices.

"The Frankenstein fellow left his apartment open..."

Clerval quickly tugged on Adam's arm. "Quick. In. Before anyone sees you," Clerval said hurriedly.

Adam obliged, easing himself through the small door frame, Clerval shutting it quick behind. The voices were silenced.

Clerval's apartment was much different from Victor's. It appeared as the same structure, but the furnishings were drastically different. Victor's main space, he remembered, was filled with clutter - glassware and strange instruments. Clerval's was completely different. There was a small soft bench and a little table on top of an exotic looking rug. On the side was a canister filled with long rods - he knew not their purpose. But all together, it was clean, comfortable - nice.

"Here, set him down on the settee," Clerval said, gesturing to the soft bench. Adam did, gently laying Victor's body. He watched intently as Clerval stripped away Victor's outer layers: untie the stock, off with the jacket and the waistcoat. Adam watched as his fingers deftly slid down Victor's shirt, undoing each button in a smooth, lightning-quick motion. Hand to forehead, hand under nose, hand to chest - feeling, feeling, feeling.

"He's hot - breaths are quick," Clerval said aloud. The fair man slid a hand to the wrist. "Pulse quick, too. Fever. Probably developed it last night; he came in soaking wet after the storm. That, or I've known him to work himself sick when we were youths. Could be something similar like that," Clerval said seriously.

"Fever? Is that... bad?"

"Yes. It's when you get very sick. Victor says that there are many little things in the world that can do so - tiny things that you cannot see. But whatever they are, all these sicknesses, they make your body very hot. Here, feel his forehead," Clerval said, guiding Adam's large hand to Victor's head. "Can you feel the heat?" Henry then guided his hand to the blonde's own forehead. He could feel the difference between the two smaller men. Henry's head had a pleasant warmth. Victor's however...

"Yes," replied Adam. Victor's head was different from the warmth of the sun's ray's he'd felt that morning. While the two heats felt similar, the sun was pleasant while this was... not. He did not like how this "sickness" had brought about such a quick change to Victor. How does such a thing happen?

"But... what makes... it so?"

"Victor says its some reaction. Something about "the body's natural defenses" hard at work. There was something about proteins and their nature, but you would have to ask him when he comes around."

Adam grew silent in contemplation. Natural defenses, invisible things that could work such horror - he hardly knew the visible world around him, and already Clerval was alluding to something more that existed around them that they couldn't see?

"Could we... make... something... that could... see... the little... things?" he asked slowly.

A small smile crossed Clerval's serious face. "That sounds like something Victor would say. And if I had never met you, I would have assumed he was working on a device to allow us to see the invisible."

I think like Victor? Adam thought, looking down at the tiny man. Somehow, his creator looked even smaller and frailer than before. A pale, limp thing, his close-cropped dark hair plastered to his head. He was sticky with sweat.

As Henry continued examining Victor's body, he narrowed his eyes at something on the torso. Two lines of deep purple were blooming. "Bruising?" Henry asked, a tone of confusion in his voice.

"What is... bruising?" Adam asked.

"In your body there are lots of little vessels that carry your blood around; it's how you live. When those vessels break, you bleed. Bruising is when those vessels break and the blood pools under the skin."

Adam looked back at Henry, horrified. "What causes... bruising?"

Henry's lips drew together in a tight line. "Typically trauma - injury - of some sort. Other times, Victor's told me, it can be completely idiopathic - that is, we don't know the cause," he said, looking back over Victor with a strange expression before pulling a cloth from his person.

"Here - can you wet this cloth with some water? I have a decanter on my bedside table."

"I can... try," Adam replied, shakily getting up to find the "decanter," whatever that was.

He looked around, finding two doors at the end of a short hallway. The ceiling here had grown low, and he was forced to move at a crouch. He tested one door, opening it to find little floating tables all stacked on top of each other, each filled with things like cloths and canisters. Considering the small size of the space concealed by the door, he quickly assumed that it was not the bedroom where the decanter was.

He tried the other door. It led into a bedroom where the ceiling was thankfully taller than the hallway. While the room itself was a similar size to Victor's, it employed a different sense of style. The bed was crisply made. The desk was neat, the chair pushed in nicely. A small colorful cloth decorated the floor and, upon standing on it, cushioned his feet from the cold, hard wood. There were shelves installed along the walls, containing little rectangles of different sizes. Curious, he skirted by them while casting a quick glance their way. Hard leather outside, white sheets inside. Victor had something like these. But these were nicely organized. Maybe Victor could arrange his own this way? It was certainly nicer and calmer than how Victor's room was arranged. He found the little table next to the bed, curiously poking the pile of white on the floor next to it. Stiff white fabric, a round metal... thing. And then a long, metal thing he hadn't seen earlier came clattering to the ground, a glint of silver shining from the sheathe. He quickly tried to prop it back up next to the table.

Turning his attention back to the side table, he found a little tray with a thing like a jug and a wide-mouthed container. He lifted the jug, a small tremor running through his hand. It sloshed with a liquid. He sniffed it. He couldn't perceive any of the caustic scents that has assailed him back in Victor's room.

Carefully, he held the cloth offered to him by Clerval to the mouth of the jug and decanted some of the liquid onto it. Some of the liquid slid off and into the vessel below, but the liquid saturated the cloth. Gently, he set the jug down on the table and hastened back to Clerval.

The fair man smiled at him, thanking him for doing the task. "You were very helpful," said Clerval.

I did good. I am helpful. Adam repeated to himself.

"I heard something clatter in there, though. Are you okay?" Clerval asked, his eyes sliding down Adam's form.

"I was... looking."

"Looking?" asked Clerval, pausing in his ministrations to Victor as he focused on Adam. "It looks like you did hurt yourself. Here - Victor's on the couch, but if you position yourself just over the leg of the table here..."

Adam did, gingerly setting himself where Clerval suggested. His long legs folded sharply; he was much too large to sit anywhere comfortably. As he repositioned his cloth, he noticed something red and sticky on his hand. What is that? he thought, pausing to study his hand.

Clerval, however, seemed to divine the answer quicker. "Your thigh - it looks like some of Victor's stiches came undone. And you have some bruising here yourself," Clerval remarked. "Are you sure you weren't hurt anywhere?"

Adam inspected himself quietly. "I was... coming down... with Victor," he began hesitantly, his own brows furrowed. "The steps... they are... small... for me," he said, holding up a hand and making a gesture of pinching the fingers together. "I stepped... and I... down," he finished, using his hands to show that he slipped and slid down.

"You slipped down the stairs?" Clerval asked in confirmation, pausing in his ministration of Adam to cast another glance at Victor. "And you were holding Victor..." he said, leaving his final conclusion unspoken. "Hold on; I'm going to need more water for this. Since you're hurt, sit there while I grab the decanter.

Adam sat quietly, watching Victor's chest rise and fall with his every breath.

Henry left quickly to grab the decanter from his room. He was going to need a lot more water to clean the oozing blood and pus from Adam's leg. He shivered involuntary. He was going to treat it like a human, but it was still so uncanny. Too large, too smart, and too strong, if the bruising on Victor's torso was from Adam holding him tightly when he'd slipped down the stairs.

Grabbing the tray with the decanter and bowl, he noticed his dusack had been moved - that was likely what he'd heard earlier when Adam had said he was "looking."

It's still young, it's still learning, right? he told himself, hoping the interest in his weapon was nothing more than it not knowing what the sword was.

He returned to the parlor. Adam was still sitting on the edge of the coffee table, far too large for it. It seemed the giant was slowly becoming aware of his own incredible height, noting how he'd said that the stairs were small for him.

"I'm back," he said, alerting the giant to his presence. He didn't want to spook him, rattled as he already was by Victor's condition. He set the tray down next to Adam, poured some water into the bowl, and quickly rung out his cloth. Victor would be okay. The man had stayed up practically the entire night, the whole day, probably, and God knows how much longer before all those events. Victor typically worked himself into sickness whenever he chased after his obsessions. And now...

He wiped along the wound on the giant's thigh. This close, Henry's heart was hammering in his chest. Victor had created this from the bodies of the dead and condemned. It was dead. It is alive.

"I see you found my fencing equipment," Henry hazarded to say. The more he talked, the more Victor's creation seemed to learn, absorbing the information as fast as it exited his mouth. Since Victor was out, he supposed it fell to him now to teach it right from wrong. It certainly seemed smart enough to learn to distinguish the difference.

The giant sat there still for a moment. Henry could hear him summoning breath to his lungs. "Fencing... equipment?" the giant asked.

"It's for sword fighting. Dueling. Defense. That sort of thing. The blade is sharp; when I heard it clatter, I was afraid you'd cut yourself on its blade," Henry said.

The giant sat there, barely flinching as Henry worked on cleaning his thigh. The wound wasn't so bad, and the weeping was beginning to stop. Maybe he wouldn't have to figure out how to fix Victor's stitches?

"I was... taking... care... when I... placed it... back," the giant replied. "But... what is... dueling? Why... would you... use a thing... that could... cause hurt?"

Perceptive, and a good sentiment. Under the horror of its face, he reminded himself, it was an innocent. "I fence for the thrill of the sport. It's good physical exercise. It keeps you healthy, moving your limbs and getting your heart and lungs to beat good and strong," Henry replied. "Plus, if you take to traveling with the sword - and if you know how to use it - you can use it to frighten off people who mean you harm.

"Of course, my friend," Clerval continued, "your prodigious size would certainly frighten many."

"I... frighten people?" the giant remarked, looking back at Henry with an odd sort of expression.

Henry to a deep breath. "Yes. People fear what is different from them, and you, my friend, look very different."

Different. I am different.

Adam brought a hand to his face, tracing along his features. He had a nose. He had a mouth. He had eyes. He had hair. Gently, he extended a hand toward Henry Clerval. The fair man tensed, but Adam made sure to be gentle, lightly skimming over the other man's features.

"How am... I different?" Adam asked, cocking his head. "I have... a nose... like you. I have... a mouth... like you. I have... eyes... like you. I have... hair... like you. But you... call me... different?"

"You - you are not exactly handsome, in the conventional sense of the term. Here - I think I have a looking glass," Clerval said, departing to run to one of the back rooms.

Adam furrowed his brow, reflecting on himself. There was much he didn't know. He was learning how to speak, but it was difficult work. So many words, so many meanings, and his mouth was still clumsy with his pronunciations. He could hear the words as they exited his mouth: his inflections were off, different from the tones of Clerval and Victor. Even now, he could feel his lungs tiring from the exertion. Every sentence was beginning to take more and more of an effort. Yet Clerval could carry on with ease. Was this what he meant by "different?" That he hadn't the stamina to keep up with their conversations? That he was so lacking?

Clerval also could maneuver around with ease. Things fit the fair man's proportions nicely, while he found everything small. Was this "different?" It couldn't be plain appearance; Clerval was taller than Victor and seemed physically thicker. He was also of a more ruddy complexion than the pale, dark haired man lying on the bed. By that thought, wouldn't Victor be "different" for being so tiny? For being so dark? That couldn't be what Clerval meant by different. Unless there were others similar to both of them, and no one similar to himself?

Henry returned with a small object in his hand - shining silver and glass. It was a captivating thing.

"I've a mirror - it reflects the image of things. So, if I hold it like so," Henry positioned the mirror, and suddenly he could see an image of Henry's face, mouth moving as he talked, "you can see me. But the way the mirror works - it's reflective, so the mirror image is a flipped version of yourself. See?" Henry said, pointing at a small mark - a raised pale streak of white - on his fair cheek.

"The... mark... is... on the... other side?" Adam asked.

"Yes. My scar - the mirror shows it on the right of my face, but if you look back at me, it's really on the left," Henry clarified.

Carefully, Adam reached to hold the little looking glass in his own hands. He angled it at himself.

He inhaled sharply.

Was this what he looked like?

Was this what Henry and Victor saw?

Was this him?

If he held his breath and didn't move, it was fine. But if he turned his head just a little - his neck wrinkled wrong. There was a little line of neat black stitches near his ear. When he blinked, the lid fell funny, different from the smoothness of Victor and Henry. His eyes, yellow with a faint shine in them, were different from Victor's brown and Clerval's green. And as he thought about it, the tone of his skin was different from both Henry and Victor. Henry was ruddy and warm. Victor was pale, with a slight flush of pink on his cheeks. But himself? He carried a flat, wan, ashy tone. He had no warmth in his cheeks or lips.

He pressed a single finger to his black lips, and watched as his fingerprint stayed, pale and ashy. He could see his ear was just slightly different from his neck, which was just slightly different from his face, which was slightly different from his nose and his lips. Tiny, almost imperceptible stitches held him together, and he inspected them, entranced. He ran a finger along a thin line near his hair. When he pulled his long hair back, he could see it continue on and around.

This was "different?"

Why was he this way?

"Are you alright?" Clerval asked, breaking the silence.

"Why?" Adam said, looking at Clerval, a pained expression on his. "Why am... I... so... different?"

Clerval shook his head, looking back to Victor lying on the couch. "You will have to ask him when he comes around."

"Will you... help... me... less... different?" he drew out. His lungs were aching. His throat was growing sore. He'd spoken far too much, he'd moved far too much. Would he ever recover from this? Or would he be stuck with this growing pain forever?

"Of course."

"I... want... to learn... to be... like you," Adam said.

"I'm... not entirely sure if I can oblige you on that matter, but I will try to help you live independently," said Clerval. Suddenly, Clerval furrowed his brows, his eyes darting to the dark windows and back. "Are you quite alright? It seems I've lost track of the time..."

"I think... I... am... tired," said Adam, his eyes growing far too heavy to continue holding open.

"I do not have anywhere comfortable for you to - wait!"

"Wait!" exclaimed Henry, rushing to Adam's side as the giant fell forward. With an "oof," he caught the large man as he toppled forward. Like a child - he doesn't know exhaustion, he doesn't know his own strength, he realized, cushioning Adam's descent to the floor. Now there were two unconscious people in his parlor. Great. He's just like Victor; working himself to exhaustion. And I just wanted to catch up on some reading tonight.

He went to his linen closet and retrieved extra linens. He draped a light one over Victor, feeling his forehead. Good. The fever's beginning to break.

To Adam, he draped another blanket. When the giant fell, Henry had tried to guide his descent. Adam was heavy, and he'd nearly had the wind knocked out of him when he tried to catch the giant. Still, he'd been successful in guiding him into a curled position, allowing the blanket to actually cover the giant's form. With a remaining blanket, he wadded it up and stuffed it under Adam's head. Not perfect, but better than hard floor.

God damn it, Victor. What mess of yours am I stuck cleaning up now? he thought, studying the two forms in his parlor.

His best friend, gone for two years without a single word suddenly shows up in the dead of night. Raving mad, soaked to the bone - Henry didn't even know what to think. He was glad to see his friend alive. He was furious at him for just leaving without a word. Had he meant that little?

And now he comes back to him? Feverish on the couch in his parlor? Victor had such little regard for others, and it stung him that his friend only thought to call on him when he was on death's door. Why couldn't Victor ever just call on him socially, like everyone else?

And what of his creation? A fully-formed human, intelligent and strong, but deeply ignorant and innocent of the world around him. Victor's creature was alone with no one to guide him. Victor was incapacitated. Henry was here.

What could have happened if Victor had not come to him last night to intervene? Would his friend be alive? Would Adam, that strange giant - horrifyingly innocent creature - be harmed by the world? Who would teach him the ways of man? Who would understand Victor's intent with it? If he couldn't, and he was Victor's best friend, then who could?

This is going to be my God-given mission in life, isn't it? To educate him... God damn you, Victor Frankenstein.

He sighed, snuffing the lights and retiring to his studying in his bedroom.

Henry woke early the next day. His sleep had been fitful. Victor had come back into his life and flipped it upside down. His only responsibility should have been learning, not taking care of his sick friend and creation.

Victor.

The man caused drama to unfold around him wherever he went. When he went silent, the whole campus was ablaze with rumors. He'd shut himself alone in his dormitory apartment. He wouldn't talk to anyone. Every week, they'd spy his dark form haunting the library or labs, checking out stranger and stranger books and stranger and stranger equipment. Victor's neighbors across the hall, twins Otto and Uwe Tauber - Mathematics and Law students respectively, had provided the darkest rumors. They could see strange, unsavory people come at night with sacks of... things. No one knew. Victor had been a student of the human body - they guessed he was performing different types of autopsies. Why he didn't just use the regular laboratories was the mystery.

Johannes Leder, a theologian, suggested Victor to be keen in... other more unsavory acts, hence the need for his discretion in his room. Victor's lack of attendance to daily mass and the Tauber brothers' reports of the occasional bloody bag of refuse only seemed to further cement Johannes' belief.

Other students whispered him of dealing with magics. Krempe and Waldmann had, after all, shown contempt when Victor had told them of his studies of the Great Alchemists. "What rot," they'd all said.

And now Victor was back in his life. Perhaps he wasn't fornicating in secret with a dead body like the others had been suggesting, but what he'd done certainly wasn't much better. Adam. Henry remembered Victor showing the giant draped over Victor's bed, his form much too large for the furniture to contain him. His legs had spilled off the end until his feet were practically planted on the floor. An exquisite corpse, living and breathing. It was enough to make a man sick.

But further, however Victor had done it, his friend had created the thing intelligent. They could not discount it. They could not just "throw away" the results of Victor's insane experiment. Victor sought to create life? Now he was morally bound to it, yet he was too dense to see it! Victor would leave the most difficult tasks to him, and he would see it through because it always fell to him to minimize his friend's damage.

Still dressed in his night shift, he made his way to the kitchen, the rooms still dark though he carried a solitary taper. He passed through the dark parlor when he noticed a strange glean. He held his light further out, trying to discern what it was.

Eyes.

Two glowing yellow eyes, like that of a wolf or some nocturnal predator.

His heart pounded in his chest. What was that? It was staring right at him - would he be attacked? Here, in his own home? What fiend of the night had gotten in?

"Henry?" a soft voice asked from the darkness.

Adam's voice. It came from the glowing eyes. Merde, Victor. Why? he asked himself, dragging a hand along his face.

"Adam; I hadn't expected you to be up at this hour. Did you sleep well?" Henry said, forcing his panic down.

"I did... I think," the giant replied in his soft voice - so anomalous with how he was physically. "I... woke up. I did not... did not..." the giant paused. Henry moved closer to better see his face, lighting a few candles along the way. Adam's eyes reflected the candlelight back. "I did not... last night... to be so... tired."

"You never quite had a moment to really simply rest since you woke that day, hadn't you?" Henry mused. The giant continued sitting on the ground, the blankets draped around its form.

"No... I don't... think I... had," Adam said, cocking his head to the side. "I have... been trying... very hard... to learn. There is... so much," he said, releasing a shuddering breath. "So much... I do... not know."

"No one is born knowing everything, Adam. Most people spend their entire lives learning."

"Truly?" asked Adam in disbelief. Clerval was so knowledgeable; already, he'd learned so much, but it felt as thought the gap between them was insurmountable.

Henry smiled. "There are a million things man must know about life. As children, we start with small things - how to act, how to behave, the chores we perform to honor our parents. As we grow, we ask new questions. Victor and I are here because we want to learn."

Adam frowned. That was a new thought. He'd seen further reaches out from Victor's window, but he hadn't thought anything more of it at the time. But, if he had a base of "here," then would he understand what Victor and Henry meant by "there?"

"Where... is here?"

"This is the University of Ingolstadt!" Henry said cheerfully. "Finest University in Germany between Munich and Nuremberg!" Henry said with a dash of bravado. "But, technically, this is just the student dormitory. Victor and I - we're attending classes together so we can learn more."

"There are... places... you go... to learn?"

"Yes. You have to find yourself a teacher - someone who is knowledgeable in what you seek to learn. Then, once you learn all you can from them, you can begin your own independent studies. Come, I need to set the kettle on," Henry said, gesturing for Adam to follow.

Adam stood, breathing in sharply as he sought to quickly correct his balance. He was still uneasy on his feet when changing positions quickly, he found. But a small moment, breathe in, breathe out, and then he could go.

He watched as Henry fiddled with a large, black object.

"It's a stove, you see," Henry said in explanation. The large object emitted a nice warmth, and Henry opened a latch on the side. It was a dark opening, a low, red glow and a deep heat coming from within. Adam crouched low to get a better look. Henry stooped and picked up a long dark rod and a cylindrical object.

"You have to make sure you rake out the coals before adding a new log to the fire. It helps to disperse the heat and prevent the new logs from choking the fire."

"Choke?" Adam asked, watching Henry work.

"Suffocate - euh, like not breathing? You take in a breath, and you breathe out a breathe? Fire does something similar. It uses the same air we breathe to burn. But when it burns, that air gets used up. So, you end up with the coals - those are those little black things glowing red, see? The coals are still very hot - don't touch them - you feel the heat coming from the stove? A burn would hurt you very much. But we rake the coals like so," Henry said, moving the black rod. As he shifted the little black and red coals, they flew to life, brightening and sending a most beautiful flurry of embers into the air, floating and glowing in the darkness like those motes of dust he'd seen in the window. Light enough to be suspended in the air. Beautiful.

A few embers fled the dark hole of the stove, and quickly lost their glow. Adam caught on on his hand. The ash was a cool pale grey, not the hot red of the coals. It was, he reflected, not too dissimilar from his own skin.

"And now that the coals can breathe," continued Henry, "we can add our wood." Henry lifted a cylindrical piece of what he now understood to be wood - a log - and tucked the log into the opening of the stove. The embers dimmed.

"Oh!" Adam breathed. The embers were going out! Was the fire dying?

"It's alright - we raked the coals, remember? We just have to let the fire dry out whatever water might be in the log. Then - look - you see there's a little blackening?" Henry said, pointing to the log.

Adam crouched lower again. He could see it. The little log Henry had put in was growing dark in some places. Then - a flash of light! Adam took a step back, blinking his eyes from the sudden light and heat. They felt very dry suddenly.

"It looks like the fire caught. Good. Here," Henry said, offering Adam a small log. "Add this one to the fire. I think then it'll be stoked enough."

Carefully, Adam accepted the log. It was rough, and little pieces of it's warm brown outside flaked off in his hands. He slowly brought the log toward the stove, feeling the heat increase the closer his hand got. Hot. This was hot. Not nice like warm. Uncomfortable. Painful. Yet - he was not burned.

When at last he couldn't stand the heat, he finished tossing the log into the opening. He felt his heart beating.

"Good. Now that we've fed the fire, we're just going to give it a little pump of air and then I can make us some coffee to break our fast. Sound good?" asked Henry.

Adam nodded. "It sounds... good."

Henry reached into a cupboard and retrieved a mill, two cups - always one for self and one for entertaining - and his precious bag of beans. He measured out a small portion for the mill to grind down and he showed Adam how simple it was to work the crank.

"The ceramic in the center crushes the beans and releases their oils. Then we can add the hot water from the kettle on the stove slowly," Henry explained. Adam, it seemed, took to the knowledge quickly. He seemed eager to learn the stove and now again with the coffee. Domestic tasks, but things all good bachelors should be able to do. He cast a glance at the sleeping Victor.

Even Adam grinding the beans didn't wake his friend.

Victor. His friend was still in his care. He hadn't woken yet, but he knew a place where he could get some broth and feed him fluids. If there was one thing Victor had insisted, it was learning baseline medicine.

"Everyone should have some basic understanding of medicine, Henry," Victor had insisted once upon a time. "Whatever would you do if I wasn't here?" He'd been very insistent upon that. And now that his friend was the one indisposed, he finally saw the wisdom of those words.

"The beans..." Adam said, interrupting his thoughts.

"Good. And the kettle is finishing - you hear that sound? The water's at temperature - just before it reaches a full screaming boil. I'll show you another time. But now?" Henry said, taking the beans and transferring them to his standing setup. He had a standing filter that would allow the water to pass through slowly. "We pour the water over the beans slowly - let it pull the oils and essence of coffee out and into the water. You smell that?" Henry said, breathing deeply. Coffee in the morning always cleared away the fog of night and gave clarity to his thoughts.

He watched as Adam nodded. He breathed in the pleasant roasted nutty scent as he decanted two servings from the carafe. Yes. Coffee brought clarity.

"Careful; it's still hot," Henry cautioned. He blew gently on his own before sliding a small dish of sugar and cream toward Adam. "I prefer mine with nothing in it, but I know Victor cannot tolerate it without at least something in it."

He watched with some amusement as Adam copied him: nothing added, soft blow, little sip. Then, a stifled sputter as Adam's face wrinkled in dislike.

"Take the sugar and creamer," Henry suggested.

Adam shook his head and went for another sip. His face curled in dislike again.

"I know you don't like the taste."

"It... is... fine," Adam replied slowly. He forced a smile. It was a grimace.

Henry shook his head and reached for Adam's cup.

Adam pulled the cup closer to himself.

"Here - just - let me," Henry muttered.

Adam shook his head and pulled his cup closer to himself. They locked eyes as Adam raised the cup to his mouth and took a deep draw of the liquid.

The giant tried his best to hold back a look of dislike, holding the liquid in his mouth. With great effort, he swallowed.

Henry sighed. "Fine. It could have tasted much more palatable if you did it like this," he said, adding creamer and sugar to his own. It would still taste fine, he knew, but for himself, it wasn't necessary. He made a show of tasting his.

Adam watched him inquisitively.

Henry raised a brow, holding up his cup. "Would you like a taste?"

Adam continued staring, draining his own cup but not before making another grimace.

"Here - pass me your cup."

Finally, Adam seemed to listen. He slid his empty cup to Henry.

Henry looked inside. Adam had drained it. He looked back at Adam, then the cup, then thoughtfully added three spoonfuls of his own sweetened coffee to Adam's cup. He slide the cup back.

"Try this. You may find it more to your tastes."

Adam picked the cup up and gave the cup a small sniff before draining the little sample. He did not make the same grimace.

"Better?" asked Henry.

"It... does taste... better. It is... less," and Adam gestured to his mouth, frowning. Henry could see him searching for a word.

"Hot? Harsh? Bitter?"

"What is... Bitter?"

"Bitter is, euh, like "sharp" or, euh, "acid?" but in an unpleasant way? If that makes sense? Many people find black coffee to be bitter," Henry explained.

"People... like... what they... don't?" Adam asked.

"I don't - I don't think I understand?"

"You said... "Black coffee... is bitter... is un... pleasant." Unpleas...ant. Is not... liked? People... do not... like... un... pleasant. So, why... do... people... drink what... they do not... like?"

Henry nodded. "People actually find coffee enjoyable when they add sugar to it to make it sweet. But, I and others, actually like the tones of the black coffee. I find milk too heavy, masking the natural body of the coffee, and sugar to mask all the nuances. To me, it tastes delicious. But if you don't like it, you don't have to force yourself to drink it. I think - I don't have time today, but tomorrow - I have mint - I can show you how to brew some mint tea."

Adam nodded. "That... would be... nice."

"Good. I'll see you later! I've lecture in the day, fencing club in the afternoon, and then I need to pick up some books from the library. I'll be back around dinnertime - when the clock strikes Five?" Henry said, pointing to the timepiece on the wall.

Adam nodded. Good. Hopefully he understood and wouldn't get himself into too much trouble.

Henry left. He had to go to class. Adam had to watch Victor alone.

He could do this.

His heart, though. It was... pounding in his chest. Faster, faster!

What was happening?

He shook, sliding to sit on the floor alone. No Henry, no Victor. He was alone. His heart felt as though it would burst. Was this what dying felt like? He clutched his chest, trying to steel his breath as though that would help slow his heart.

No.

It wasn't working.

No.

Trembling, he stood up. Pacing. He had to move.

Go.

He had to move.

He walked to the mantle.

Turning, he paced back to Victor.

Can't keep still.

Back to the mantle.

Back to Victor.

He ran a hand through his hair, taking in a shuddering breath.

He paced, mantle to Victor, back and forth, breathing in, breathing out.

He couldn't die like this.

Henry still had more to teach.

Victor still had to recover.

He had to see to Victor until he recovered!

There was a knock on the door. He froze.

"Henry?" a voice called. "Are you in there?"

No, no one is here. Hide - I must hide! Adam thought.

Quickly, watching his step to be as silent as possible, he fled to Henry's room.

He spun around, looking for something that could conceal him.

Not the dresser. He wouldn't fit.

The bed?

He slid under and froze.

Listening.

The door knocked again.

No, Henry's gone. Go to him, don't look in here.

"Henry?" The voice called again. "Oh, I..." and the voice faded. Adam could hear footfalls trailing away from the door.

His heart was pounding, but he would stay still. Someone else might notice him.

He recited the words he learned in his head. Coffee. Bitter. Suffocate. Embers. Coal. Burn. Heat. Warm.

He did not know how the time passed. He felt his stomach wrench him like a vise. He did not know how to resolve that pain. He would force it down. He would wait for Henry, and Henry would teach him all he needed to know. Henry would teach him how to care for Victor.

Henry would teach him what he needed to know.

He just needed to be patient.

Chapter Text

A fortnight.

It had taken Victor two entire weeks to make a full recovery from his sudden illness.

In that time, he'd missed so much. Henry hadn't recorded anything! Nothing about the thing's capacity for speech. Nothing about the speed in which it could comprehend basic instructions. Nothing about how fast it learned anything. Nothing about its vitals and if they were stabilizing or how they were stabilizing.

Henry had given him nothing.

Yes, Henry had worried over him and took cares to mind his body and his creature while he was... indisposed. But of the grand scheme? Henry hadn't aborted the creature like Victor had so longed for originally, and to spite him twice over he'd made no notes for research. What a waste.

Henry had cared for him in his own parlor during his illness, loyal friend as he always had been. And his creature, he learned, was the one to carry him. He still had nasty, deep yellowing bruises on his arms and ribs from the brute. Apparently it, too, had a sense of loyalty to its creator. Well, he presumed it was only right. Man worshiped God, the Creator. Was he not a creator himself? Was he not like god to his creation? He shivered at the thoughts.

But now, he found himself safe and well back in his own quarters. The mess of his common room was still waiting for him to destroy all evidence of his grasp at the ultimate act of blasphemy. He... needed to resume some modicum of normalcy. Keep the notes. Destroy the evidence. A madman's ravings, if any ever came to scrutinize what he'd done in those dark months of insanity. But the work itself? Scarred, yes - at least for now, but the ultimate creation? It was... flawless. It had been dead, and he had succeeded in creating life from that. He'd succeeded in what he'd set out to do. It could reason. It could speak. And, God! How fast it was learning! Between the elixir and the electricity - maybe there was something hidden in his mad scrawls.

But he was getting ahead of himself.

Henry had made it clear he was to care for it, and as it were his creature still lacked clothes in the basest sense of the term. Yes, it was technically "covered by cloth," but it was a bedsheet stolen from his own bed. It really wasn't much of anything, only rags.

During his convalescence he was lucid only for few sparse moments. But whenever he heard Henry talking about him he could hear tones of disappointment on his friend's voice. Judging him. Judging what he'd done. Finding him lacking. And he didn't know the full depths he'd sunk to in order to see his experiment through.

Half-lies.

If his friend already thought ill of him for what he'd done, what hope did he have if Henry knew fully?

No. He would leave what he'd told at that. The rest? He would take the rest of his shame to his grave. He could never risk his father discovering what he'd done. He would never survive the scandal that would befall his family if the full nature of his experiments were publicized. What was supposed to be the greatest achievement for him and the greatest honor for his family has become his greatest shame and the greatest blight upon the Frankenstein name.

No. No one could ever know.

He looked back at his creation. Henry had insisted he name the thing. So let it be Adam, he'd thought, carelessly giving it the first name that came to his mind.

He'd played God, trying to stop suffering and death. It had been for a good cause. Was he really that wrong? Why could he not be the one to blaze the way? The one to find the cure for premature death? By forcing life into what was dead, was this ground that should not have been walked upon? His professors had cautioned him about straying into God's domain... but I've stolen God's craft from his vacant workbench!

He felt his creation's jaundiced eyes on him. It had turned its attention from the window outside to himself. He frowned. Why was it looking at him?

"What is it like... out there?" it asked. Its voice had improved significantly from its creation, though its lung capacity was still yet to be desired. It still had a queer "huff" between words and syllables as though it did not know how to pace its breaths for speaking.

Still, the fact that it could form such sentences - it appeared the brain he'd given it wasn't a complete waste.

He wrinkled his nose. "Out there? It's not much; nothing impressive. Too many people." Far too many people, always asking questions, always sticking their noses into places they have no right to snoop.

It turned its gaze back outside. "What about... beyond? Where the... green is?"

"The forest? There's animals and plants," Victor said, following his creation's gaze out the window. Down in the green, he could see some classmates sitting and chatting. Idle prattle. But Auwald? "I suppose its more interesting that all the hubbub of the city here. I've found many interesting species of mushrooms. Some edible, some deadly toxic." Auwald would be quiet. Only rare hunters and foragers entered the woods. They were quiet and peaceful for the most part. Peaceful for him to think...

"Could I... ever go... to the forest?" it asked, its voice a soft tenor. It had such a look of pleading.

Victor made a face. He'd originally been against the idea, but perhaps the experiment could continue? But in any event, he could tell his creation was growing restless within the confines of his apartment. "Perhaps. If you can show me you have the stamina to make it such a way," he said, his lips tugging into a small frown. It could barely control its breath to form the sentences. It would definitely not have the stamina for the trip. Yet it carried you down to Clerval...

"You'd have to walk the entire length of the city," he added, hoping he might scare it into submission.

But the creature had such a look of hope.

Victor put a hand to his chin. "And we would have to make sure you're properly clothed," he muttered, more to himself. "If I'm ever caught outside with you, I won't have you flaunting the standards of modesty. They take people away for that, you know."

His pitiful creature had such a lost look on its face. "Modesty?"

"Yes. Modesty. Look at you: You're naked. Without a scrap of clothing to cover your shame from the world."

It seemed to take a moment to look at itself. Hmph. Perhaps now it would see the different between itself and -

"But this..." and it gestured to the sheet it currently had wrapped around its form. "Is this... not a cloth? Am I... not clothed... as such?"

Victor frowned deeply, huffing. "No, not in the way that the people down there would see it. It's absolutely unacceptable. You need a proper shirt and breeches and stockings and shoes. But the biggest concern is where to begin..." And it was true. It was something Victor had begun contemplating. He thought about reaching out to Elizabeth or Justine, but halfway through three penned letters, he aborted and burned the contents. Everything he wrote was too damning.

"Could you... not make me... some clothes?" The creature said.

"Me? Absolutely not. I'd have a devil of a time at it, never mind I have not patterns."

"Patterns?"

"Yes, patterns. A pre-planned design that then the tailor interprets to create clothes for the current fashion."

"Why can't you... get a pattern... from somewhere?"

"Me? I'm not a tailor! I'm a scientist! Plus, sewing something of that caliber is for professionals. I know sutures, not... sewing stitches. Pfft, Elizabeth had once mentioned to me some five-odd stitch names. No, I don't have the skills to do it."

His creature sat a moment in quiet contemplation, then moved to produce something from under the white sheet. Victor pursed his lips, trying to get a better view of the black object in his creature's hands. A black book. A black notebook - "Hey!"

The creature jerked its head at Victor, its yellow eyes wide in surprise.

"That!" Victor said, pointing at the book, "Give me that!"

It fumbled the notebook in its trembling hands before stretching out its arms to present the notebook to Victor. Victor snatched the book from its hands, idly noting the sutures were healing well where he enclosed the new wrist tendons. Quickly, he flicked through the pages, noting a few new creases and odd fluid stains.

"You looked at this?" he barked at the creature.

As large as it was, it seemed to fold in on itself at Victor's voice. "Yes," it said in its quiet tenor.

"You read it?"

"Not much," it replied. "I saw... the sketches. They are... of me?"

Victor frowned. "Yes. They are my notes of you."

"Then, could you... sketch your own pattern... for me? So I can go... outside?"

"What?"

"If you ask... Henry Clerval. He has always been... kind. He would do this... for you. For me," it seemed as though the creature blushed at this thought. "He would not... refuse you this request."

"I'll discuss this with Clerval when he returns from his class."

Clothes. Victor was considering to make him clothes. Victor had departed from him to complete some errand - he never specified, unlike Henry - and Victor had left him alone in his apartment. He was beginning to become more used to these quiet, lonely times to himself. It allowed him time to think and rest.

Whenever Victor or Henry was there, it was always a whirlwind of learning: how to do certain things, how to say certain things. Adam always found himself wanting for the right word or the right action. It troubled him to no end. But the loneliness? Was it better? It certainly scared him at first - the uncertainty that either of them would return to him. He still feared closing his eyes and passing into the void every night. He still had a fear that either of them would leave one day and never return to him. That he would be alone with so much he did not know or understand in this world.

He sat in quiet contemplation now, staring out the window near Victor's desk. It was raining today. He knew from Victor that it had been raining - storming - when he came to life. Victor had said it was "pouring like the Devil taking a piss" on that night. He was rather confused by the expression, though Henry had given him some clarity, supplying that Victor meant it was a very heavy downpour, "something that would soak you to the bones quickly," Henry had said. Adam supposed he would need to experience that for himself when it happened.

In the quiet moments alone, he could watch the natural world that Henry and Victor both talked about so much. Henry, waxing poetic on all the beauty the world had to offer. Victor, who delved into the scientific depths, talking of theories and treatises that he knew not where to begin his understanding.

That was where he started his own research. He watched as every evening Victor would scribble furiously in a little notebook at his desk until the taper burnt itself out and only then would the small man put himself to bed. It was in those dark hours that Adam would sneak over and thumb a page open - any page at random - and slowly try to sound things out. He never could understand the glyphs.

But the diagrams? He was able to recognize the pictures - a body and limbs, strange glyphs beside them - and trace the lines of his scars to match the lines connecting the thousand little pieces in the book. Was this how all men were made? Would his own scars fade to nothingness? Would he eventually look similar to Henry and Victor both?

Henry had said there was something fundamentally different about him, but perhaps that was only in relation to his size? He'd seen himself in the mirror - he saw nothing vastly alien in himself, but for the fact that all his parts together were... strange. It would all even out over time, wouldn't it?

If he had clothes, he could fit in better.

He examined the blanket he was using. He'd kept it wrapped around his shoulders, tying the ends together to fasten it and keep it from slipping. It was long, but his legs were still quite exposed. Was there something he could do with the blanket?

He untied the knot and held the fabric out before him. It was a large rectangle. He tied two corners on top and bottom together and slipped it on.

No. This would not do. His side felt exposed and his shoulders were now cold. He slipped it off, undid the knots, and fastened it back how he'd draped it around before.

Better. Comforting.

But what if...? he thought, slipping the blanket off. He wrapped it around his waist and tied it off. His legs were now much better concealed, but his chest was cold. No, he did not like this either...

"What are you doing?" Victor said suddenly, appearing in the portal that led to his "parlor." Victor's voice sounded tight. Irritable? Adam startled in shock; he hadn't heard Victor's return.

Adam readjusted the cloth he'd been toying with.

"I had thought... if I could... make myself... a "modest piece of... clothing,"" Adam replied softly.

"What? Like a... a...," and Victor's face scrunched up, puzzle, "some Roman toga? Absolutely not. No. Nonono, keep that wrapped about your waist!"

Adam paused in his adjustment of the blanket. He wanted to remove it, to toss it back comfortingly around his shoulders, but with Victor here - he found the little man telling him to keep it as it was. "But... it does not... fit right?"

"Just - keep that there. I'll come up with something," Victor said, running a hand through his hair. He sighed. "Clerval's right; you need clothes of your own."

Victor sat at his desk, writing furiously having since reclaimed his notebook. Yes, he made sure to keep himself and the creation fed. He scarcely noted his own hunger, but Clerval had encouraged him to set an alarm that he didn't miss his meals. His creation, too, was learning to keep track of the meal hours. So long as he provided, it was even dabbling in the kitchen. Clerval had much more patience with it than he ever had. His dear friend had taught it to work the stove and even some rudimentary dishes, encouraging it to experiment with how different herbs could affect the flavor of the foods prepared.

It was almost funny the first time his creation had prepared eggs and toast. A simple dish, something he'd thought even an imbecile couldn't mess up. He was wrong. Too much spice; the eggs were runny - it feared overcooking them and turning them to "rubber," indigestible as it was. Then, thinking itself a culinary genius, it over-seasoned everything. Too much salt and pepper, such that it burned the cheeks. Too much garlic on the toast, and not toasted long enough such that the garlic was still raw and potent. All three of them detested being in their own company after that meal, they reeked such of that plant.

Another few days had passed, and he considered what his creation had suggested: make his own patterns - make clothes himself. It was unfortunate that his experiment remained naked. Crafted as a man, should he not dress it as such? Even if it were but a mannequin, those things still don some form of garb. Would he be content in letting what should have been his Opus Magnus cloth itself in whatever rags it could find? No - to have his creation in rags, or worse - escaping to the streets naked? He would die of shame. He may raise a few eyes by the amount of fabric he would have to purchase, though he supposed he would gain less attention by purchasing the raw fabric against commissioning a full bespoke suit...

"What do you think, Clerval?" asked Victor one evening.

"On what?" his friend replied.

"On procuring clothing for it."

"For Adam?"

"Yes, for Adam. Commissioning something bespoke from one of the locals would raise too many eyebrows. It was expensive enough to procure the... discretion of those I worked with for raw materials. But, perhaps for clothing, I could purchase some meters of cloth; maybe a pattern or two...?"

"Have you considered writing to Elizabeth? I'm certain she and Justine could make quick work of it," Clerval suggested.

Victor shook his head. "No, certainly not. Those girls are quite clever; they would immediately suspect something. And we'd have a devil of a time making something up. They would sense the lie wherever we placed it."

"Then why not just tell them the truth?" said Clerval.

"Ah, yes. The truth: My dearest Elizabeth, there is a 2,4m man whom I've taken into my care. I found him with naught a scrap of cloth on his back nor a penny to his name. I will require clothing to be fashioned for him that he may make his debut into fine society, as befitting of a Frankenstein. PS: he has a pale complexion; I suspect deep royal jewel tones would look rather dashing on him," Victor finished sarcastically.

Henry leveled a steady look at him. "Really? You "took him into your care?" What a mild way to phrase your achievement - one would almost say it divorces you from your act."

"Because "I stitched him together from rot and death at school" will completely endear her to the cause," Victor retorted.

"Victor - you engaged her before you came here. If she is to be your wife, she deserves to know! You cannot be keeping secrets from those closest to you!"

Victor winced. "She cannot know - just - not yet, at least," he said quietly. "I'm not ready. I can't face her. Not with it. Not yet."

Henry continued to level Victor an unimpressed look.

Victor pulled his lips taught in a wry expression. "I'm... Henry, I don't know what to do. I've been feeding him and trying to care for him, but I haven't even been back to classes yet. Do I - do I dare explain this to Krempe and Waldman? They'd been so against it before," Victor remarked, a spark of fear in his eyes. "They're going to want to know why I was absent. I can't do this," Victor said, shaking his head.

"Then don't say anything. If you must lie to someone, lie to them. But don't lie to us. We're your family. We deserve to know."

"And what would I tell them? Hmm?"

"Tell them you had been working on a project, but then you took ill. It's not a complete falsehood. You must have had some preliminary experiments before you constructed him. Otherwise, you could return home to-"

"No! I can't bring him home to my father!"

"Then you're stuck dealing with your problems here. Now, before anything else: Adam's clothes?"

"Nothing; I can't risk writing anything to Elizabeth or Justine. They'll get suspicious."

"Okay, so what if you tried? And-"

"It won't be any good!"

"It doesn't have to be good, dammit! Just- - hear me out. It doesn't have to be perfect. I know you - you look for perfection in everything. You don't want to commission something or ask Elizabeth or Justine to do something? Fine. That's okay. So the only option left is you. Go to the store - they have fabric and patterns there. Buy your patterns, take it home, map it out. I know you. Look," Clerval said, grabbing Victor by the shoulders. "You can do this. You didn't have any patterns when you made Adam, but having seen what you did? Having heard you talk about Krempe and Waldman's lectures? If you could figure out how to do that," Clerval pointed at Adam, "then you are absolutely smart enough to be able to figure out scale and stitches. No one is asking for your handiwork in this to be perfect. The only thing we're asking is that you try. Alright?"

Victor took a moment to breathe. Clerval was right. He could do this. He made his creation from nothing but the detritus of man, attempting what none had dared do before. He wired the nerves and closed the loops of vascular systems; he reignited the beat of a heart. He designed his creation's proportions; he knew every measurement.

Victor nodded.

"Good," Clerval replied, clapping Victor's shoulders. "It will work out. Just... have faith," he said, settling down on a couch that they'd brought up from Clerval's apartment and pulling out a book to read.

Henry settled into his chair, flipping open his book. Victor still needed his assistance daily, and he'd found himself spending so much time in the man's apartment that he'd suggested moving some of his furniture up to make it more comfortable to spend his idle moments - that and so he wouldn't lose so much of his own study time. Victor had agreed. What started as a joking suggestion they'd put into action, carefully maneuvering the dingy sofa up the turning stairs.

The place was still very much a mess, but Victor was slowly working on cleaning things up. Reagents were collected into glass containers; equipment was slowly dismounted and arranged into steadily growing piles which Victor would later need to decide what was scrap and what was to go back to the college. The great copper tub was shoved into its own corner and the table dragged into the center, now arranged with a random chair and stool. Furniture truly befitting that of an academic bachelor.

He shook his head.

And Adam: the creation itself had come a long way in the fortnight since Victor first alerted him to his presence. Victor's creation had a lovely voice. Victor had mentioned quite proudly during one of his rantings that he'd selected every organ for the sake of perfection - a bit odd, considering that Victor had promised him Adam was built from the dregs of society. How he'd found such a lovely voicebox or crafted the throat and mouth into the instrument for creating such a soothing voice was not for him to know; he was student of philosophy, not the body.

Adam's voice was still not strong; Henry could hear that much. But it delighted him to hear how Adam was quickly picking up language, incorporating ideas and phrases that he and Victor would often use between themselves. Victor's creation, that giant of a man, was a pleasure to teach, too. He picked up on his manners and etiquette quickly, and was always ready to lend a hand.

But Adam was not Victor.

Victor needed to hurry up and craft his charge some clothes. Two weeks for Adam to sit idle in an apartment was not good - he could the giant was beginning to grow curious about the world outside these apartment walls. If they kept him cooped up and locked away, he was sure that would stunt his growth. And if they just let him out wearing naught but a blanket? Well, that was a sure way to invite catastrophe.

But Victor was a perfectionist. He'd wasted time trying to figure out how not to raise a tailor's suspicion at the request. Henry had succeeded in talking some sense into him on that front, at least.

A shadow blocked the light that was casting onto his page, and Henry looked up. "Hmm?" he asked, looking up. It was Adam.

"I was... curious about the... outside," Adam said. Henry nodded his head to show he was listening. "I saw some birds today... through Victor's window. And I thought... "I would like to see them... better." So... I opened the window..." a beatific smile graced Adam's blue-black lips, the small scars around his mouth tugging awkwardly. "Such a beautiful... noise did they make! You would... have loved to have heard... them sing! But then," and the smile slid off his lips, replaced by a small frown, "there was someone down... there below. They wore a colorful... blanket like I wear," Adam said, gesturing at the blanket wrapped around his waist. "But... I think they did not like me. I had called out to the birds... and the person - I think... they heard me... they said something... "Fuukin' loonie?" and... "Piss-head?" What did they... mean by that?"

At those last words, Henry sighed deeply. "Well, if I tell you, promise me you'll never repeat those words to anyone. They're very nasty, bad words."

Adam nodded his head furiously, his black locks flowing up and down with the motion. "Yes! Yes, I promise to never... repeat those words!"

"Alright. The first. "Fuckin' looney?" The person was calling someone "crazy in the head,"" Henry said, gesturing to his own head. "It's not nice, because it diminishes someone's intelligence. It implies that they cannot think as quickly as your or I."

Adam nodded along sagely, lidding his eyes in thought.

"And the other: "Pisshead." Means your head is full of piss - euh, urine. Again, it means you're dull-witted and stupid. Not a kind thing to tell someone else."

"Pisshead University Student," said Adam plainly.

"Yes, that would be a way to use that in a sentence," replied Henry, a little confused.

"That is what the person... had said."

"You'd have thought they'd run into Victor," Henry muttered under his breath. "In any event, those are very bad, very nasty things to say about other people, and I never want to hear you say things like that. Even if you're angry at someone - never. Those are not words becoming of a gentleman."

"You have my word," said Adam.

Pattern. Check.

Muslin. Check.

Good Fabric. Check.

Thread. Check.

Needles. Check.

Pins. Check.

Scissors. Check.

Victor took a deep breath as he reviewed his work. He'd taken the time to draw the original pattern on some larger paper to scale with his creation's proportions. Transferred that to muslin. He fingered the scissors. Small steps - that was, after all, how he crafted his creation. He took another breath and took the first cut. His hands were steady as he went, and the scissors made short work of the cloth. Carefully, he laid all the pieces out.

"Match A to A, B to B, etc... Just like following any sort of procedural formula," Victor muttered to himself quietly, pinning the parts of the plain cloth together. He'd chosen to start with the pattern for breeches, hoping that he was right in thinking the pattern had appeared slightly more simple than that of the shirt and waistcoat. Yet, as he cut out parts for the waistband, the drop front, the knee-ties, and made marks on possibly where buttons and their holes would go, a pang of fear cut through him. It was certainly more difficult than he thought, and the whole endeavor progressed more slowly because of it.

As he began the sewing - big simple back and forth stitches he vaguely remembered Elizabeth calling them "basting" stitches - a dark shadow fell over him. He paused his work and looked up. It was his creation.

"Can I help you?" Victor replied, returning his attention to the quick stitches.

His creation was silent for a moment. "I was... curious to see your craft. You had mentioned in... conversation with Clerval once that you had... stitched me together," it said, thumbing the healing sutures along its wrist.

Victor huffed. "What I did to you is markedly different from what I am doing now. Skin is softer, more pliable, and will eventually heal on its own. I used thread as sutures to bring skin together to allow the flesh to bond. Sewing though..." Victor shook his head. "It's much more complicated than my suturing. From what Elizabeth had told me once, there's some hundred different stitches a seamstress could use." Victor laughed humorlessly. "I, uh, I actually have no real idea what I'm doing. Most women learn this skill from their mothers, and tailors often take apprentices. This is... this is different," Victor said, pausing to stab the last pin in a little dense ball of fabric. "Here. Try this on," he said, thrusting the muslin mockup at his creation.

Adam fumbled the item in his hands, unconsciously taking a step back from Victor. What was... this was clothing?

"Put it on. One leg in each. It should fit like mine," said Victor, gesturing to his own dark breeches.

Afraid to hurt the clean stitching, Adam gingerly stuck one leg through each leg hole and pulled up. "Like this?" he asked. The waist was loose, and there was a front flap that kept hanging down. It didn't look like Victor's.

His creator circled around him, snatching pins out of the ball of scrap and stabbing them into different parts. Two pins here and there, and suddenly the front flap now stayed up. A pin here, the breeches were gathered at the knee. He felt his creator run his hands along his thighs, tugging at the fabric, testing it.

"Can you squat?" Victor asked suddenly.

Confusion crossed Adam's face before he complied. He began to lower himself to the ground before Victor shouted "Stop!"

Immediately, Adam stopped.

"Did I do... something wrong?" Adam asked.

"No, it just... Did I miscalculate? There's not enough material at your buttocks. You'll tear through all the stitches if you ever try to sit down if I use this with the real fabric. I think," Victor said, humming and putting a hand to his chin. "I think I can add some more material here, extra fabric to give it more "give," more room to function. Whenever the joint moves like in sitting, the inside contracts, bunching the fabric, while the outside stretches... Give me," Victor said, extending a hand making a grabbing motion.

Adam slipped out of the breeches, passing the pants to his creator before turning to pick up and put back on his blanket.

"Do you think I could learn... how to sew?" Adam asked, watching Victor quickly rip through some stitches he'd so slowly and thoroughly created earlier.

"Hmm?"

"Learn to sew. Could you teach me?"

Victor opened his mouth, a derisive look on his face. Then he closed his mouth, a thoughtful look coming over his features. Adam looked back to the fabric in his creator's hands and noticed that he'd stopped working as he gave the request thought. Victor set down the pants and stood, gesturing to the bed.

"Sit."

Adam sat.

Victor picked up the bundle that was to be his pants and passed the project into Adam's hands. Adam quickly looked back at Victor, who simply nodded. "Hold the needle in you right hand- careful! Don't let the thread exit the eye or you'll have a devil of a time trying to get the blasted thing rethreaded. Okay, good. Stabilize your work with your left, good..."

Carefully, his creation worked. Needle under the thread, through the fabric, pull, repeat. It's hand were shaky at first - residual tremors post shock revival still? Or perhaps something else? They were lessening, much like it was beginning to take bigger breaths and speak for longer times. Perhaps that, too, would disappear with use? Most definitely he would need to see about exercising it later, then. Take it outside? Could he ever bring his creation to see the light of day, outside the wall of his room? Here, he could deal with the consequences of his work in solitude. No one would ever have to know. It would have been preferable to have aborted it quietly, snuff out the life he'd given it, but - no. Henry had convinced him to keep it alive. And for what? To continue hiding his guilt in his room? He'd been worse than a thief in its creation. He'd stolen from the Good Dead. Henry - his family - the authorities of Ingolstadt: they would all protest his methods. He achieved results; he'd achieved his mission. A light to shine on all the world, and here he was hiding it under the basket of his room. But he couldn't share his success as it was. They would never understand. He'd be vilified, and his family would be ruined, and even if he could weather the disappointment of his father, he could never so harm Ernest or William. To ruin their standing in society? The shame they would suffer because of him? It was unfair.

And what of your creation? Is he so different from your brothers? Your father and mother created them - do you not have a duty to him? Henry's voice echoed in his mind. Are you not his father?

To Victor, he wanted to say it was entirely different. His creation wasn't human. It was an experiment. It was supposed to be an example of what he could achieve. It was never supposed to develop its own personality. But then it wouldn't be the triumph of humanity if it was only a flesh automaton. You made it human. But it wasn't human. Made of human parts, yes. But human? God, please no.

Debate of humanity aside, his creation still needed exercise lest its limbs atrophy.

Damn. Henry had been right. He should've started on creating it clothes sooner.

Henry entered Victor's apartment in the late afternoon. The seminars he'd attended were focused upon Hebrew and life in the Near East, under the tutelage of Pfr. Seemiller, a Jesuit priest. Oriental studies, the college declared it: a novel discipline of study to enhance the understanding of the cultures of the Near and Far East. Henry admired Seemiller's approach, too. The old man was striving to teach them about the different cultures through those same culture's own language. It was difficult, especially with those languages that utilized different text than the usual Latin script.

As he shut the door, he realized it was quiet. Too quiet. The last week, Adam had made a point of coming to greet him whenever he entered. He'd instructed the giant earlier about how to received guests at the door. Adam took to those lessons with great pride, standing a little taller and straighter whenever he would visit. Ever aspiring to be a proper gentleman, Adam would offer to take his hat and coat, and invite him to have a seat and offer tea, having since learned to prepare the beverage as well.

Victor's creation was also developing his own endearing quirks. Henry noticed that whenever Adam thought himself to be alone, he would hum strange melodies. He'd remembered Adam telling him about birds, and how he'd had such excitement at the promise of going out to the woods. Those melodies he hummed reminded him of the calls of mourning doves.

"Hello?" He called out, his eyes darting around suspiciously. The silence was broken by a sharp intake of breath coming from Victor's room. "Adam?" Henry called.

"Clerval? Is that you?" Victor's voice called out from his private quarters.

He moved to the back room to find Victor hovering near Adam, inspecting one of the giant's fingers. A bundle of fabric lay in its lap, a needle glinting in the light.

"I... was surprised. I lost track of the time and... when you came, you shocked me. I hurt myself with the needle," said Adam, gesturing at the glinting silver sliver with his free hand.

Henry looked at Victor.

"Don't give me that look," said Victor defensively, looking up from Adam's hand. "I was trying to figure out how to draft out the next part of his outfit. It's your fault, anyhow."

"Really? This is my fault now? I was at lecture all day. Go ahead, Victor. Tell me how this is my fault."

Victor crossed his arms. "It was your idea, all these little projects you've been doing with it. I thought perhaps sewing would be a worthwhile skill to have."

"So you gave him some fabric and a needle and said "have at it?" Is that what you did?"

"Actually..." said Adam, "I wanted to learn. I approached him... and Victor did see that... moment to teach me."

Henry looked closer at the little piercing. It hadn't gone too deep, but enough to let a drop of black blood bloom on the index finger. Procuring a handkerchief from a pocket, Henry wiped the drop away, then held the fabric firmly to Adam's finger.

He waited half a minute, the lifted the handkerchief, testing the wound. No new blood swelled. "Well. All's well that ends well, yes? Your first "battle scar" in the vicious world of sewing and all things domestic."

Victor scrunched his eyes, studying Henry's face.

"Wait a minute," Victor ground out, continuing to stare at Henry. Henry cast a glance toward Adam, who looked just as confused as himself. What was he looking at?

"Since when did you get a scar?!" Victor exclaimed.

Henry blinked. He wasn't expecting that. Suddenly, Victor was inches from his own face.

"There, on your cheek! How long?" Victor continued pressing.

"Wait - what? Back off!" he said, trying to push the shorter man away.

"By the color... must be a half-year to a full year old..." Victor's brows furrowed. "Henry -what did you do?"

"Really? You're asking me?" Henry asked incredulously. "You, who went and got sick for two weeks while I had to care for your problems?"

"I was convalescing. I'd taken ill. Remember?" retorted Victor.

"You, who locked yourself here in isolation for two years and come to me in the middle of the night, frightened for his life, feverish, and in full hysterics, are asking me?"

Henry was furious - perhaps unjustly so - but it was so unfair! Victor thought he could just waltz back into his life and start making judgments on his own choices? Not a word for 20 months. I was the one who had to deal with your family, Victor. They wrote you every month, and you couldn't be bothered to reply to a single letter? You couldn't be bothered to let me in when I knocked on your door? And now you're questioning when I stopped knocking? No. Victor, his dearest friend, had cut him out.

He'd broken his trust.

Victor's lips pulled tight. "Yes, I am asking you, because for the first time in these last two weeks, I'm finally thinking clear."

"Are you really? Just because you're teaching Adam how to sew doesn't mean you've taken back control of everything in your life. Have you even been back to class yet? Do your professors know what you're doing?"

Victor had no right. He'd disappeared from his life hardly a month after they'd both arrived in Ingolstadt.

Victor huffed. "I am asking you now, as your friend. I realize I have been... rather absent," he bit out. "But I am trying to come back. I... just, let me in again. Let me try to make amends."

"You want to make amends? Then you need to actually make an effort. You'll have to come clean - if not to your father, then at least Elizabeth. She deserves to know."

Henry turned from Victor, gesturing to Adam to follow. "Let's make something for dinner together, yes?"

Alone.

Adam and Henry went off to the little kitchenette area in the flat, and Victor was alone again in his room, Adam's sewing project forgotten on the bed. Alone. He was always alone.

But was he really?

He'd spent the last two years laboring over Adam. For his purposes - to adequately research and development the methods to conquer death - it had required all of his time and attention. His project had been the most important thing to him. His aim was to Master Death. He would find the secret of a long natural life. No cancers. No sicknesses. Nothing would ever claim a mother's life from her children ever again. Nothing would ever steal the breath of a son, sundering him to frailty. His creation was to be the epitome of his efforts, the apex of his aspirations, and the Magnum Opus to rival the power of God.

What good was a God who left his creation to rot?

What good was a God who condemned his work to Death?

His work was to be that which severed the Chain of Fate from all mankind.

Ingolstadt had been too small-minded. Month by month, week by week, he found himself being cautioned, warned, derided, and derailed by his professors and his own academic advisor. Hr. Waldman - he was supposed to foster his research! He'd been of a like mind, having studied the alchemists and extracted the nugget of Truth from their mysticism. But in the end, even Hr. Waldman had abandoned him, calling his direction "foolhardy, impudent, and reckless," and that he should "cease and desist, under the peril of moral blasphemy for the sake of his immortal soul."

He alone could do his work.

He alone completed his work.

But what had he to show for it?

He spurned his creation after its first breaths.

He had nearly caught his own death himself.

And every relationship he'd ever had? They were all withering.

He'd grown away from Henry. He left Elizabeth in silence. He wrote not once to Ernest or William. And to his father, whose letters now littered the one desk in his "parlor?"

He gave them nothing. Only silence.

Over in the kitchen, he could hear Henry talking to his creation.

His creation. The experiment. The thing that was supposed to give him glory. The thing that was supposed to open doors to a bright future for him. He was alone, and it found companionship in his friend!

It wasn't supposed to have turned out like this!

The irony hadn't failed to hit him. His greatest triumph; his greatest shame. He'd conquered death, and now he was afraid to let the world see. If they saw, surely they would condemn them both - his creature, for what it is, and himself as its creator.

Clerval was right - he'd forsaken every moral, every code of ethics - and now he wanted nothing more than to erase his creation from existence. Erase it. Burn it. Bury it. Destroy it, such that none would ever know what he'd done while he sunk into the depths of depravity. And yet, he can't. What would be the point? Conquering death, only to murder the life created? Could a father kill his own son? Would that not be the greatest sin? A father killing his son? God destroying his creation?

But both could be done. God has sought to destroy the world by flood, and all throughout history, fathers and sons go to war over ideas and politick.

God created a new covenant with man, but those families torn apart by war continue to destroy themselves.

It was too late, now.

He couldn't destroy his creation.

It was hideous, yes, but it was still an act of love. Every limb, every organ, hand-picked for perfection. He'd lied when he told Henry about only getting the parts from the Potter's Field. The lustrous black locks from a beautiful woman. Tongue of a lawyer. Voice box of a singer. Arms of a swimmer. Legs of a runner. Hands of a craftsman. Mind of a thinker. A hundred people, only taking their best.

It was his handiwork that corrupted it. His stitches, drawing the skin too taut. His hands, too clumsy for small scale, molding flesh and bone larger than life. His craft, planting tapetum lucidum in its eyes. Could mankind ever see in the dark? To wander, free of the constraint of the sun, like the wise owl or wild wolf? His creation could.

It was his fault Adam existed. He could not fault his creature for drawing breath while he commanded it first.

He had been so caught up in his obsessive project, he'd neglected his lectures, Sunday mass, Clerval, his family...

How could he possibly begin again? How could he reconnect all the connections he let wither? And especially now with the baggage that was his experiment... his Adam?

He went to the open window and drew a deep breath. The crisp November air was sharp in his lungs.

Yes. He had clarity now. He just needed to follow through. He would help his creation live. He would finish the semester; would he withdraw and return home to marry Elizabeth? What would he do as means to support her? He had no desire to follow in his father's footsteps as syndic.

No.

He would finish his degree. He needed to sit with Hr. Waldman to determine what was salvageable. He had an extensive background in many of the physical sciences and an intensive knowledge of biology and anatomy. Could he bear to settle for something as menial as a physician? A doctor of medicine? He would need to submit his thesis by the spring. Adam was supposed to have been it originally, but now? No. He would leave Adam out of it. Adam would continue to be his... personal project.

He would discuss this with Hr. Waldman. Clerval wanted him to finish something to prove he was himself? He would get that accursed degree.

Adam stood in the kitchen, one eye on the pot of vegetables and broth on the stove, the other focused on carefully slicing the cold sausages and cheeses into nice, neat slices, just as Henry Clerval had taught him. Clerval himself was standing not far from him, working on another aspect of the dinner he was likely to discover later.

"Do you think I was harsh on him?" Clerval asked, his voice low.

Adam paused and cast a look over his shoulder toward Henry.

"With Victor. He's always been like this, but this time? He hadn't spoken to me in almost 2 years. He wouldn't answer the door when I knocked, and I live literally right below him. I could hear him working at all odd hours of the night. I could see strange deliveries being brought here. But never would he stop to talk to me. He shut me out. And if he shut me out, I can only imagine what his family must be thinking.

"When he was younger, he would often be taken by these... obsessive episodes," Clerval continued. "He would entertain ideas and get sucked into whatever world he lives in when he's in his head. But never this long. Maybe a week or two, but he would always remember us in the end. But it seemed like we'd all lost him this time. You wouldn't know what it's like to have people always writing you questions you don't have the answers to.

"So, I was furious with him; this was way back in February." Clerval paused, shaking his head. "He'd missed the entirety of the Christmas and New Years festivities, and kept silent through another Farsching. Some of my peers in lecture noticed I looked a little... stressed, and invited me to a bout. Mensur.

"You see, I fence academically. Swords are not always used for killing. Some people arm themselves in self-defense. Some people do it for the exercise. My interests fell entirely in the latter," Clerval said, smiling sadly.

"Mensur is different than a normal bout. Instead of protecting your head and vitals and blunting your blade, your face is left open and the blades are left sharp. It adds a sense of danger and extra excitement. Suffice to say, no one leaves unscathed," Clerval finished, running a finger on the red line on his cheek.

Adam inspected the line on Henry's cheek. It was a thin, curving thing, welling upwards and adding texture to the otherwise smooth skin. He idly traced a thin white line trailing around his own jawline.

"Why could you not share this with Victor?" Adam asked.

"Because he was being a horse's ass for the last few weeks, and... I'm still mad at him," said Clerval, sighing. "He's always a right ass whenever it comes to other people. And this time, well. I didn't want his judgement. I know what I did was stupid. I know I "damaged such a perfect face," but... this time? After basically telling me for the last two years he didn't care about our friendship, he takes two weeks and he's suddenly my father?" Clerval said, shaking his head.

"What if he really did need this... time to overcome his... his... obsession?" asked Adam.

Henry shrugged. "You could think that, but knowing Victor? That is something highly unlikely - he's always obsessed. If not one thing, then another," he sighed.

"But if Victor is that detestable - his actions have caused you grief - why do you stay with him?" asked Adam. It confused him. Henry had been teaching him about how people desired to surround themselves with good and comforting things. But if Victor's actions caused grief, wasn't that something to turn from?

Henry moved toward Adam, reaching up to place a hand on his arm. "Because, my tall friend, I have the hope that he will grow to be better."

Adam furrowed his brow. "But... is he not already grown?"

"Oh, no. You'll find that mankind spends most of their life growing and trying to figure out how to live their life, and how to be the best they can. Often, they only reach that point on their deathbeds. And Victor? He can be absolutely insufferable at times, but he's a loyal sort. He sports a hard exterior, but deep down? He has a deep love for those he considers family."

Family.

What made a family?

Henry had spoken about his own family before, remarking how he had a mother and a father. As an only-child himself, he'd found great comfort in the Frankenstein's family - a constantly growing, evolving unit. He'd learned Victor had two younger brothers, Ernest and William, and a cousin whom he was to wed and then start his own family with. They all loved each other very much, so Henry said.

But...

"He does not think me family," remarked Adam, frowning.

"Not yet. He's still... coming to terms with you. Give him time; let him accept you."

"But what if he doesn't?"

Henry paused for a moment, and Adam recognized this as Henry thinking hard. Henry, he'd found, always sought to give him answers, even if he did not like the question. This question, then, was a difficult one.

If Victor had created him, why was he having such a hard time looking at him and accepting him? Why couldn't his creator look upon him with the same expression of fondness as he did to Henry?

"I supposed you'll just have to settle for me as your friend," said Henry, offering Adam a little smile. "A family is whatever you make of it. After all: 'The Blood of the Covenant is Thicker than the Water of the Womb.'"

"That is a quote," Adam said, less as a question and more as a fact.

Henry nodded. "In the Bible, we are taught many things about love. There are many different kinds of love. Brotherly love. A love of a parent to a child. A love of a citizen to the State. A passionate love. A constant love. A selfless love.

"Every person expresses their love in their own way, but some loves are easier to give than others. But that book, the Bible - it's a book that I and Victor's family both believe in deeply. There's a person in it - Jesus, who we believe to be the Son of God, Creator of All the World - who teaches his followers the following: 'Anyone who loves is a child of God and knows God, for God is love. Whatsoever you do to the least of my people, you do unto me.'

"We are all called to love each other. I love Victor. He loves his family. But our expressions of love can change. I've found that with Victor, he is never simply words."

"He does say... rather hateful things," Adam remarked.

"He does. But look beyond his words. He is... hurt and scared."

"Of me?"

"Not just you. If it were only you, I don't think he would be quite like this. Remember how I mentioned that there are loves between brothers, between parents and children, and citizens and states?"

Adam nodded.

"I have known Victor for a very long time. We practically grew up together. He has an immense love for his family back in Geneva. But... I think when he created you, he hadn't fully thought out all the consequences. I think he is afraid of hurting his family."

"So he instead hurts me?"

Henry's eyes flew wide. "No! Not like that!"

"But he does. I see how he treats you. I see how he treats me. And you have told me of... parents and their children. Victor... while he may be my creator, he does not see me as a person. Not like you."

Henry took a deep breath. Adam could tell the smaller man was becoming frustrated.

"Sometimes, we need to have patience with others. I know you feel he's hurting you in his absence. But, have patience. Trust in my love for you, and trust that, one day, Victor will come around for us both."

Chapter Text

He would do it now.

"I'm heading out," Victor called, not waiting for a response. Hr. Waldman kept late hours. He knew that from his early days of study, back before he'd completely cloistered himself. The light was fading from the sky, but it was not yet dark enough that the streets required their lamps be lit yet. He hurried through the university grounds, brushing past other students as he made a bee-line to the building that housed Hr. Waldman's office. He could hear their whispers. He was acutely aware of part of the reason he'd holed up in his laboratory in the first place. It was those murmured accusations.

At every turn during his experiment, they'd remarked upon his obsession with the Alchemists. Obsolete occultism, his classmates remarked. To follow in their footsteps would be nothing short of heresy, his professors said. Hr. Waldman had been the only one to not scoff at his ideas. He'd taken him kindly aside and introduced him to the modern theorists, not fully discounting his previous research, but educating him and filling in the gaps where his own studies had fallen short.

But at the end, even Hr. Waldman had cautioned him. Even he had begun to doubt him.

Just another mind too small to grasp his mission. Another obstacle to be overcome and ignored.

But now? He was out of the sanctum of his laboratory. His experiment was over. He'd created life, but without Society's blessing. He heard their whispers. He felt their stares. He was suddenly acutely aware at how his clothes hung from his form.

He pushed open the heavy wood door, scarcely pausing to contemplate the two gargoyles ever vigilant of all the comings and goings of the building. When he was younger, they'd struck fear in him. Demons, watching the students, waiting to claim the souls of those who misstepped in the pursuit of knowledge. They had long become just another part of the furniture to him.

Up he flew on the stairs, their familiar square spiral a forced mediation of all the previous times he'd so eagerly rushed to his old mentor's office. He remembered his eagerness and zeal from then. Then, he'd been young and naïve, a wide-eyed idealist. Full of hope and grand aspirations. Nothing was beyond him. He only had to reach for it. Cure mankind of death? The impossible had been his to claim. But now? Seeing the fruits of labor in the daylight?

He took a shaky breath. Hr. Waldman had been the one to nurture his curious spirit. But his spirit was like an ivy - growing and crawling over that which gave it structure, sinking its tendrils into the mortar of buildings, deepening every crack and destroying what gave it strength. How deep did his tendrils run? What would he destroy before he himself was destroyed in turn?

His mentor's old door stood before him.

He took a deep breath.

A sudden pang of fear sparked through him. What if Waldman wasn't there? What if he'd come now, in the growing dark of evening, for his professor to be out of office? To have mustered his strength now to come to him, only to be refused by absence?

But what if he was there? What would the old man say? What judgement would he cast upon him? Would he be cast out, having failed to attend any classes at all this semester? Would he know what he'd done? Surely he couldn't divine his crimes - could he?

No. Don't think. Try. Those were the words Waldman taught him. Those words that'd he'd repeated to himself more frequently than his prayers. He released his breath, rapping sharply on the door.

He could hear movement on the other side. Waldman was there. For better or for worse, there was no turning back.

The door swung open and a large older man stood before him. "Hr. Frankenstein? What an unexpected surprise," the man said, a friendly - albeit confused - expression immediately forming on his face. "I had almost begun to think you'd dropped out without telling me. Come in, lad, come in," his professor said, ushering him in to a cozy little sitting room.

"Here, here: can I offer you some coffee?"

"Yes, please. Sugar and cream," replied Victor.

"Well, that sounds like Victor enough," Waldman said, doddering back in with a little serviette containing a carafe and two cups for coffee. Waldman poured some of the hot beverage for them both, adding a touch of cream to his own.

"What brings you back to my door at this day on this hour?" his professor asked, blowing softly on his hot cup. "It's rather late in the evening; perhaps a breakthrough in your research?" he asked, raising an eye. It was a challenge.

Victor licked his lips, taking a shaky breath. "I... I'm expecting to finish my studies. I've completed my research, and I... I think I ready to write my thesis," he replied.

Waldman lowered his cup, giving him attention in renewed earnest. Did the old man pick up on his nerves? "Oh? Did you continue your experiments with electricity and the occult? I pray you had the wisdom to know where to stop...?"

"I did," said Victor. Waldman couldn't hear his heart pounding at his lie, could he? "I expanded upon our experiments with the frog legs."

"I remember - your foray into elementary galvanism."

"Yes. But that was primarily focused on restoring muscular twitch within amphibians. If my studies were to be at all relevant in our society, I understood the necessity to bring my research closer to... society." Here he was, skirting closer to the truth. The fine line that mustn't be crossed.

Waldman nodded suspiciously. Victor could feel his eyes boring into him, studying him, examining him. He wouldn't lose his nerve.

"I... utilized a creature from the Class Mammalia. Frogs were fine in the beginnings of the studies, but I needed to understand if those same twitches could be replicated in a mammal. Rats were easy to obtain in the beginning, and I was able to successfully stimulate muscular twitch utilizing a controlled current. At the same time, I have been working on a chemical formula to delay cellular death and then revitalize those cells after the application of a controlled current. My... best work..." Victor swallowed. His mouth was suddenly too wet and too dry at the same time. His heart was pounding. "...it was that of a cat. It was a stray, killed on the street. Run over by a carriage. It was necessary I replace the damaged organs, and it allowed me to test - two-fold - my formula and the current. It lived for 3 hours before its cells resumed necrosis and it expired."

Waldman sat back. He'd said, well, maybe not it, but he got close to telling of his experiment. Lies. The cat - the cat was the trial. A mere prototype. Minimal organs to be replaced and tissue to be stitched back together. Minimal damage to be healed by the formula. And it had lived. But it was weak. It mewled at him and he'd fed it milk in that first hour, hoping to encourage its restoration, but... it died. Again. He'd examined its body after. He needed to know why it'd passed, especially if he was to succeed with creating a human.

In the end, it was the heart. It appeared the current had been too strong for the tiny body of the cat. He'd remembered documenting his first few attempts on the cat had failed utterly, only giving a small twitch. He upped the wattage and he succeeded, only to find the heart had suffered massive damage from the shock. The force that restored life was what ultimately killed it.

He'd returned to his physics lectures with renewed interest after that. He needed to ensure his calculations were exactly right for his work - he couldn't risk that sort of damage to a human heart. With a human, he'd only have the one chance to succeed. On his allowance, he couldn't afford a failure. He had to get it right.

Waldman sat with him in silence. Victor waited with baited breath. Could he piece together enough of the truth through the halves he presented? Would he judge him for continuing, even with the cat?

"It sounds like you've had some amount of success, then, with your research," Waldman said after what felt like ages.

"Yes. And part of that is why I'm here now. I wish to.. to change my area of study. I no longer desire to pursue Natural Philosophy," Victor said, biting his lip. This was it.

Waldman frowned. "Your research is astounding, and you were one of the most passionate Natural Philosopher's I've ever had the pleasure of advising." His mentor paused. "What precipitated this change?"

"You... you remember how frequently Hr. Krempe spoke of the alchemists, how it was a waste of my - our - time, and how... there were some areas of study that Man Need Not Know?" Victor began haltingly.

Waldman eyed him suspiciously. "Hr. Krempe had something to do with your decision? I'll talk to him -"

"-No! No, I mean," Victor interjected, "it is still entirely my own decision. But, after my research with the cat, I've found I've entirely lost interest in the direction that my research was leading," Victor said, shaking his head. "Instead, I wish to change my field of study to Medicine. My courses should be able to transfer - I studied many different fields for the purpose of Natural Philosophy - I merely wish to actively apply what I've found," Victor said. He was rambling. He could handle medicine, but he wanted nothing more to do with academia. With... Adam... now sitting in his room, he had no desire to continue further research into that domain. Adam was work enough. But, perhaps as a physician, he could still hold a place of prestige in society. It wasn't as glamorous as becoming a professor or continuing his own pursuits, but... Henry had been right. He'd followed his pursuits into absolute madness, committing crimes he was determined to hide from the rest of the world, and now he had a 2,4m tall giant to care for. He couldn't afford any other missteps. He knew Krempe's position on the Board. He knew he'd broken moral and ethical codes in that research. For that and that alone he'd be barred from any further route of research in any academic hall if he was found out. It was too risky. He would never teach. He could never teach.

But... could he turn his fatal error into something else? If his hands, which created his living wretch from a mass of dead limbs and organs could be trained to heal the living, could he be forgiven the desecration of the masses he'd needed for his research? He could support Elizabeth with that. And no one would ever have to know about his creation...

No one would ever have to know precisely what he'd done...

"Are you sure?" Waldman asked. "Your research has the potential to be groundbreaking - to lay the foundation for science for years to come. Even bringing a cat back to life for a few hours - think of the possibilities for medical application," Waldman said, a light in his eyes. Yes, Waldman had been a kindred spirit once upon a time. But even Waldman knew where the experiments needed to end. "Ingolstadt would have been all the better if you would have continued to stay with us as a professor. Imagine what future generations could do with you as their foundation, showing them where science can lead?"

Tempting - a year ago, that was his goal. Ingolstadt first, then onward and upward, following whichever university would grant him the means to pursue his research. His way to godhood. But now? "I'm quite sure. I would like to finish my time of learning here with a focus on Medicine."

Waldman breathed a heavy breath. Victor bit his lips, feeling his old mentor's judgement. He knew he would disappoint the old man, but why did that weight feel so heavy upon him? "You had such promise," Waldman remarked. "If you're sure there's no way I can persuade you to stay...?" Waldman asked, one final time.

Victor shook his head. He'd wreaked enough havoc already. If he lingered any longer in research, he was sure he would self-destruct in such a way he'd never be able to hide it. It was hard enough to hide Adam already, as it was. "I am quite firm in my decision."

"Then I'll forward your formal request to Hr. Fischer tomorrow, and with your absence from lectures at the beginning of this semester we may need to discover how to catch you up on any missed material," Waldman sighed, shaking his head. "Do know this: it was a pleasure to be your advisor. I was missing our late night chats, and I was hoping that you had come with some new thread of research you were following."

"I know. I am sorry that this meeting was not of a... happier sort," said Victor. "Thank you for the coffee."

"Know that I will always be here should you ever wish for a sounding board. You always had the most brilliant theories."

"Thank you, sir," Victor said, exiting through the heavy door. He let it shut behind him, and he exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Adam had been working on sewing the trousers from the pattern that Victor had left for him. His hands were still shaky - it seemed like no matter how hard he tried, they would never be as stable as Victor's or Henry's. Yet he made the effort despite the tremors that coursed through him. He found if he adjusted his grip on the needle and fabric it lessened the effects of his sudden shakes and allowed him to move at a faster speed. Already it was working for him as he'd been able to finish stitching the main form together. There were still many details, like pockets and buttonholes, that needed to have reinforced stitching done. Those would take more time, but it was actually beginning to come together. He felt... what was the word Henry had used? Proud. He felt proud of himself.

He heard the door to Victor's apartment open. Henry had left shortly after Victor - he had things he needed to take care of down in his own apartment, and would likely spend the rest of the night there. He spied a peek out the window - the lamplighters had made their way through the city and the little streetlights were all casting a warm gold glow in the darkness, the glint of light playing off little shapes falling from the sky. What was it? It was different from rain - it made not a sound as it fell gently to the ground in a powder.

He set aside his work and went to see if it was Victor.

The small man was divesting himself of his outwear. His coat and hat both had tiny droplets of water clinging to the wool fibers as he placed them on the coat rack. Victor startled when he turned to face Adam, a bolt of - surprise? fear? he wasn't sure - flashing through his features before a neutral expression slid on like a mask. That raw emotion - something Victor so carefully tried to hide - puzzled Adam to no end.

Adam broke their silence. "Your meeting with... Waldman? Did it go well?"

He'd learned from Victor that when the small man had been actively studying, he'd been learning under the guidance of an older man - Waldman. He didn't know much, just that the other man was curious about the world around him, too - a "scientist" like Victor was, as the smaller man had explained. He'd wondered if that made himself a scientist, but he'd yet to voice the thought to either Victor nor Henry. The time just never seemed right.

Victor shrugged. "It went better than expected. He didn't ask too many questions, all things considered, and he let me switch my major. I should be set to graduate with Henry in the Spring."

"Then... it was a good meeting?" Adam asked. He was unsure of what graduating meant, but he supposed if Henry was graduating, too, then it was something good?

"Yes, I suppose you could say it was. I am leaving my studies of Natural Philosophy to the past and turning to Medicine - when I graduate, I shall be a physician. You shall call me "Doctor Frankenstein,"" Victor said, though by his tone it sounded as though he were musing more to himself than speaking with him.

The concept between the two "majors" was an unknown to Adam. "What would... studying Medicine allow you... to do that... Natural Philosophy would not?"

Victor harrumphed. "Natural Philosophy would have provided me the means to pursue my own research. A seemingly endless route of possibility, provided I teach at a university and share my findings. Recently I have found..." Victor swallowed, his eyes darting away, "I no longer wish to continue the route my research had taken me these past 24 months." Victor shook his head, as if clearing something out of the way before returning his attention to Adam. "Medicine, however? It builds off my studies of Natural Philosophy, but instead of keeping to the loft realms of academia: application of the methodologies! I could be chirugeon - I've already enough study of human anatomy at this point that those seminars should be of minor concern," Victor said, a small laugh escaping him. He glanced up toward Adam. "You've certainly seen to that."

I helped him? But when? I wasn't here until recently, Adam's thought to himself. There was a disconnect between him and what Victor was saying. He knew Victor had a notebook of himself, with all those diagrammed pictures. Had Victor studied him for anatomy practice? Victor had mentioned that medicine required a deep understanding of the human body, and that anatomy was how they studied it. Was that the key? Or was it something else?

"What do you mean... by that?" Adam said slowly, looking intently at Victor.

"Nothing at all," the small man said, quickly brushing aside the matter.

If Victor wouldn't say anything more on the subject, then maybe he could find out more on this from Henry.

"But Medicine - it aligns with my original mission. I may not have been able to eradicate death from the world, but with Medicine - as a physician - I can help prolong peoples lives.

"And who's to say I must stop researching?" Victor added, a note of something dark in his voice. "My research remains my own. I will not give it over to any institution unless its on my terms. But for that, I need a means to provide a stable income. Money talks. I've no interest in becoming a magistrate like my father, nor in trade like Clerval. Ernest, my poor brother, aspiring to be a soldier? A dog to the State? No. But! Medicine is universal. A skill I possess that I can peddle whenever I need and wherever I am. It would be enough to provide for Elizabeth when we wed, and I would be able to fund myself. Medicine fits my needs," Victor said, nodding to himself.

"... and I could help you?" Adam asked, hesitantly.

Victor looked at him sharply suddenly, as if he'd forgotten Adam had been standing there, listening all this time.

Victor shook his head like he was coming out of a fog. "We'll... worry about you when we get closer to my graduation," Victor said. "For now, let's see how your work's been progressing."

Victor led Adam to the bedroom, his mind still roiling from the new direction he would force his life. He needed to leave his research behind him. Krempe and Waldman were right. There were some lines that mustn't be crossed, and in the creation of Adam - he'd stepped too far.

But who was to say that he must entirely abandon his endeavors? His creation lived. Not only lived, it was showing signs of control over its body and the capacity for learning. His quick, daily physicals showed no signs of necrosis - a major victory, in his mind. He'd succeeded in the very basic form of his experiment. So, naturally, what should be the ensuing steps? How long would his creation last? The limits of its physical form? Occasionally, he noted some tremors in its hands. Had he failed somewhere? Was it a natural conclusion? Would it go away the longer it lived?

Adam followed behind him silently. Had he not invited it to follow him, he never would have realized it was following him. It was freakish how quietly his creation could move. 2,4m tall and 148kg in bulk, and yet not a single floorboard creaked under its weight. In its short time alive, it was already developing mastery over its body - the body he crafted.

He spied the work his creature had been laboring on sitting on the bed. His bed, he quickly discovered, was his creation's favorite spot to sit. In all likeliness, it was the only place that could fit its bulk. His chair was rather narrow for its hips, given its prodigious size, and it was an impossibility for it to ever fit its knees under the desk. The bed, by virtue of being the only thing that can support its form, was its workstation now.

He picked up the pants it had been working on. Neat, steady stitches ran up and down the seams - perfectly straight, perfectly even. He remembered his own first sutures - wonky little stitches he'd made. He'd had the devil of the time figuring out tension and how much force to put behind the needle. Flesh had an odd property about it: soft and supple, but tough. It required much force to first break through, but then it went easily through the layers. It had taken him many long hours and many candlelit nights before he had even a mote of satisfaction toward his work. And here was his creature, making perfect neat rows when it was not even a month old! He tugged along one of the seams, testing its strength. It strained at the sudden force, but the threads did not snap. It had even gotten the tension correct! His first thought was if it had somehow found a way to speak with Justine and receive training from her - but that was altogether impossible - Justine was far away at home in Geneva. Was it that it naturally had such dexterity?

He found himself somewhat proud that his creation had figured something out like this so quickly. He had designed him to be perfect, to be better than human. He had yet to fully test it, but between its capacity for language, its fine-motor skills, its curiosity: it was quickly surpassing typical human development. Was it because he had started with mature parts? Or was it because of something else?

And yet, those same features he was proud of also scared him. He had created it to be better than human, to be superhuman in body and mind. Would it grow and learn to be fully human, complete with all of humanity's vices and sins? What would he do if it sought to set itself over humanity, like he had intended? What would he do if it ever set itself at odds against himself?

No. He wouldn't entertain that route of thinking. Not now.

Instead, he focused on the work in front of him.

"You've come quite far with the trousers," he began. "We'll see how far you can come with the rest of it - if you make enough progress, we might be able to sneak you out to Auwald this Saturday," Victor finished. Hesitantly, he looked up at his creation. He could see a shift in it - it swelled with something at his remark. The corners of its thin black lips tugged up into a small smile, and a spark blazed in its yellow eyes. Was it prideful of its work?

"Truly? You'll take me... out to the forest?" his creation said, excitement lacing its voice. "I only need to... finish the pants?"

Pride and hope and curiosity. All very human emotions.

Victor's jaw twitched. "No - I did not say you needed to finish the pants. I only mentioned that you need to make sufficient progress with the rest of the outfit. You cannot be naked when you go out to the woods. You're not a savage."

At those words, the smile slid off his creation's face, as if realizing how big the task truly was. We'll see just how skilled it truly is, Victor thought to himself. This was a test. It was already late Monday evening - it still had the majority of the week to complete its task. Victor himself had done the hard part of drafting out the patterns onto the muslin. Now he wanted to observe how fast Adam could follow the patterns and limited instructions he'd left for it. It would give his creation good physical therapy for its fine motor skills, plus free himself up for his own studies. Victor knew that despite his own endeavors, he still had a fair amount of catching up to do if he was planning to graduate beside Clerval and not look the fool inside the lecture halls.

Chapter Text

Tonight was the night. Adam had worked hard all week to prepare for it, staying up late on the floor in Victor's main living space to allow the smaller man rest in his own bed. He'd lit some tapers in the beginning and worked deep into the nights - long past the points where the candles extinguished themselves. Yet, while Henry and Victor both complained about the darkness, Adam found himself rather comfortable with it.

It was a delightful surprise that he discovered he could still see quite well in the dark. Victor had caught him having stayed up working once and disciplined him for not taking better care of his body. "Do as I say, not as I do. Your body needs its rest at night to function properly," Victor had told him. "You'll run yourself ragged and catch your death otherwise. I know from experience." It was an odd turn of phrase, especially considering that Victor was still here despite the suggestion that he had died. Unless death was a temporary condition, like falling sick?

Instead, he took to pretending to go to sleep when Victor did, and then sneaking off to continue his work. Victor would be none the wiser, and then he would be able to go outside and see the green of the forest. It would be worth it.

In any event, he found he truly wasn't that tired even after pulling long nights. He would be up with Victor and Henry in time for the three of them to enjoy a small breakfast together - Henry with his black coffee, Victor with his sugar and cream, and himself with a tisane of mint or some other herb Henry had come across - before the two friends would depart to lecture. While they were out, he would take little naps whenever he found he needed to rest his eyes and hands from his work. His sleep never lasted long. Alone in the room and with time his own to control, he found he could pace himself however fast he wanted. Since Victor had said these clothes items were a necessity for going out, then he had seen to it that he would have something to wear.

Regarding his handiwork, he was rather proud of himself. They weren't perfect by any means, nor entirely finished, but he'd been able to create wearable forms of a shirt, breeches, and some stockings. He hoped that he'd done enough that Victor would find it acceptable. He would have time later to finish "polishing" his work, as Henry would say, but for now, it looked like it "did the job."

The shirt, following the pattern Victor had drafted, was rather simple in style. A band collar ornamented the neck, held closed by two buttons. The front was split open about halfway down to allow easier donning and doffing. It was a long, loose thing, extra fabric billowing about his sleeves and torso, hanging like a blanket to about midthigh. He'd seen Victor wear his own shirts with nothing else similarly at night. It was nothing fancy, enough for what Victor would insist was "modesty around the house," though he failed to see how much different the shirt was from the blanket.

The breeches, crafted of a dark brown wool, incorporated a flap in the front - "drop front" was how Henry explained it - and fit more snugly around his form. He found the wool to feel much warmer than the linen shirt, if not a little more uncomfortable on his skin. The fibers tickled him strangely. He wasn't expecting to be so conscientious of wearing the garment. Still, despite its tighter, more clinging nature, he was still able to tuck the long shirt into its waistband, much the same as Henry and Victor both.

He'd found making the stockings to have been a rather tricky endeavor. For such an inconsequential looking thing, the material proved most difficult to work with. Even now, he could see where he'd mis-measured the seam allowance and the fabric sagged sadly on his leg. He used some leftover white fabric cut into a long, thin strip and tied it around the top, just under the knee. Stretching and pointing his foot, he tested to see if it would stay. It didn't slip, but the little bit of excess fabric near the ankles folded and tickled his skin. He finished tying the breeches below his knees.

Lastly, using dark leftover fabric scraps, he created foot-wrappings for himself in imitation of the shoes Henry and Victor both work. It was by no means anywhere near the same material as their shoes, but Victor had said it did not have to be completely perfect. He would have time to fix what he needed later. He stood back from Victor's mirror, pulling extra distance to try to fit his tall figure into the small reflection.

Shirt, breeches, stockings, wraps. The stockings' extra fabric folded awkwardly around his ankles, but it was the general effect. He was clothed. He knew where he'd taken shortcuts and where he would need to continue working after they returned, but he allowed a small smile to tweak the corners of his black lips. He had clothes! Just like Henry and Victor! He'd made them himself, and they weren't perfect, but they didn't look too terrible, either. His hands still felt quite cramped from the breakneck speed with which he'd sewn, and he flexed them. A small tremor wracked both hands, and his breath hitched at the sudden pain, but it was over as quick as it came.

He'd met Victor's task. He would be able to see outside!

It was still early in the evening when Victor returned to the apartment. What took Adam by surprise was the large package he was carrying.

"I have something for you," Victor said, laying the brown-wrapped parcel on the table. Adam could feel Victor examining him, much in the same way he was examining Victor. He could feel Victor's appraising eye searching him up and down regarding the quality of his work. But if Victor was curious about his clothes, Adam was just as curious about the parcel.

Victor had said it was for him. Adam furrowed his brows in puzzlement. Victor had never gotten anything specifically for him before. It would have a purpose. Anything having to do with Victor always had a purpose, he'd discovered. Carefully, he untied the parcel, his fingers still twitching in protest from the deft work needed to pick at and tear the brown paper away. Inside was a large, heavy sheet of green wool. Carefully, he lifted the fabric from the package, gently unfolding it as he did. It was a massive green rectangle. Simply that and nothing more. He shot an inquisitive look at Victor.

"If we're to be going out tonight, I realize there was no time for you to construct a coat for yourself. I won't have you catching your death on me for the sake of seeing some trees and snow, so... I purchased some wool." Victor dug into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled another thing out. Something small and metal.

"You can use these to fasten it around you as a cloak. It will help to keep you warm."

Adam shifted his grip of the wool fabric in his hands before flicking his wrists, allowing the heavy fabric to fly out and twirl around him. The wool had a heavy weight to it. Not uncomfortable, but different - much in the same that the clothes he now wore were different than the simple sheet he'd started with. Different.

He accepted the metal fasteners from Victor. "Thank you," he said, making sure to meet the smaller man's eyes. For some reason, Victor looked away, harrumphing.

Victor paced to the window, looking out to the street below. Adam could sense something of agitation about him. It was a feeling similar to the man's unrest he'd been in before he'd gone to meet Waldman.

"Is something wrong?" asked Adam.

Victor shook his head. "No, nothing," he replied quickly - too quickly. Something was wrong. Victor cast another look at the street below.

Adam joined him at the window, and he could feel Victor stiffen as he drew near. "Is it something down there?" he pressed. He tried to follow Victor's gaze, but he could see nothing unusual about the street than how it normally looked. People passed by on occasion, minding their own business. The sun was only beginning to make its descent below the trees, so the lamplighters had not yet begun their rounds. Muddied snow was riddled with footprints along the streets. There was nothing unusual he could see.

Finally, Victor sighed. "It's still too bright out."

That confused Adam. "Is the light... not good? It would help us... to see our way... would it not?" Adam asked.

"Yes, but tonight? We do not wish to be seen. You cannot be seen - especially not from leaving here."

"Why?"

"It would raise questions," Victor replied quickly, studying the street. "You're far too tall for a normal person. Your very existence invites gossip. And if they discover that you're connected to me?" Victor shook his head quickly. "Well, it would invite all sorts of inquiry to certain events that I would much prefer to bury." Victor narrowed his eyes, still gazing intently at the street. "This is what we'll do: I depart first and make a lap around the block in the opposite direction of the city gates. When you see me at the corner lamp there on the other side, you'll join me at 10m distance. Far enough that we won't be connected; close enough you should be able to follow. The city gate is only a block from there - it's been ages since they've last staffed the gatehouse; I've already paid off the dormitory - I hadn't known where my experiment with you would lead, so I've been keeping the proctors paid off. Expensive bastards. We should be able to leave at our leisure," said Victor, nodding to himself. "I will walk along the lamplights; you will follow in the shadows of buildings. I'll pause for you outside the gatehouse, in its shadow. After, I will wait by the big tree along the road - it's the first tree before the forest. Join me there. Do you think you can do this? Follow without getting caught?" said Victor, peeling his gaze from the street to Adam. There was a deep intensity to it - something he'd only spied once before when he made the mistake of interrupting Victor while he was at his studies. He wasn't sure what that intensity was and he found it frightened him.

But, for almost two weeks Adam had been longing to go outside. He'd only ever left Victor's apartment the once - when Victor had collapsed and he sought Henry's help. Even then, he'd still not left the building. His only breath of fresh air so to speak was through the apartment window. Every day for the last three weeks, Adam had stayed inside Victor's apartment.

His time inside had been productive - both Henry and Victor had taught him different things in their own ways, but it was tight for him. Every doorway he had to duck, and there was nowhere for him to truly stretch his legs - Victor had set him on certain "callisthenic exercises" as part of a "physical therapy." It helped, but one could only pace about in the same room for so long. For the chance to go outside? The chance to experience what they talked about when they were teaching him? The icy cold of snow? The height of the trees of the wood? The smell of waterways near the wood? There were things that no amount of description would ever help him to fully understand.

He would have loved to experience the sun for himself - fully and truly. But for his first excursion, perhaps the moon would be light enough. He would not be able to see everything in full vibrancy, but given the choice between the silver moonlight and not at all? He would do as Victor asked. It was his only chance out, after all.

Henry knocked on the door of Victor's apartment. After a moment, the door was opened by Adam. What surprised him most was that the giant was now dressed. Not fully - society would still call him naked for his lack of waistcoat - but enough for the sake of modesty, like some rugged workman. It helped to temper his uncanny appearance, hiding the patchwork of sallow skin underneath all the same.

Henry took a quick breath and smiled at Adam. "I see you've been busy," he remarked. Victor's creation really had done well for itself. He was convinced Victor had given him impossible odds. But, while he could still see some errant threads and an general awkwardness in the composition of the outfit, the fact stood that Adam had completed the outfit. Adam, who, according to Victor, hadn't even existed for a month.

A smile crossed Adam's thin, black lips. "Tonight's the night," the giant remarked, his yellow eyes wide with excitement.

Henry nodded, returning Adam's smile. Victor had set his creation impossible odds - Henry was vaguely aware of the many hours it should have taken to create just one piece for an outfit. Certainly neither of them knew anything of tailoring, even if Victor could sew stitches. But Adam triumphed. Had Victor created some kind of giant Cendrillon, given all the tasks to complete with the temptation of freedom, or rather a Rumpelstilzchen, working magic into his craft?

"Indeed, my friend," Henry replied, turning his attention to the cloak. "Your new cloak looks warm. The green looks nice on you." He hadn't spied Adam working on it before. He didn't think he'd seen that green wool at all in this last week.

"Thank you. Victor gave it to me... for tonight," Adam said, casting a glance at Victor who was looking their way.

"That was rather thoughtful of him," said Henry. Had Victor begun to change? He'd certainly taken some initiative when he'd begun teaching Adam how to sew. Was this given in earnest goodwill? Or...?

"He said he did not want... me to catch my death."

He could imagine Victor saying that. "That was still kind of Victor. November's growing quite cold; you saw the snow on the ground and the edging of frost on the window."

Adam nodded.

"Here. Sit on the chair," Henry commanded. Adam had pulled a miracle crafting the outfit for himself, but a core detail was still missing. "Victor, pass me a comb and a ribbon, would you?" Turning back to Adam, he commented "I'm going to put your hair up. If your going out into the forest, I would hate to see it get all tangled with sticks and leaves."

Victor quietly approached with the materials.

"Thank you," Henry replied, quickly combing through Adams locks. They really did have a lovely color and texture about them, striking raven black waves. And its length? It would be an accident waiting to happen if Adam didn't get it tied up.

It's length, actually, was something of a puzzle to him. The hair itself was gorgeously soft and supple; whoever Victor had stolen the hair from had obviously cared for it well. A strange thought if the hair really had come from a criminal like Victor said.

He continued his strokes, the hair gliding through the bone comb. "Now, it's quite cold out, and you could get seriously hurt if your out too long without the right protection, understand?" Henry said, gathering the thick hair and folding it up onto itself. "Your wool cloak - it will help keep you warm. Just," he continued, wrapping the ribbon around the thick wad of hair, "make sure you return home before you begin feeling too cold, yes?" Henry finished, tying off the clubbing.

"Yes, Henry. I promise," Adam replied, giving a little test shake of his head. The hair did not shift from its binding.

"Very good," said Henry, turning to Victor with arms akimbo, "Now you, my friend!"

Victor froze.

"How has all your new "anatomy" and "medicine" studies been going?"

"Just fine. Why?" Victor replied. Henry could see the corners of his mouth tug in suspicion.

"Oh, no reason. Just that some friends were remarking upon a rather "dark-tempered ghost" haunting the lecture hall and laboratories in the late evenings. Would you have anything to say on that?"

Victor snorted, rolling his eyes. "If your friends would stop rumormongering and actually focused on their studies, then they would see all the opportunities Hr. Fischer has been setting up for us."

"Really? And these "late night study sessions" are different from your... independent studies?" Henry asked, casting a quick glance at Adam before turning back to Victor. He needed to know if his friend was heading down a path to new obsession. He let his friend slip by him once. He would not let his own inaction allow it to happen again.

"Absolutely not. If you remember, I was rather... occupied... during the beginning months of lecture. I've found I'm a bit... behind... on my studies. And Hr. Fischer has provided excellent opportunity for learning more in-depth about the diseases of the body. I may be intimately familiar with the human body at its peak performance, but now I shall devote my studies to understanding the nature of the diseases that ravage it."

"And tell me, Victor: how is this at all different than how you first began?"

His friend shot him a scathing glare. "It's entirely different! Before I was dealing with theoreticals. A thousand "what-if" scenarios. Now? Practicals. And when I finish, I will not be living in my head, dreaming up the next new impossibility to triumph over; I'll simply settle for the mundane administration of some tincture or other for a gouty foot or... drops for vision. Help a new mother care for a child with croup. See? No experiments, no grandiosity, nothing for me to lose myself in," Victor said, leveling a dark eye at him.

That statement did nothing to reassure him. Yes, he was no longer inside the world of research academia. But as long as he was here to complete his studies, Henry would now continue to fear for Victor's potential. For two years, his friend had spiraled further and further away from him, isolating himself from family, friends, colleagues, and advisors until that night of Adam's awakening. He still doubted whether the giant fully comprehended what Victor had done to create it. The more Henry taught him, the closer he would be to piecing together the horror of his creation and when that happened? Henry just hoped that he would have provided him with enough love and support that he would not consider himself anything less for it, and that Victor would be prepare to take full ownership for his actions.

"You say that now," Henry muttered, sighing.

"What? You don't trust me?" Victor replied sharply.

Henry looked at Victor, returning his friend's sharp gaze. "Actually, Victor, I don't. I want to trust you, I really do. But what you've done?" Henry shook his head. "Why?"

Victor took a moment to swallow, looking away from Henry. "I did what I thought necessary at the time."

"Graverobbing?"

"The other anatomists do it all the time - why am I so different?" Victor said, huffing.

"Because you did not stop at merely observing the bodies. I may only be a student of economics, but believe me when I tell you I can understand what people say. In anatomy class, you're respectful to the deceased. Steal the remains, butcher their carcass, return them to the earth. Isn't that the sum of it?"

Victor was silent.

"But you? No. You disturb how many from their final places of rest - you butcher their bodies, taking what you saw fit. Stitch them together and toss the what you don't need. Will their souls ever find rest?"

Victor's face contorted. "They were already dead. I merely took what the ground saw fit to rot. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, ja? Whether fire or plague or ground to bits by the sword or cannon, the souls of the dead find their way. My work sought to create from that refuse of life. My work, my serum, my elixir - it halted necrosis. I. Stopped. Death."

"And now you hide from your actions like a thief. If what you had done was truly so miraculous, why hide? Why lie? What did you plan upon the success of your experiment?" Victor may not believe the same as him and his family regarding the sanctity of the dead, but at the very least, then, could Henry find out what his plan had been? Morals and all other constraints be damned, why?

Victor drew his lips tight, looking away from Henry. "I had... hoped," Victor began so quietly Henry almost didn't hear him. "You remember my mother. My father fell apart after her passing, but he was too proud to ever show anyone his mourning."

"I remember. You still came here, even though it was still so raw."

Victor nodded silently. "He did not mourn her well."

Henry furrowed his brow. "What do you mean? We all saw your family's grief; you all hurt so deeply."

"He changed after she passed. She and him - they had mentioned Liza and my engagement earlier. You remember how I protested. My sister - and after my mother's death, there was no further discussion. It was to be Marriage and Law, just as my father and mother until the day I die."

"So," said Henry, frowning, "all Ingolstadt was for you was... an escape?"

"No! God, no! I really had genuinely loved studying Natural Philosophy," Victor said wistfully. "Those first months had been the most wonderful time of my life, even despite the mourning."

"You still wrote then. You still walked with me," Henry commented, nodding.

"After, though. It was a letter from my father. He and I... had a disagreement. And I began my Experiment in earnest."

"Why did you not write me or Liza? You know we would both be always by your side."

Victor shook his head. "After what he said? I couldn't do that to either of you."

"How do you know? What did he say? Show me the letter."

"I can't. I burnt it," Victor said, turning away.

Henry breathed. What had Victor's father said? He had always been a nice, kind man. His and Victor's fathers had been friends much in the way they were now. He knew the elder Frankenstein had helped his family out once in the past. His father had hit a string of misfortunes, very much like their mutual acquaintance Beaufort. But while Beaufort fell deeper into debt, Frankenstein had helped the Clervals remain on their feet. Never be so prideful to neglect aid when freely offered, his father had told him, and always remember to pay such kindness as we have received forward.

Henry knew Alphonse Frankenstein was an honest man. But also as a man of legal standing, he was very particular of what passed through his lips. What dialogued passed between the two Frankensteins that drove the son - his dearest friend - away from his father?

"Okay. You don't have to tell me now. But, promise me that you'll tell me at some time. Maybe sooner. Maybe later. But promise to tell me?" Henry said, gently turning his friend's face back toward himself. His friend's deep brown eyes finally returned to meet his own. Victor blinked slowly, squeezing his eyes shut briefly before taking a breath and nodding.

"In time," Victor began, his voice sounding oddly hoarse. "Not now, but in time."

The three hours felt interminable, such was Adam's excitement. Henry had stopped by for dinner, admiring the handiwork of Adam's dress before the discussion turned toward how Victor's reintegration into class had went. Adam was still confused by many of the matters and people brought up in conversation, but he was learning. Something of the subject concerned both Victor and Henry deeply and did not appear as a pleasant matter, as the look on their faces was rather stern. And something of what they spoke likely concerned himself, if their hushed tones could be believed. There was still some other vocabulary used that he'd not heard before, but from the context, he wasn't sure if he was going to like just what those words meant in relation to him. Perhaps he would ask Henry on it later, if he could not decipher it by himself first.

"Are you ready?" Victor asked him quietly. Henry had left for his own apartment not more than a quarter of an hour earlier, and had wished him well on this adventure.

Adam nodded. His heart was pounding in his chest. This was it. He was going to see outside!

Victor left first. He would be seen departing the student apartments to make a walk around the campus block alone. Victor had muttered something about "late night errands" and "plausible alibi."

His tiny form quickly disappeared from his sight as the small man walked down the narrow road. "Keep to the shadows," Victor had said. No one would notice him. He would be just like any other person on the street. He would blend in.

Although Victor was only gone for a few minutes, it felt like an eternity. He felt his every pulse beat in his veins as his hearted raced in expectation. When he finally saw Victor appear in the opposite direction, his heart leapt. He had to go! It was time!

He opened the apartment door a crack, looking and listening. Silence. No creaking wood. No voices talking. He slipped out the door, pulling it closed quietly behind him.

Turning, the stairs were once again before him. Victor's apartment was on the second floor. Henry was below them on the first. Once he made it to the ground level, he only needed exit the building and cling to the shadows. Simple, as Henry would say.

At least, that was the plan.

Yet he remembered his first excursion on the stairs and he winced at the thought. He steeled his breath. Slowly! He knew his feet were large for the stairs, so he needed to go slowly that he did not slip.

Step.

Step.

Step.

None creaked below him this time.

He did not slip this time.

He was on the landing. He was making good progress. Then he heard voices.

Victor said he mustn't be seen - he had to hide. But where? Clerval's door was locked, and it would be too long for his friend to attend the door. The landing window? There was nowhere to hide here. He gave one final glance. Nothing.

Quickly, he wrenched the window up, and the panes jostled noisily in their frames. He could hear the voices from above asking about the noise. He had to go.

He looked outside. The back courtyard was dark and empty. He squeezed himself out the window, forcing his fingers to grab onto invisible holds in the mortar. He slipped out and carefully - but quickly - descended to the ground. He could hear the voices growing closer, questioning the open window. He slipped into the shadows, hiding his form in the arching gatehouse of the student building. He looked up. He could see a pale bespectacled face poking its head out, illuminated by the starlight and the light of the stairwell. It was looking for him. It looked right at him, but it did not see him, and it withdrew into the stairwell, shutting the window behind him.

His heart was pounding in his chest, and his breaths came quickly and heavily. He'd avoided detection!

But he was not done yet - he had to find Victor. Without Victor, he wouldn't know where to go for the woods. Without Victor, he didn't know what would happen if he were discovered.

The air was cold around him, and he saw frost on the leaves of plants. The snow itself clung to his footwraps, making them wet and muddy. Where was Victor?

He poked his head out of the shadows of the building, looking for his creator's diminutive form. There were four people. Two were solitary, two were a couple. Which was Victor? Not the couple. Quickly - he had to follow one - which one? Back and forth, back and forth - there! The one to the left! That small shape, with that hat! That was Victor!

He slunk back into the shadows, following the shorter man. The shorter man kept to the light while he lurked in the shadows.

He'd been concerned when Victor had told him to remain in the shadows. He'd been nervous of what monsters could be lurking - Victor and Henry had both been cautioning him of the perils of other people: robbers and murderers and other strange villains, each out to do harm in their own maleficent way. And yet, traveling through the shadows on his own? He felt safer within them than within the streetlights. He could see quite plainly in the darkness. He wondered to himself why all these lights were needed - could they not see like him in the dark? He would speak with Victor on this.

Quietly, he passed through the gatehouse - he made it to the border of the city gates. Slipping through, he found himself surrounded by grasses and trees of the countryside. There were still more houses in the distance, but these were scattered further apart, not like those buildings within the city of Ingolstadt.

"Good. You made it," Victor said, peeling out from the shadow of the gatehouse. "Quickly now; there's a bridge over the Schutter. We'll cross it, then head south and follow the Donau. We'll escape notice of the farms that way, and it'll make it easy to find our way back."

Silently, the pair stalked over the little bridge, Victor leading, Adam following like his shadow. Here outside the city, the land had grown much more wild. The fallow fields of the farms offered no protection, but past the fence? The wild dried grasses grew up tall - they neared his knee and Victor's waist, scraping along his stockings and leaving little bits of plant matter on him. Was this why Henry was insistent on putting up his hair?

Then they approached the tree line. The trees grew up and up and up, towering over them both - towering over even the tall buildings of Ingolstadt! Victor hastened him into the shadows, and then they slowed.

"Welcome to Auwald," Victor said with a touch of gravitas, settling down on a fallen log. "It's not the oldest of forests, but it's enough for quiet walks during the day - and blessed, peaceful solitude at night."

Adam breathed in the crisp night air, closing his eyes to let the forest wash over his other senses.

It was loud was what he'd first noticed. Many sounds of things chirruping and clicking and croaking echoed through the darkness. It was different from Ingolstadt.

He breathed deep and a thousand different scents met his nose. Cold smells, warm smells, sweet smells, musty smells - smells completely different from that of the city. Every bit of the forest was alive.

He opened his eyes, letting them take in the world around him. The trees formed the core elements of the area, growing up tall with a spreading canopy. Many of these trees lacked leaves, a smattering of golds and reds and oranges crunching in the frost below his feet. Where he stood were smaller shrubs and hardier perennials. He knew nothing of their names or their purposes - only that while the grasses and crop of the fields they'd passed were dying in the cold, these specimens were still alive. Some had feathery-looking yellow blossoms, other's had thick, pointy, leathery leaves. Little red berries were growing on them.

It was... nice.

He cast a look back to Victor. The smaller man had adjusted his position and was now lying down, face to the sky.

"Go ahead - walk around a little. Explore. That's what I brought you out here for," said Victor, casually waving a hand.

He had free reign to go wherever he wanted. His legs and lungs were already somewhat sore - he'd never had the chance to move like this. Where to start? He wanted to examine every little thing - feel every plant, observe ever creature, hear every sound, smell all the smells. He followed Victor's eyes to the sky. Through the latticework of branches, he could see tiny pinpricks of light dotting the night sky. Perhaps he would simply start with that.

"What are all those... up there?" He asked Victor, gesturing with his hands to the sky.

"Those are the stars," Victor said, raising an arm up to point at the pinpoints of light. "Tiny bodies of fire, illuminating the night. Astrologers said that man could divine the future from their positions in the Heavens. The night of your creation, the stars were supposed to have been in an auspicious position. The moon was new - perfect for new beginnings. I'd thought it would be perfect for you to begin your life. Scorpio was in Mercury - you can see its silhouette of stars there. Libra, the Scales, were in sun and moon there. Leo was rising. The ancient astrologers had said those signs were of good character. I no longer know if such sentiment is true. I do know if it hadn't been for that storm, I would not have had the means to gift you life. The batteries were not enough. They were barely enough for the cat..." said Victor, trailing off into his own musings. Adam settled down below Victor on the log, angling his head upward.

The stars. How brilliantly they glowed in the night sky. And those men - those ancient astronomers - they had said those stars imparted traits upon every person? Victor had chosen his creation - Victor had chosen his traits? What did his signs mean? Victor had said they were... they were "auspicious." Victor had created him for good. Victor had created him. So, why did it feel like Victor did not like him? Why did it feel like Victor did not want him?

He continued gazing at the stars.

"Are the stars... always there?" Adam mused.

Victor harrumphed. "Always. While they move as the world turns, they follow their own ordered courses. They may disappear from out sight, but it does not mean that their existence ceases. Every season, the same stars return to the their same positions in the night sky. They bring order. They tell us how the seasons will change, not just the fickle chaos of the daily weather; they prepare us for the Great Changes: the New Growth in Spring, the Heat of Summer, the Harvest of Autumn, and the Cold of Winter.

"Sometimes, they fall. And it's said when you see a shooting star that you can make a wish and it will come true. But," Victor shook his head. "That's naught but idle fantasy. Wishes don't come true." Victor sighed. The next he spoke, it was so soft Adam almost didn't hear it. "The dead must stay dead."

He tore his gaze from the stars to look at Victor.

He was tired - Adam could see it in his eyes. The smaller man, despite - or perhaps because - having been bedridden for almost two weeks earlier, had deep bags under his eyes, and a general gauntness about him. The gauntness was something he himself carried, and he realized how it set them apart from Henry, which he was quickly becoming more and more aware was a better representative of what "society" was.

Gauntness, tiredness, and now that final thought. Henry would say something was the matter.

"Victor?" asked Adam, "What do you mean... by that?"

"By what?" Victor replied.

"'The dead must stay dead.' What did you mean... by that?"

Victor turned his head to face Adam. The moonlight deepened every shadow and line on his face. "You weren't supposed to have heard that."

"...But I did."

Victor sighed, running a hand along his face. "It's... it's nothing that concerns you. Maybe when you're older, you might understand better," Victor said, shaking his head. He swung his feet off the log, sitting up. "Come, the hoar frost is settling in. We should return to Ingolstadt before we freeze to death out here."

Adam looked at the plants around them. Indeed, the dew that had previously coated the plants and logs was starting to freeze, and even his cloak had gained its glitter. Quickly, he pinched two of the most interesting plants: that sharp, leathery leaf with the red berries and the other brown twig with the yellow "hairy" flowers. Maybe he could study them better in Victor's rooms.

He looked up and Victor was already at the threshold of the woods. With his long strides, he quickly caught up with the smaller man. Then, as before, he resumed his place as Victor's shadow, hunched low and silent.

Chapter Text

The mid-Sunday morning was brisk as Henry made his way back from mass. Victor had once again slept in far too late and waved him off groggily when Henry had invited him to Mass. Adam, for all his feigned indifference - he seemed to be understanding that there were places he could and could not go - seemed quite curious about this 'social activity' that they both engaged in. Well, used to engage in, on Victor's part.

Yes, his friend had been sick, convalescing from his fever for the previous two weeks; but now that Victor was back in class, people were beginning to talk. Almost four months ago, Victor had completely stopped attending mass. He remembered the last time he'd seen Victor then. His friend looked possessed, a manic look about him. He'd lost weight that his clothes had all hung loose. His dark eyes were rimmed with deep bags and his normally tamed face was sporting the shadow of a beard. He'd wanted to speak to him then after mass, but Victor had left too fast. In his own attempt to speak with his friend, he ignored the social niceties of everyone else lingering. Yet his friend was too fast for him. Victor was barricaded in his room, deaf and blind to the outside world. Had he known what Victor was doing - had he known for just how long Victor had prepared to cloister himself in his damnable research - he would've pounded the door down. But he didn't. And one day slipped to the next, and a week after that, and he returned home alone.

August, when Victor failed to show up to his classes was when the rumors began to develop in earnest. Things had quieted down with the summer. Students had returned home to family in those hot months, leaving the University town devoid of the usual commotion and inquiry. But back in August once everyone returned? Victor would never admit it, but he had picked up a few curious acquaintances under Pr. Waldman's tutelage. Knowing Victor and he were from the same hometown, people immediately came to expect that Henry would somehow know Victor's comings and goings better than anyone else. Yet, he had no answers. Victor had left him just as lost as all the rest.

This Sunday was the last day before Advent and the new liturgical year. Victor's absence was still just as conspicuous as before he found him back in early November. Compound that with his change of major, and now the rumors were like a fire that would not be extinguished.

"What happened to Victor," they asked, their voices furtive whispers. They commented upon his gaunt appearance. When he'd found Victor that stormy November night, his friend had done the impossible and had lost weight he never had to begin with. He looked like a living skeleton, his clothes hanging off him to such an extreme. Under his care, Victor had recovered somewhat. His eyes and cheeks were no longer quite as sunken as they'd been when Victor had called upon him, but his friend still carried a haunted air about him. He reeked of formaldehyde - death - the same as Adam.

He shook his head.

"Herr Clerval!" a voice called. Henry paused, turning as he waited for the speaker to catch up, smiling.

He knew the voice. "It's good to see you, Hr. Tauber," Henry said. It was his friend and Victor's neighbor, Uwe Tauber. The man was at the University for Law. While Henry was primarily studying Economics, the Bavarian found they had plenty of classes and extracurriculars that overlapped.

"You look hideous as ever," Henry remarked. They also shared a mutual fondness for fencing.

Uwe ribbed Henry gently. "And you're looking rather roguish yourself. You healed nicely," Uwe said, gently sweeping across his mutilated face. His friend had been the one to break through his better sense - he sported the little scar on his cheek for his lapse of judgment. Uwe, however, had two deep, jagged gouges on his face, courtesy of Henry. One cut smartly through his lower left jaw, the other interrupting his dark hairline, snaking down his right temple, and ending just before the bottom of his ear. Both cuts healed terribly for the man, and Henry had a sneaking suspicion his friend purposefully agitated the wounds.

They both had their own relics from their stupid bout. Never again would Henry agree to Mensur.

"No lovely lady yet for you?" Uwe pressed on. "I know you've been eyeing Theresia."

"No, you've been eyeing her," Henry quipped back.

"Right, right," said Uwe, waving it off. "Your girl is still back home in Genf, yes? Sweet dark creature that you pine for?" Uwe said, side-eyeing Henry coyly.

"Oh, stuff it," he replied, ribbing the man in the arm.

Uwe laughed. "Knew it. I told you I did. How did she take when she saw you over the summer last?"

"She hated it. Said it was the most foolhardy thing I'd ever done," Henry groaned, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, you wound me!" Uwe said in mock-injury, planting a hand over his chest.

Henry raised an eye, surveying his friend's scarred face. "Indeed I have," Henry noted. Uwe ribbed him again.

"Well, has your luck been much better?" Henry continued.

"Hnnn, Theresia will notice me, if not for my roguish good looks, then perhaps by the time I become Judge. She'll come on to me in time," Uwe replied, looking off idly at the buildings as they walked. "How's Victor been? Otto said he saw him leaving Waldman's office - rumor's that he's changed his major? I think Laszlo saw him in Anatomy."

It always did come back to Victor. Henry put on a smile nonetheless. "He's doing much better. He'd caught a fever from doing something stupid, but what else is new?"

"Yes, but missing Mass for the entire semester? No one's heard of any priests coming to visit him for Extreme Unction. What was he doing all that time? Hadn't even shown up to any of the lectures. Had he truly been that sick? I know Otto and I've seen him moving about and keeping the strangest hours. I heard from Feßmaier that the University was looking to conduct an investigation on him - don't know the specifics," Uwe said, shrugging. "Something about a bunch of equipment from the labs going missing, though. Everyone knew he was conducting research, but no one knew what...

"Hey - wait! You're back in touch with him, ja? Did you happen to see what he was doing? Otto had managed to spy some strange array back in October - stunk to high heaven - but none of us knew anything more. You've been in there - did you see what it was? Do you think Johannes was right? Was it really necromancy?"

Henry shook his head. "I am not at liberty to say. I barely know the specifics of his studies myself. It was all just a bloody mess, really."

It unsettled Henry greatly to hear Victor's experiments described by someone else. It disturbed him even greater to hear his friend's madness described so gravely. It was a heavy accusation, and the existence of Adam now would serve in no way to exonerate his friend - rather, the innocent giant would be the lynchpin to seal his fate.

"What a shame," said Uwe, shaking his head. "That theory would certainly explain the strange deliveries and his absence from Mass..." Uwe thought, shrugging at his own ideas. "And what dreadful moaning we'd heard that night after All Souls. I swear it sounded like something was being tortured alive, and Otto had seen Victor run out mad as a dog..."

Henry shook his head. "I can't say," said Henry, a knot growing in his stomach for fear of his friend.

Uwe shrugged, a strange glint in his eyes. Uwe had always been the more perceptive of the twins. While Otto could find patterns in things, Uwe knew how to read people. What would those brothers piece together? Could Adam's existence - a complete abomination in their sight - ever be spared?

"See you later this afternoon? Just some regular sparring?" asked Uwe as they came to a stop on the landing outside the Tauber's and Victor's respective rooms.

Henry cast him a look. "I'll see how far I get with my own studies. I've got some editing to do on an essay I'm drafting."

Uwe nodded. "And you'll do that in Victor's room, yes?" he added, glancing quickly between Victor's doorway and Henry.

Henry cast a quick look to Victor's door. "Well, you saw what happened when I left the man to his own devices. Fell sick with fever for two weeks. Someone's got to keep an eye on him."

Uwe let out a light laugh as he opened his own door. "Too true. Bis bald, mein freund!" And he disappeared.

*Henry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding before knocking on Victor's door.

There was a beat of silence before the door swung open. Adam, as usual, was hidden by the doorframe. Henry cast a quick glance around to ensure the Tauber brother's door was closed before discretely sliding into Victor's apartment. It always came back to Victor.

"Henry, it's... good to see you," said the giant, smiling.

"I see you made it back uneventfully," Henry replied, stepping further in and shedding his outerwear. "Was it what you'd expected?"

Adam shook his large head. "It was... difficult... trying to leave. I had not expected... quite so many people... at that time. But! The forest! It was the most..." and here the giant paused. By his expression, Henry knew he was searching for the word. "...the most... ?" The giant looked at Henry.

They'd fallen into a pattern. When Adam needed help finding the appropriate word, Henry would offer him a few that could work, and it would be up to Adam to select the one that he thought was most appropriate for what he was trying to say.

"It was a good experience?" asked Henry.

"It was a very... good experience! But not just that! All plants; they were so... lovely! Pretty! Wait!" Adam said, his long legs carrying him swiftly to the table. Henry followed behind him.

"Here!" These! I found these! I have not yet... divined... them - I have not yet discovered... what it is they are." Such a look of glee was on the creature's face, tugging strange lines along its mouth, eyes, and cheeks. It was grotesque, yet Henry knew the expression to be genuine. Could such hideousness become... adorable to someone who knew him?

Henry peered closer at the objects Adam was desperately trying to show him. Two little sprigs, one of holly, the other of witch hazel, sat plainly on the table. "These are lovely samples that you've collected," Henry complimented. "Have you shown them to Victor? I'm sure, being the naturalist he is, he'd have some tome or other about plants."

Adam shook his head. "I showed Victor... as soon as we had returned. He did not... remark much on it. But... Victor gave me this," Adam said, pulling a book from one of his trouser pockets. In his massive hands, the book seemed like a doll's model. Taking it into his own, Henry flipped the book so its leather cover faced himself.

"'Herbarium - Victor Frankenstein. Under the Tutelage of Hr. Prof. Gönner,'" Henry read off the first page. He looked at Adam's expectant face.

"I... found in the book... similar plants," Adam said, the giant's large hand slipping over his own, flipping through page after page of dried plant material and Victor's script until he stopped at the page with the holly. Adam held his own holly next to the one preserved in the book. "I still do not... know what this is. I do not know... what the purpose of this is," he said, gesturing at the book. "I see all the plants... but their meaning... is yet lost... to me."

Clearly, next to the holly clipping in the book was Victor's hand, scrawling along about Ilex aquifolium, the common Holly, and how its leaves could be used as a diuretic, laxative, and antipyretic. There was more about the shape of the plant and the nature of its leaves and flowers and berries, but Adam hadn't understood any of that. This was his first time seeing text, wasn't it?

"Hein," Henry muttered to himself. "We never taught you to read yet, did we?"

Adam shook his head slowly. "What is... reading? Will it help me understand... these plants better?"

"Oh, it will do all that and more, my friend. Here, let's start." Henry pointed at the first line near the holly in the book. "Ilex aquifolium. I-L-E-X - you see that?"

Adam scrunched his eyes, following Henry's small finger as he pointed to the individual letters and sounded them out for the giant.

"I... L... E... X... is Ilex."

"Very good. A-Q-U-I-F-O-L-I-U-M. Aquifolium. That's the second part of the plant's scientific name."

"A... Q... U... I... F... O... L... I... U... M...is aqui...folium?"

Henry nodded. " Very good again. You can see all the individual letters correctly? They're not too small for your eyes? I know I had a terribly difficult time learning to read growing up," he volunteered. He wasn't sure if Adam felt self-conscious about things, but he'd create an out for him anyway. It would make this... unconventional teaching lesson a bit easier, perhaps.

Adam nodded. "I can see all the letters... just fine. But what does the... scientific name mean? You said the plant is Ilex aquifolium?"

"I did. And if we keep on reading, you can see Victor wrote 'common holly,' after."

Adam grew quiet. If he watched the giant's lip, he could see them moving, testing out the form of the words, breathlessly trying to form their shape in his mouth to commit them to memory - re-reading what Henry had shown him.

"But... if the plant is Ilex aquifolium... why is it also Holly?" Adam said, puzzled.

"There's... a two-fold reason for that, I think. The plant is both names, Ilex and Holly. But when you are out on the streets talking with the casual observer, most common folk call the plant Holly. It's easier to say. Ilex aquifolium is what it's called in Latin. The scientific name exists so that anyone anywhere can still understand what the plant is. Like in my family back home, we'd call it Houx. But Houx and Stechpalme - they don't sound similar at all, do they?"

"No, they don't," Adam replied, a small frown on his puzzled face. "But why do you... have so many different words... for everything? Would it not be simpler... to have similar words for... similar things?"

Henry smiled. "You are quite right. However, people living in different areas - especially those quite isolated from each other - have taken to calling things by different names. Isolation from different groups led to the evolution of different languages. Victor grew up speaking German, I grew up with French. At home, Victor's fiancé Elizabeth and their housekeeper Justine grew up speaking Italian, and you now know we use Latin in the scientific communities."

Adam's eyes had widened to the size of dinner plates. "So many... so many languages. So many words!"

"It's not so bad, though," Henry continued lightheartedly. "Sometimes, another language can give voice to your thoughts better than just the one."

It really wasn't anything. He could think just as well in French as he did German, such was his learning. From the cradle, his mother and nanny would sing him little French lullabies. He learned German on the side at home, but until he met Victor, he never really had a purpose to use his German. Most of the other merchant brats in Geneva spoke French, anyways, as close to the border they were.

To him, learning the languages came naturally. It was why he was, even now, pursuing those occult Eastern languages. If he were to inherit his father's business, it would do well to be able to converse with as many customers as possible.

He could see the thoughts churning in the giant's mind.

"What... what language do we speak?" Adam asked.

"German. We're in Ingolstadt, Bavaria, which is part of Germany," Henry explained.

Adam fell silent for another moment, as he tended to do while absorbing new information.

"And you speak French... so your family is from... French-y? Is that right?" Adam hazarded.

Henry laughed. The giant was trying, and the patterns he would connect - it was exactly like when William was a small child. Adam had that delightful earnest interest in learning, and had not yet learned the fear of shame for a wrong answer. He honestly hoped the giant never would. "No, not at all! France would be the land where they speak French, but Victor and I? We're from Switzerland."

"Switzer-land?" Adam's eyes were large. "Three countries... you have named... and three languages also - two of which do not reflect the other. How big is this world?"

"Larger than any of us may realize. Every year, we discover new things, new peoples, new lands. While Victor is off studying the laws of Nature, I am studying people that I may better understand this universal world we live in."

"You had said... the University is a place of knowledge... and study. And that... you and Victor both study here."

"Right you are - I'm glad you remembered."

"Do you think... it would be possible... for I to one day... study here, too? The world... it seems a... a... big place? A wondrous place? I want to know it all. Like you and Victor."

He wanted to brush it aside as a child's idle prattle. But while Adam may have a childlike innocence, he was no true child. He learned much quicker than a child - was that because of his unnatural origins? The morbid composition of his flesh? Or some other occult thing Victor had done to him? In any event, Henry knew Adam to be deeply serious regarding the question.

"Victor and I don't know everything," Henry said, shaking his head.

"Maybe not yet... but you are learning. I want to learn, too," Adam remarked.

"Let's focus on one step at a time, okay? Going to University - there's a lot of self-study you would need to do."

"Then I will learn to... self-study," said Adam matter-of-factly.

"You will need to get better at reading, too."

"You are teaching me. I can practice... on my own. There is much I... do not know. And many gaps I... need to understand."

Adam turned his attention back to Victor's herbarium, studying the open page quietly.

"You and Victor both knew... each other from a young age," Adam remarked suddenly

"Yes," said Henry, curious to see where Adam's thought process was going.

"So, you are both... from Switzer-land?"

Back to geography it is, then. "Yes, you've learned well."

"But why would a country speak... so many languages within itself? Would it not be... better for the country to speak as one? For its people to be united... in speech?"

"You may think that, but Switzerland has many bordering nations - how would its people talk with its neighbors for trade and commerce if no one could understand each other? Our home, Genf, is right on the board of France. A few miles West, we have the Italian border. And far from us - all the way here in the North - we are in Germany. While Switzerland may use German as its 'Language of Law,' the ordinary folk speak what they will. To hear that mélange of cadences and words..." Henry shook his head.

Adam sat back, a faraway look in his eyes. He embraced Henry's silence, before breaking it suddenly. "Will you show me... what Genf is like? Will you take me there... like Victor has shown me the forest? Oh! There is so much in this... world for me to learn! Please, will you take me?"

Henry frowned. He admired the giant's curiosity, but... Victor had barely gotten him out of the apartments. No one else had ever seen the giant. Besides his prodigious size, Adam was still riddled with Victor's handiwork - that was half the reason neither of them deigned to take him out on a Sunday stroll.

"In time, perhaps we'll bring you back with us," Henry replied carefully. Oh, what am I thinking? Of course he'd have to come back with us! The mob of Ingolstadt would lynch him if he ever tried to innocently buy bread, purely because of his hideousness. They'd never deign to speak with him to see his soul, Henry thought bitterly. He needed to encourage Victor to allow it first, too. "But first, as you know, Victor and I will need to finish our studies here."

"Then, when you finish your studies... I will return with you?" Adam asked expectantly.

"You have your own studies to attend to first, too," Henry added.

"I do? Yes! I do! The reading!"

"Exactly right. And not just your reading, but calculating sums, too. I'll grab some paper from my desk later, and I will create a primer for you to study your letters and numbers. Then, you can ask Victor to use his paper to practice your own hand."

"Truly? Not only to... read what is written... I could someday... write words myself?" Adam asked.

"That is the idea. Victor and I - I think it's important for you to know these things. It's important for any gentleman to know how to read and perform sums, in addition to their ordinary etiquette. And you want to be a gentleman like Victor and I, yes?"

Adam furiously nodded, the clubbing holding his hair admirably well. It seems that ribbon helped keep him clean on his excursion to the woods last night, too.

"Very well. We'll make a gentleman of you yet, Master Adam," said Henry.

Victor was pouring over his anatomy notes. Returning to classes was stressful. Not so much in the ways of catching up on work. No, he knew the material just fine. He had to know it inside and out for the purpose of his experiment's creation. Rather, it was the people that made it difficult.

He could hear their whispers in the lecture hall. The room was designed for a speaker to be heard anywhere at ease; their voices seemed to carry just as well. Their rumors. Their gossip. He was supposed to have come out from his quarters triumphant, not... sad and beaten, like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs. He was supposed to make a grand show of Adam, his living, moving, thinking homunculus. But he couldn't. The questions. The inquiry. Discussions of morals and ethics. He shook his head.

He heard Henry talking to Adam out in the main parlor. Henry returned from Mass and had gotten busy prattling away with his creation. Another failing of his own. He was in such a state of disgrace that even if he'd wanted, he wouldn't be able to participate in Mass.

He was ruined by his work Yet, his creation persisted in spite of himself. It was learning quickly. It knew how to be stealthy when required. It was developing its fine motor skills just fine.

Last night had given him a new opportunity to study it. He'd already seen its natural curiosity. But with those plant samples, he was presented the perfect opportunity to see how much it could teach itself on its own. Was it coincidence it was drawn to two poisonous plants, Holly and Witch Hazel? Could it teach itself from his herbarium? Wait. It can't read, Victor remembered. But could it teach itself? How fast could it piece together and make sense of an "unknown code?" if it had already succeeded in doing so much on its own?

He pushed back from his desk, his eyes landing on the pile of letters from his family, almost forgotten. Oh. Those.

He'd almost forgotten about the letters his family sent him, each envelope enclosed with letters from his Father, Elizabeth, and Ernest - William had taken to dotting the bottom of Ernest's and Elizabeth's letters with little stick men. He snorted at his littlest brother's antics, and he felt the lump in his gut tighten. His father had made but one request when he had departed to study at Ingolstadt: to write home often.

"If you neglect to write us during your time of study, Victor, what else might you come to neglect? That is all I ask. Write us that we needn't worry about you, and that should you ever require aid, we might help you."

He'd failed his father. He'd failed Elizabeth. He'd failed Ernest. He'd failed William. He wrote them hardly once, and even then it had only to request funds for his private research. It was exactly as his father had said. He'd neglected his family, he neglected his social obligations, he neglected his moral and ethical obligations - he even neglected his own health. He remembered the countless sleepless nights and days of accidental fasting as he raced against the clock to finish his creation before it rotted where it laid. Even with his serum, it was still a race. Death couldn't be stayed indefinitely, after all.

Neglect. Everywhere he turned he saw his own neglect. Even now, he could barely bring himself to care for his creation. He despised himself for creating it, and he despised himself for being unable to care for it. He despised himself for allowing Henry to shoulder what should have been his responsibility.

And yet, he couldn't. His hands gripped his short hair and he grit his teeth. Quietly, he let his turmoil churn within him, gnawing his guts, bile rising threateningly in his esophagus. He couldn't bother Henry, putting up already with his monster. He had to figure this out on his own.

He had spoken with Waldman, and it went too easy. The lies and half-truths bullied their way through before he could speak of what he'd done. But he couldn't, could he? If he ever let the world know precisely what Adam was...

Dishonor and shame would follow him alone if he were lucky. Prison and death if not.

He needed desperately to finish this degree in Medicine. It was his only way out of Ingolstadt and back into kind obscurity. Oh, yes: there were plenty of alternatives out of Ingolstadt. But to face his father upon withdrawal? Incomplete? Nothing to show but the monster he created? His father would be vindicated in his assertion that he should have gone into law. He would be vindicated by the fact that all those tomes he'd declared trash were exactly what had landed him in this mess. But what if it didn't end at that? What if the college expelled and criminalized him? How could he ever face Elizabeth? He needed this degree. He needed to dissolve into the unknown and mundane. Gods were omnipotent and omnipresent - could a God prevent prevent His own death were He to be lynched by a mob?

"Hey."

Victor jolted. He hadn't heard Henry approach. He turned, a scowl still etched deep on his face. His thoughts were still a roiling dark mess.

"I wanted to say," Henry began awkwardly, "now that you've started recovering, the lads - people - we missed you at mass."

Victor saw through it. Whispers and rumors: they wanted facts. They wanted affirmation that they were right all along. Victor harrumphed. "It's not my church," Victor bit back. At Henry's hurt face, Victor added, "And besides - after everything? Can you say I even belong there?"

His foul mood was no reason to be so sharp with his friend. Sure, Henry may be a Papist, but they'd always had some amount of harmony in worship.

"That's precisely the reason, Victor. People are talking. They're spreading rumors. Reanimist. Necromancer. Satanist. Nasty things. If you came back to the Church -"

"So let them spread. It can't possibly be any worse than the truth," Victor snapped bitterly, waving a hand. "You know my soul is already blackened by my profane work. It is lost to Heaven." In his every moral fiber he was damned. He knew the sin was completely mortal and indelible; he'd known every step. "In any event, I need to focus on my studies - I'm afraid my transfer has placed me dreadfully behind." It was a lie. But he didn't want to deal with this now. He'd convinced himself in the beginning that his work would be salvation - not but for himself, but all mankind - and now he was met with the crushing reality that it was his personal damnation.

"And what of your family's reputation? Elizabeth's reputation? Will you drag her name through the mud with you?" Henry bit back.

Victor's head snapped back up. How dare he insinuate that he wasn't thinking about them? All his work - sweep aside his dreams of personal glory, there was so much good that it was supposed to provide them! No sickness! No death! It had been for them! "That's not fair-"

"You're not fair!" Henry retorted. "You're selfish, you know that? You disappear without a word, appear out of the blue to ask my help, and even now, you treat Adam as... as... as a thing! Take some responsibility and ownership of what you've done for once in your goddamn life!"

"Fine. Leave us. Go. Live your life. I never asked you to care for it," Victor replied tersely. Push him away. Was this it? Henry's breaking point? He knew his friend could only last so long caring for his mistake. He could - he could learn to care for his creation on his own. He'd observed how quick the thing was learning. It wouldn't be too difficult. He'd only need procure the funds to rent an isolated cabin somewhere, and visit it between his studies and feed it without anyone knowing...

"Eurgh! Merde, Victor! That's - No! Adam deserves to have a kind hand raising him, hideous as he is, and you know it. It's like you're trying to set him up for failure: you gave him a book he can't read, for Christ's sake, and you refuse to give him any guidance without any sort of prior prodding. If the world calls you 'Reanimist,' and you know what they think of that, what chance does Adam have? He's condemned for your sin of his creation! Doesn't he deserve the same chance from his creator as you and I both had from our own parents? Not as some 'experiment' to poke and prod and study, but as a person to raise to their own great independence?

"And you, Victor," Henry continued, an almost pitiable look on his face. Victor found himself frowning deeper. That was the last thing he wanted: pity. "I don't want you gone. None of us want you gone. But look at yourself: disappeared for two years, out sick for a fortnight with a fever, and a creation you thought nothing of the afterbirth. Sometimes, for someone so brilliant, you make the dumbest choices."

"Henry - "

"No, Victor. Just - you need to actually think about what you've done," Henry sighed, sitting on Victor's bed. More softly, he continued, "Did you know, Adam wants to see Genève? He wants to meet our families. He's of a desperately curious mind," his friend said, shaking his head sadly.

"But..." began Victor, confusion and panic rivaling for the forefront of his mind. "I only just took it outside? I hadn't told it anything about our lives - how did it come to be curious of this? It's not ready..."

How? How did his creation already learn of their home? He'd only taken it to Auwald, he'd only shown it the stars. He didn't want his family involved in this - not yet. He wasn't ready to confront his mistakes with them.

"We were talking," Henry said plainly. "You'd given him your herbarium - which he couldn't read - and asked if I could help him figure out what some plants he'd seen last night were."

"Right, right, but... that doesn't explain how he'd learned of home?" Victor asked, confused.

"Your herbarium? You wrote the scientific names and common German names for the plants."

"And? What does that have to do with Genf?"

"Linguistics."

"Linguistics?" Victor repeated, blinking dumbly.

"Precisely. I had to instruct him on why not only we have the scientific names and common names of plants, but why we as... as... as a people developed different languages. And I ended up speaking of Elizabeth and Justine besides my own family."

Victor dragged a hand down his face. "So, now it's curious about what else there is out there? Is that it?"

"I suppose," said Clerval, shrugging a shoulder. "It's only natural to be curious of the world."

"Well," Victor began. He shook his head. No - he couldn't bear the thought of explaining his creation to his father. Not after what he'd said. "It's far too soon to bring it home. We have exams coming up, and with the threat of snow? Who knows if we'll make it back in time before our final semester begins. No. We stay here," Victor said with some finality. "I can - I can continue to take it on trips to the forest. Stretch its legs. Distract it for now..." Victor thought aloud. It was a gamble. Eventually, he would have to explain. But for now? He only wanted to worry about explaining his change in major and the threats of snow. Not it.

"That is an idea, though," said Henry, a dangerously thoughtful look on his face. Henry had plenty of these looks growing up, and, while fun for the instant, they always landed with them in trouble.

Victor shook his head. "I don't like your look."

"St. Nicholas day is coming; you remember how big of a deal it always was growing up, yes?" Henry said, raising his brows expectantly.

Victor eyed his friend with greater suspicion. "Yes... though I don't know if I like where you're going with this."

"Big parade down the streets, mob of people," said Henry.

Victor deflated. "Really? You're trying to convince me with 'mob of people?' You want him to be seen?"

"I only suggest that they'll be occupied by the costumes of Samichlaus and Schmutzli - or, rather, I suppose it's St. Nicholas and Krampus here. It'll be a wonderful opportunity to show him not only what a festival is like, but to also reinforce the ideas of right and wrong."

"But at a festival? The thing's only been alive a month!"

"And look how much he's learned: sewing, cooking, speaking - soon writing."

"Yes, but all those people - never has it been around so many! What if something happens? What if people see it? What if the people riot at its presence?"

Henry leveled a look at him. "Then we just need to make sure he's not seen, yes?"

"No. Absolutely not. I won't take such a risk," said Victor. "It's too much too fast."

Henry sighed. Victor felt his friend's disappointment. He could understand, at least, where Henry was coming from. His friend had been working so closely with his creation that he deigned it to be human, and he wanted it to experience the human world. But his creation was not human. Made of human parts, but as a soulless giant it could only hope to imitate human emotions. It wasn't real. Its innocence was terribly convincing at times, but it was much closer to a baby cow, or rather the infant of something more ghoulish.

It wasn't human.

Was it?

He shook his head. "No, and that's final."

"If you insist. I pray you think on what I've told you, though. You can't keep him cloistered here forever. He's a curious mind. He'll find his own way, with or without your help," said Henry, departing.

Victor sat at his desk, staring at his stack of letters. He shook his head.

His creation was smart, he would give it that. But to parade it through the world? He wasn't ready for public scrutiny yet. He needed more time to prepare himself first. But Henry wasn't completely wrong, either. They would have to instruct it to the social mores that ran the world, politics and religion included. And Henry had a point: Samischlaus was part of how their fathers taught them.

Chapter Text

Adam found his way back to Auwald alone. The very first night that Victor had taken him had been such an experience for every single one of his senses. He felt the enormity of all the little nothings of the world. He felt... peace.

He breathed in the cold night air. It set his lungs on fire with its ice. When he exhaled, his breath came as miniature clouds. He watched in peaceful silence as they blossomed, twisting and eddying and dispersing in the winter air. Some movement in the far-off brush caught his eye. A small creature, its own breaths came in little puffs like his own. It stood stock-still until some imperceptible notion in the wind urged it to scurry off. Reverently, he retraced his steps to the fallen log Victor had lain upon that first night, sitting down in the space his creator once occupied.

His creator had been drawn to the stars, and with so much new around him, he had followed Victor's gaze then. But alone now, he could focus on all that was alive around him. Why gaze at the heavens when there was so much to learn so much closer to oneself?

The two clippings he'd taken - the Holly and the Witch Hazel, as he learned with Henry's help - were the first of his studies. During the early mornings and early evenings, Adam found he could seek Henry's - and even Victor's help, however rarely - in learning his letters. The first night had been slow. Henry had continued to help him learn the shapes and sounds of them all, but it was work. It was a struggle to recall which "capital" letters paired with which "lower" letters to make the same sound. Some of the letters were simple. "A" and "a" were the same, just a large looping thing with a tail, and its lowercase form mimicked it. Same with "O" and "o." But "S"? Capital and small were different, and it changed when it was in the middle versus the end of the word, and yet again when there were two paired together, and once more when paired with "z". Why did such a cipher exist? Purely to drive all of mankind insane?

For the most part, the German that Henry was teaching him was very phonetic. It made it easy to sound out the letters. Things became trickier for him when Henry, having sensed his interest in learning the other language the two smaller men spoke, took it upon himself to draw for him the letters of the French language. It was, for him, more difficult than the German to pronounce, but only because there seemed to be so many nuances with the vowels. A single sound was penned onto paper through the use of many vowels, and consonants seemed to disappear when spoken, melding into one. It may have used similar characters as German, but its sound was distinctly its own and distinctly Henry. Adam saw it as a puzzle to better understand Henry. Like Henry had told him: language was but a tool to better voice his own thoughts.

Mes mots. Meine Worte. My words.

Adam found Victor's herbarium to be a very useful thing. On the nights he snuck out, he would clutch Victor's book close to him. While he had started with the two cuttings, he found that - at least at current - Victor's book was so thorough he could leave the plants as they were, often finding them within the pages. He did not have to harm the plant by plucking away a leaf, a flower, a stem, or a root. He could leave it perfectly as it were and study it happily in its own natural environment.

Victor's herbarium - his creator's book - seemed to document the entire forest - no! possibly even the whole world! - so full were its pages with little dry, fixed cuttings of stems and leaves and flowers and berries. In the frosted night, Adam quietly observed the hibernating plants. He wanted to know and understand them all. How they each fit in; what their purposes were. At current, though, identification was proving difficult for him on two main fronts: first, many of the wild plants seemed "dead," although Victor did explain that some plants "hibernate" for the winter. They conserve their energy. They sleep. And in the Spring with the warmer weather, they will burst free from the iron-solid soil with life. But for now, they were skeletons of plants. They were devoid of leaves: plain, skeletal shrubbery dusted with white, or dry grassy stalks that quietly crunched under his feet. Yet, if he inspected the forest floor near those skeletons, he found all manner of dead, brown leaves. Spear-shaped, palm shaped, big and small. Leaves everywhere. From Victor's apartment, he had been able to observe the change in leaves on the few trees in the courtyard. The color changed and the leaves fell. Was that a fact of all plants? And when he poked about the leaves here on the forest floor, there were a thousand tiny things disturbed, wriggling and crawling and slithering and flying. He wanted desperately to ask Victor or Henry what they all were, but he knew too many questions would give away his nighttime escapades. They didn't want him going alone. He didn't know why, but he suspected they would be less than pleased to find out how he had learned to sneak out undetected.

The second was his own understanding of written language. He read Victor's notes out loud - quietly, but vocalized nonetheless. It was easier for him to understand what was written if he could form the sounds in his mouth and hear it from his tongue. He read slowly as there were many "technical" terms in the notes - words he'd never heard Victor or Henry speak, and words whose definitions were still mysterious to him. He taught himself by context. Some terms were easier to figure out than others. "Variegation," as he compared leaf after leaf, he found to mean having some form of diversity in the color of the leaves, whereas Victor would describe other leaves as "non-variegated".

He observed his arm. There was a thin, fine white scar wrapping around his wrist and trailing up the arm. In regular intervals little stitches of thread crossed over the line of white, binding the two halves of himself together. Where the scar bound his flesh together, arm to hand, the tones did not match perfectly. Henry and Victor had subtle differences in their skin tones, and the color would shift gradually. But himself? Where skin was bound to skin by white scars, his own pigmentation was more abrupt. Was he "variegated", while Henry and Victor were "non-variegated?" A silly thought, to compare the three of them to plants. But was that their difference? His variegation? Was he like some of these plants, exactly the same save variation of his skin? Using the book, he'd gotten Victor to explain once about their differences, and how certain variegated plants were sought after for the uniqueness. Would he be so desired, too?

After their very first night, Victor had promised to take him back to the forest the following weekend. Victor had said he was otherwise occupied during the week, and needed his nighttime rest to function during the day. But Adam had been able to sneak out that first night. He had been very much alone on that stairwell. He'd handled scaling the wall. He'd stayed out of sight, and no one was the wiser about him. Adam had decided he would return to the forest at night on his own, during the hours Victor slept. He'd used those hours before to finish sewing his clothes. He could use that same time to slip in and out to the sanctuary Victor had gifted him. Better, too, as he could do it on his own! And without Victor, he didn't have to worry about the cold as bad, nor on how late the hour would become! He could focus on whichever part of the forest he so desired, and Victor would be well rested for his own studies the next day while Adam would be back again in the solitude of the apartment.

He wouldn't have to bother Victor at all for this little taste of freedom.

Adam stood and moved through the forest. After he'd asked Henry about the other places of the world, Victor had sat him down and explained about some of the places near themselves - near Ingolstadt, near Auwald, and near the river Donau.

"It's a great river. Runs all the way from the Black Forest in Donaueschingen - just north of Switzerland - all the way through Austria, Hungary, Romania, and Ukraine, emptying in the Black Sea," Victor had told him.

The trees thinned abruptly, and Adam found himself on the bank of the Donau. In the darkness, it was peaceful. The noises of the city people were silenced by their sleep, and it was just him and the gurgle of the flowing river. The world surrounded him in gentle, quiet darkness with naught but the moon and stars in the heavens to light his way. Compared to the stuffiness of the candlelit room at night, Auwald was the most wonderful thing. He could walk where he willed, and despite Victor having cautioned him of the darkness that first night, he found he did not miss the light. It was easy for him, even, to see to the other side.

The river at this point wasn't quite as wide or narrow as other parts, and it was shallower, too. He dipped a hand into the water, but quickly pulled it out. The water was freezing, sending throbbing shoots of pain up to his elbow. He nestled his hand close to his chest, tucking it under his woolen cloak. Had it been warmer, he wondered if he could be like those birds that float on its surface, or the tall one with the legs, idly resting along the bank.

Adam considered the water itself. When he dipped his hand in, it created ripples that were swept along toward the city. It came from afar, and it would continue on its journey. A fleeting instance, Adam pondered, a lone brown leaf flowing with the current. Where had it fallen? Here in Auwald? Or earlier? How far would it travel? All the way to the river's end, where the water meets the sea? Or would it get tangled along the rocks and reeds closer to home?

Looking up the river, away from the city, he spied a light moving along the center of the flow. A lonely yellow light breaking through the black of the night. It was a curious thing, quietly floating down the river. He slunk deeper into the shrubs lining the shore, rather glad that the colors he wore seemed to blend with that of nature. He still remembered Victor's caution to escape notice.

On the floating thing were two figures. Small people! What were they doing, there on the water? What they were on - it was floating, carried by the current. Were they traveling somewhere, and using the river as a way to go? It would certainly be easier than trying to walk everywhere. Especially with how big Henry and Victor made the world seem. The figures stood close to each other, each bundled in one of those heavier jackets that Henry and Victor were both fond of now. Were they cold? Or seeking each other's company?

One turned from the other, facing him on the shore without seeing him. The man was focused on something. Suddenly, a small orange light blossomed from something the man had been holding, and tendrils of blue mist - no! blue smoke! - rose from something held in the hand. The man puffed into the thing a few times, and the smoke puffed out in its own little swirls before the man seemed to notice something.

Adam noticed a change in the man's position - stiffing like how Henry and Victor always seemed to do whenever he surprised them with his presence. The man called his companion over. They were both looking in his direction.

Slowly, afraid to snap a twig and cause further commotion, Adam began to extract himself from the woody shrubs by the shore. Had they noticed him? They had taken notice of something. Perhaps venturing out to the Donau had been a mistake?

No. He shook the idea from his head. The air out here was fresh, and the woods and water were calm, save for the lone float. They hadn't noticed him. It had to be something else. It couldn't be him. He'd been so careful - !

Suddenly, he heard snapping twigs and shuffling leaves. Something was moving - fast!

Then, he saw it: a creature like none he'd ever seen. It was large with a tawny coating of fur. Its bulk was supported by four spindly legs, while its head was crowned with a tangle of ivory points and sticks and leaves. It had been moving in leaps and bounds until it stopped abruptly at the shoreline. By its behavior, the beast hadn't spied him yet.

Adam held his breath. It was a majestic creature. Surely this was what the beings on the float had seen.

The creature's great sinuous neck turned its crowned head, slowly away from where it was looking at the river before resting its gaze on himself. Adam could see its hot breath as swirling mist in the cold air. It's demeanor changed. It snorted, pawing the ground, staring him down, daring him to make a move.

He didn't dare move.

It stomped again with it's hoofed leg, before snorting and letting out a piercing, wailing shriek. He crumbled at the sound, the noise painfully sharp to his sensitive ears.

Then, it stopped its wail, and when Adam looked up, he found the creature's antlered crown down, the prongs aimed at him.

The men on the boat forgotten, Adam flinched, his heart beginning to race. The creature advanced. Adam turned and fled. The creature broke into a full galloping charge.

It was running for him. Horns angled down, he was acutely aware of the damage they could cause, his memory still sharp from the pinprick of the sewing needle. Only, these were much thicker. The damage - the pain - it would all be so much worse.

Run.

He had to get away.

Run.

The rocky ground shifted under his feet unstably. Where he stepped, the rocks tumbled down into the Donau. He dared not stop; he heard the breaths of the beast behind him.

Run.

But could he run forever? He'd avoided its first goring advance, the creature charging wide. It seemed to keep its distance from him. He wasn't quite sure why.

As the creature stopped, so did he. His breaths were a heavy pant, and he could see the creature's own coming in quick puffs of mist.

They stared each other down. Adam knew he couldn't run forever; his chest hurt too much to keep running. He tore his eyes from the horned beast and quickly cast them around.

Could I climb? Could that save me? he thought, sizing up a tree. It was small, nowhere near as large as the others. But small and thin as it was, he would only have to scale a couple feet before he could use the first branches as proper support for his form.

The creature pawed the ground again, snorting.

It uttered a second shrieking call, warbling high before the tone dropped low.

Adam scaled the tree without second thought, hand over hand, finding invisible holds just as he'd forced himself with the wall of Henry and Victor's apartment building. The beast below charged into it, narrowly missing his foot as he climbed higher. Its crown of pronged horns was ornamented with more stringy branches and vines from its effort. In its mad charge at himself, it plunged itself deep into the ground shrubbery. It shook its head violently, trying hard to free itself from the tangle of shrub and tree. Adam could feel the young tree quake dangerously, and with every lurch, he gulped a breath of air. He hoped against hope that it would tire of him and leave.

Finally, the creature broke itself free. It paced around his tree, huffing and scraping its horns at the bark for what felt like hours. He counted the time by tracking the movement of stars.

He needed to get home. The sky would soon threaten its light, and Victor would discover he had left alone.

Suddenly, the snapping of twigs cut through his silent stalemate.

The creature started, it's attention stolen by the sound. Just as furiously as the thing had charged after him did the creature suddenly spurn and bound away.

Adam dropped, sliding quickly down the trunk. If it was running away, he could get away, too.

As he ran, he heard a voice call out.

"Erlkönig!" it called - was it referring to himself? He didn't recognize the voice, being neither Henry's nor Victor's. He hazarded a moment to turn back, to see if he could spy his inadvertent savior. The trees, thinner in this part of the woods, did little to hide either of their forms. The person - for it had to be a person, same as Henry and Victor - was like his friend and creator in stature, but the timbre of its voice was deeper, rougher. He caught a glimpse of the person; bearded, but wearing simple garb like himself. This man was dressed for an early morning in the forest. Did other people wander the forest, too?

He paid no mind to the rings of mushrooms he fled over in his swift flight out of the forest. He hoped that the other man was not blessed with as fine night vision as himself and would lose track of him as he back-tracked through the forest before turning onto his course back into the town. The dawn, thankfully, was still far enough away that Victor would still be fast asleep when he returned to him.

Morning had come and gone, and with it lectures and laboratory sessions. Victor was now left quietly alone, reviewing his lecture notes at his desk. Adam had been quiet all day, quietly sounding out more words from his herbarium. His creation was no longer just focusing on single words, but could slowly work his way through the shorter explanations by himself. Itself? It was learning and thinking, plain as any man. Was it still just an experiment? Would it always be only an experiment? Was Henry rubbing off on him? He shook his head to chase away those thoughts. In any regard, at least some of his old notes were seeing use. He heard a light rap on the apartment and voices, and he cast a glance to his timepiece. It was Henry - his lectures were typically early in the day, and then he would spend a few hours in the afternoon fencing. Victor continued to review his notes; he wanted to finish studying this one section, at the very least. Distractions always led to half-formed concepts.

He was interrupted by a light rapping on his bedroom door. He flinched inadvertently, dragging his pen across the page, smudging the ink.

"Fick mich sanft, Herr Gott," Victor muttered to himself, quickly trying to contain the inky mess.

"Hey," said Henry. His voice was not his usual cheerful self. "There's something coming up, and I think you and I need to have a talk about it," he said, letting himself in and closing the door behind him.

Hearing the door click closed, Victor crumpled the inked cloth and turned to look up. Henry had never done this before - well, at least not since the creation of Adam. They'd always kept the door open for the purpose of transparency. It had been Henry's idea, after all, as a way to help his creation feel more normal and welcomed. A concept of "no secrets." There was something Henry didn't want his experiment to discover?

His friend produced a letter from his coat pocket. Victor raised an eye.

"A letter from Elizabeth. She wrote she'd sent you one as well, but, like usual, you hadn't responded," Henry explained.

Victor felt his heart drop. He was still trying to manage the mess of letters he'd neglected. He'd started reading some of them - many were full of banalities and other unimportant things he didn't have time for. But - Liza was expecting a response?

Victor cast Henry a puzzled look. "What was she asking?"

"Christmas plans. She wanted to know if we were coming home for the Holidays."

"Wha-" Victor began before clamping his mouth shut. It was only right. He'd missed Christmas last year, and the year before that when he had returned home, he spent his time cloistered in his room. He was there, but he wasn't. He should return home. He needed to return home.

But Adam. His experiment. He told Henry before. He wasn't ready to explain it to his father yet, or Elizabeth, or Ernest, or William, or Justine, even. His stomach found a way to tie a new knot, and he felt a wave of nausea roil through him.

"Please, Henry," Victor replied quietly. "I'm still - I'm not ready. Don't make me do this."

Henry sighed heavily. "Victor, you're going to have to face them eventually."

"Yes - I know. But," he shook his head again. "I can't. Not yet."

"If I write back to Elizabeth about your decision to stay, what about Adam?"

"What do you mean?" Victor asked sharply. Why was Adam even a factor into this? They would both remain here, obviously. He wasn't ready to explain his creation's existence, so it would obviously remain here with him.

"I understand you're not ready to face your father yet, but you remember: Adam's curious about the rest of the world. And," Henry said, shrugging, "I was hoping I'd be able to return home to visit my parents. But, I've seen how you are with Adam. You hardly give him the time of day."

Victor fought down the growing revolution in his stomach. "Adam's independent enough." His creation didn't need to be babysat. Nearly a month old, and it was walking, talking, cooking, sewing - even learning to read and write! It could fend for itself.

"That's not what I mean. I was offering that I would stay here and keep you both company. Christmas is not the time to be alone."

Victor harrumphed. The knot in his stomach was beginning to settle. "I wouldn't want to be the one to hold you back from going home."

"No, but would you be the one to teach Adam about Christmas?"

Victor looked at his friend blankly. He had been considering it, yes, but it was but an idle fancy. Although he himself had not set foot in a church in months, he still clung to the vestiges of tradition like a child clings to a ragged blanket. It was comfortably familiar, even if ultimately meaningless. But to teach his creation? He was its god. He was its master. There was no god greater than he to it. He had given it life. So what purpose would there be teaching about a god in heaven? Even if he did teach it, how would they enforce anything? It wasn't like they could share Henry's High Holy Mass with it. It was a path that led nowhere.

"I thought as much," his friend commented, shaking his head. "I thought we could teach him some of our traditions."

Victor shook his head. "I don't understand." It was fruitless. Pointless.

"He's curious about the world. If you don't want to take him places, we can still show him how the world functions through us. Teach him the concept of charity, faith, and hope. Three utterly human concepts."

Victor paused. Was that what was needed? From the moment his creation breathed its first breath, he was horrified by his experiment. Brought to life from human death, was there anything human about it? It had all the right parts, and it learned different mechanical concepts quickly. But could it learn the metaphysical? Could it learn the philosophical? He saw it himself, it was curious. Could they, as Henry was asking, teach it to be human?

"And what? Would we begin with Samichlaus and Schmutzli?" Victor said offhandedly.

"It wouldn't be the worst idea. We've still a few more days before the 6th," Henry said, shrugging. "We can focus on Christmas as we get closer to the Eve."

Victor thought for a moment. "Keep Adam occupied - maybe get him to wash out his stockings somewhere, and I'll find a shop to purchase some oranges, nuts, and possibly a brick of chocolate. I don't think I'm that broke, yet."

Henry flashed him a grin, and Victor could hear his friend fighting down a laugh.

"What's so funny to you?" Victor asked.

"A stupid thought, really: we're becoming our parents."

"God, no!" Victor exclaimed before being promptly shushed by Henry.

"Adam could hear," Henry said softly, a huge grin still playing on his face.

"Right," replied Victor, "but to think: is this what parents do?"

"It's rather unconventional, but surely you remember how much you and Ernest both doted on William for his first Christmas."

A smile crept onto Victor's face. He remembered. Ernest and him, being eight and twelve respectively when little William was born. It was, according to their mother, a miracle birth. He remembered how she'd grieved after losing the one after Ernest at birth. It hadn't been alive long enough to truly affect him or Ernest, but their mother had been torn to pieces at its loss. It had been such a somber time. And then William was born healthy.

At twelve, Victor was long past the point where the innocence of Samichlaus was shattered, though Ernest still had the final fraying threads of belief. Yet, he hadn't the heart to break that belief. Not yet. Not then. They had a new little brother.

Ernest and him. They'd gone out into the woods by the lake, him with a tiny hatchet and a knife and Ernest with some leather ties, both in search of the best pine and holly boughs. The pine had to be young and fresh, such that it would maintain its springiness and delay dropping its needles. The holly? They searched for those with abundant red berries. He remember arguing with Ernest about it, his brother insisting that it had white berries and how he had to explain the difference between holly and mistletoe.

Elizabeth and Justine were both back in the house, doing tat-work and other womanly things to prepare for the holidays. They were quickly developing a tight bond between - almost akin to a sisterhood, had they been of equal means. Instead, Justine was quickly growing in her role as nanny. She found much of her time full chasing around Ernest and Victor, trying to get the two boys from falling into too much mischief. When Ernest found the sprig of mistletoe growing on a tree, Victor quickly roped his brother into the plan. Justine wasn't here to stop them.

Their parents hadn't asked for the mistletoe, but when Ernest found it, Victor knew they had the perfect chance to play a prank.

It had gone stunningly. Ernest was successful in filching a bit of colorful thread from the girls, and together they found a doorframe to hang their posy. It was by no means anywhere near as lovely as an arrangement that Liza or Justine could make, but their plan was set in motion. After what felt like hours of waiting, hiding stock-still behind a sofa, their parents finally got caught together under the sprig. Victor ribbed Ernest gently, silently pointing his little brother's attention to their parents. Alphonse and Caroline, making a show of looking for any rude spectators, exchanged a loving kiss. The brothers sniggered at the display of affection between their parents, quietly cheering each other at their success. Later that evening, they quietly whispered to William in his little crib of all the tricks and triumphs the three of them would have together. Their antics would be unstoppable, and nothing would ever tear their bonds of love apart.

It was some years later when his father had spoken to him.

"Victor, is that you?" his father had said. "One day soon, my son, you'll be a man. And when that time comes, it's your mother's wish that you care for Elizabeth."

"I... don't understand," Victor had said.

"Your mother... You remember when we brought Elizabeth into the family?"

"...Yes," said Victor, scrunching his brows.

"You remember the words she used?"

"That she was to be my 'promised gift,'" replied Victor, frowning. "Why?"

"She hopes to have you both engaged," Alphonse answered, a thin smile on his own face.

"But... I love her like a sister. We practically grew up together," said Victor, paling at the thought.

"And your mother wishes to see you continue to care for her, and her, you," Alphonse replied softly.

"Has Liza accepted the terms your asking of her? Does she consent?" Victor asked, his young face lined with worry.

"Your mother: she admires the two of you together," Alphonse said, soothingly, "and Elizabeth consents to her duty as a daughter. Think on it, Victor. You don't have to engage just yet. But I want you to be ready when the time comes. No surprises."

Victor nodded silently. Alphonse beckoned him close with open arms, and Victor woodenly moved closer to his father, who bent to plant a kiss on his forehead. "We only want what is best for you, Victor. Know that what we do, we do out of love."

Victor was fresh seventeen when his mother died, bequeathing Elizabeth to Victor on her deathbed. It wasn't fair. He loved Elizabeth, yes, but not of that love. And yet, she was his mother. How could a son deny his mother's dying wish?

"I remember," said Victor, returning to the present with Henry. Life always had a funny way of depending on the little things. Those little shared moments between brothers. Those shared bonds of blood that ties them together. The bond of blood that currently tied him to Elizabeth.

No. He wouldn't think of that yet. Another duty he'd abandon to pursue obsession.

He nodded, chuffing. "If you put it that way, I've been piss-poor father, haven't I?"

Henry raised an eye at Victor. "Your words, not mine."

Victor slapped him. "Oh, but you were thinking them!"

Henry made the most over-the-top face of affront, "How you wound me with such accusations!" he exclaimed.

"Stuff it!"

"Father Frankenstein!"

"God! Please! How horrible!" Victor exclaimed, gripping his ears in a mockery of pain, joining Henry's laughter. "Next I know you'll be calling me Mr. Frankenstein, Syndic of Genf!"

How long had it been since he'd laughed like this? Years, he thought ruefully. Such neglect.

"Christ, how I loathe the title. Politics was never the study for me," Victor remarked more soberly. "Too many ways in which words could be twisted. You say one thing, but another turns its meaning on its head."

"I remember us, growing up at your father's house," said Henry. "You always were one for the sciences, pushing the limits, never questioning 'why' or 'why not.'"

"'Don't think; try,'" quoted Victor. "You remember the old oak?"

"The one struck in that terrible storm? I could never forget it! All those summers under its leaves... burnt to a crisp. It never did come back after that."

"But do you remember the lightning?"

"Oh, it terrified me!"

"It was terrific," Victor replied, a small smile on his face. "Don't get me wrong; I regret the loss of the tree. But to see the power of electricity: wild and raw? It was..." Victor released a shuddering breath. "sublime. And I was taken under by it."

A solemnity seemed to creep upon Victor at the memory of the tree. That tree. That lightning. That power. That was when The Obsession had begun to burrow into his heart. After that storm, he'd stopped playing Soldier with William and Ernest. He'd begun to withdraw into himself then, plunging into those dusty old books that his Father hated and Krempe mocked. He'd withdrawn. Not as severe as he had in these last two years, but...

No. He would not grieve for his mistakes. He would not weep for his transgressions. He had to return to his duties. No one must know the blackness of his own heart.

"Victor?" his friend asked softly, breaking his self-reflection.

"Yes, Henry?"

"I missed you."

"I know," Victor answered.

They sat there in companionable silence for a few moments, breathing and taking the time to just simply be.

"Henry?" Victor asked after some moments.

"Hmmm?"

"I suppose we should plot something for Adam. For Christmas, that is. I," he twitched his upper lip, "I suppose I miss some of the antics we used to get into. And. Yes. I suppose you're right. It'd be good to acclimate Adam to some of our customs as well."

A big grin grew across Clerval's face, and before he realized it, Clerval has crossed the distance between them and planted a soft kiss on Victor's hair. He looked up in surprise. How long had it been since he last kissed Elizabeth and his brothers away? How long had it been since anyone had touched him?

He had been so, so alone.

"Ready to come out?" Henry asked.

Victor shook his head. "I - my notes. I ruined them when you came in," Victor said, awkwardly gesturing to the ink blot on his notes. "I need some time to transcribe them to some fresh pages."

"A half-hour, then?"

Victor nodded. "Uh, yes. That should be enough."

Henry clapped his shoulder before returning to the door. Hand on the handle, Henry paused, turning to face Victor. "Don't work yourself too hard, now. Make sure you carve out some time for dinner with Adam and me."

Victor nodded wordlessly as he watched his friend leave.

Henry was still here.

After all this time, everything he's done; Henry was still here by his side.

His hand was steady as he rewrote what he'd destroyed. As he dipped his pen back into the inkwell, a large wet drop splattered down.

He paused, raising his left to his face. Ah, yes. He was crying. How long had it been since he'd cried like this? Since the first night alone in Ingolstadt, no family to comfort him? Since the death of his mother, a father of stone telling him only the weak cry? In the end, did it matter?

He steeled his breaths as he fumbled through his waistcoat pocket, grabbing a handkerchief and dabbing at the salty streaks on his cheeks.

Scheiße, he muttered, casting a glance in his looking glass. Not only was he still pale and grossly emaciated, now his eyes were bloodshot and cheeks flushed. He poured a dram from his decanter and splashed some water on his face. This should do it. Not perfect. But good enough. Henry would understand. And his complexion should calm down such that Adam wouldn't notice.

Chapter Text

It was early morning December 6, 1793. Adam knows this date because Victor had begun to teach him of the movement of time. Victor had shared with him his "date book," the little boxes containing an almost incomprehensible version of Victor's hand. While his creator's hand was typically a thin, scrawling script in his notebooks, this was "chicken scratch," as Henry would say. Whatever Victor had written, it was so hastily scribbled that he wasn't sure if the tiny man could read it himself.

Still, of what was legible, he could make out an extra embellishment of stars around the 6th, the 24th and 25th, and the 30th. He did not know why, and Victor had not seen fit to explain to him, only deigning to impart that "It's a surprise."

A surprise. What manner of wonder was Victor preparing? Henry had taught him that "surprise" meant something unexpected.

"If I am expecting it now, does that mean it is no long... a surprise?" Adam had asked.

"No - it will still be a surprise to you, as I do not suspect you know the particulars of what he has planned," Henry replied, a knowing look on his face.

"What does he have planned?" Adam asked, still curious.

"I can't share that with you."

"Why not?"

"It would ruin the surprise."

So, Adam taught himself the hours of night in order to attempt to divine the purpose of Victor's notes for himself. He would depart for Auwald around Midnight, when the Night was at its deepest and he was most assured that Victor had fully retired to bed. Then, following the change in position of the Big Dipper in its relation to the North Star - as Victor taught him - he counted his hours until he would return quietly back to the apartment at 3am. It gave him enough time to feign the look of having slept the entire night through, especially since Victor tended to rise early at 5am to begin his studies fresh for the day.

This day, though, was different.

He was glad his return home from the Forest was uneventful, unlike the other night. He had doubled down on his caution, learning to tread more carefully and become more aware of all the various creatures inhabiting the woods. Whenever he saw those big, antlered creatures, he knew now to give it wide distance. He did see one similar to the very first, but it lacked the crown of antlers. That one had been much more skittish and ran from him, rather than charging him. Perhaps, similar as they were, there was some innate difference in the way they acted? Perhaps the mystery of their difference dwelled in the presence of the antlers?

Adam had managed to slip back into Victor's apartment otherwise without issue. It seemed as though he'd hardly settled his cloak around him as a blanket that Victor's soft footfalls sounded on the floorboards. Odd. His creator was up far earlier than usual.

He kept silent and immobile on his pallet, much the same as he'd often observed Victor in his own slumber. He watched his creator with one eye open barely a slit, making sure to keep his eye lidded. Henry had remarked upon his eyes having an uncanny glare at night. If Victor spied it, his creator would scold him for not sleeping.

Victor crept along like a thief in his own home, as Henry would say, adding further confusion to Adam. His creator was crouched and furtive in his movements, and seemed to keep an eye on himself, which Adam quickly realized could expose his own watchfulness if caught.

He kept his breaths steady and slow, measured like that of a sleeping man. He would not give any overt signed to Victor that he was awake. He would watch and hopefully discover the reason for the stealth.

Victor's actions were strange to him, and continued to puzzle him the longer he watched. His creator crept near his pallet and took the extra pair of stockings he'd so painstaking made. He'd washed them fresh and clean the night previous that he might wear them come the morning. What was his creator doing with them?

He wanted to say something - object to having his own hard work tampered with. But he couldn't risk exposing himself. He kept himself mute.

Victor crept through his living room. His creation was still asleep on its pallet. Excellent, he thought to himself. It shouldn't notice him. He had the gifts; he'd purchased them two days ago, keeping them hidden in the locked drawer of his desk. An orange, a pleasant selection of nuts, and a small brick of chocolate. A small gift, but such was tradition. It wasn't Christmas. The grandiosity of that day wasn't required yet.

He shuffled through the darkness; he dared not light a taper lest he disturb Adam's sleep and become discovered. He made his way to Adam's bedside and gently groped in the dark for his creation's spare stockings. He was glad he'd encouraged it to craft an extra pair. It allowed them both to keep its clothes just a little cleaner. Could he have abided it if he was forced to strip the stockings from the giant's feet? To stuff it full of treats? He shivered. No. Absolutely not. He was glad for the clean stockings, at least.

He cast a quick glance at the sleeping giant and shivered again. He messed up the eyes, he found. More than just his experimental tapetum lucidum, his creation's eyes didn't quite shut at night. It gave the impression that it was watching him. There might have been a way to fix it had he discovered the defect earlier, but at this point, the damage was done. He waved a hand in front of its eyes. Its pupils did not track his hand. It was asleep.

Still squatting flat on his feet, Victor slipped the treats into the stocking first, allowing them to fall to the bottom, and the small birch switch he set on top, tied with a red and white ribbon.

It was a relic of his own childhood. Every year, even after the belief in Samichlaus had dissipated in himself, his stockings always had the same. The switch on top: a reminder of his failings and the punishment which he would be sure to receive, and then the treats below: the gifts that would be rewarded him once he had paid his penance.

He paused as he held the stocking, reflecting on the little birch switch. Was his creature truly guilty of anything? Yes, it was hideous. Yes, it was created of Death and his own Necromancy. But... had it actually sinned? It looked like a man who'd gone through a lifetime of pain and hardship, yet, as Henry and himself worked to teach it, it displayed an innocence as pure as any child. Was its soul tainted? Was it created with an original sin? Or had he succeeded in creating a life with as pure a soul as its flesh was hideous? Had he instead taken on all its sin as its creator?

He set his creation's stocking on the mantle, and hung his own stocking next to it. Sin or not, he had a duty to teach it right from wrong. He had promised Henry he would do this little thing; he wanted to prove to Henry he could be trusted - at least in the little matters, if not the big ones. For now, he would creep back to bed and pretend to be absolutely surprised that, "Oh! Samiclaus and Smutzli They must have visited last night!" and he would explain in the belief of the Saint and his companion once the time came for him to wake.

And his creator returned back to his chamber. Adam was now confused. What had Victor done? What was his purpose? He'd taken both their stockings and filled them with... something.

He cast a glance to his creator's chamber. The door was closed. No night candle shone from under the door. Had Victor returned to bed? He cast a glance out the window. It was still dark. Perhaps if he waited some minutes for the dawn to creep closer, it would be less suspicious when he displayed his curiosity?

Victor woke again after catching an hour's sleep, exactly on schedule had this day been like every other. He'd succeeded. He snuck under his creation's nose and was able to set up the stuffed stocking. Now? He just needed to pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary and only "Oh! Samiclaus visited us in the night!" Maybe once his creation was older, he would tell the truth. But for now? Could he allow his creation to delight in one of his own wonders of childhood?

He opened the door and found his creation already cautiously examining his stocking.

"Good morning," he called, announcing his presence.

His creation froze and turned its yellow gaze upon him. He sucked in a breath. His handiwork was still hideous, and he could now see more flaws developing. He would need to examine him later; he suspected possible necropathy along the nasal bridge. He had used the serum to preserve the cells prior to reanimation. Would administration of the serum help? It had been an integral part in the beginning of Adam's creation, helping to preserve and knit the flesh together after his sutures. Had he not applied enough in the beginning? If he tried it now, how would he go about application? Topical ointment? Local injection? General injection? What would work?

He'd think on that more later.

"Good morning, Victor," his creation called to him. It rose to its feet to greet him properly, abandoning the stockings from the fireplace mantle.

It didn't typically wake before him. Suspicious. Had it heard him after all?

"What have you found there?" Victor asked, trying to sound curious himself.

"My - and your - stockings. I found them hanging here... on the fireplace mantle. They have... strange things inside them," his creation replied, sounding genuinely confused.

"Well, let's see them, then," Victor replied, closing the distance.

Adam's creator drew near him when he mentioned the strange things inside.

"Sticks, tied with a string," Adam said, setting the strange bundle to the side. "They... look like birch."

Victor shot him a strange look. Adam could feel his heart hammering in his chest. Did he just belie to his creator that he was sneaking out? "I read it... in your herbarium," Adam supplied. It was not a lie. He even had Victor's little notebook on his person right now. It was still full of so many plants and words for him to learn.

His answer seemed sufficient for now. Victor nodded and Adam withdrew the next. It was a handful of, well, what he presumed to be a variety of nuts, from what he'd observed on his nightly adventures. "These are... nuts."

"Yes. Looks like walnuts, almonds, and hazelnuts," said Victor.

There were still two more items. A little brick wrapped in a silver foil, and a bright orange ball. He withdrew them both. "I... don't know what these are."

Carefully, Victor turned back a portion of the silver foil to reveal a dark brown brick underneath. He didn't resist the small smile that climbed on his face. It was worth the expense.

"It's a bar of chocolate. I can make you hot chocolate when Clerval comes to visit." He pointed to the orange ball. "And that is an orange. It's a juicy, sweet fruit. You'll enjoy it, I think.," Victor said, nodding.

His creation shook its head. "But... why? Where did this come from? And why was it in our stockings?"

Victor turned his head. "What day of the month is it?"

"It's... the sixth of December," replied Adam.

Victor harrumphed. "Henry would know this better, but it looks like Samichlaus and Schmutzli managed to find us here in Ingolstadt, after all."

Adam blinked. "Samichlaus and Schmutzli?"

"They are..." Victor began, paused as he folded his arms across his chest. "Samichlaus is a Saint. A holy man. Someone that we believe made it to Heaven to be beside God after he died." Victor put a hand to knead his forehead. "It's believed that he was the Bishop of Myra in life, and that he cared for the poor in secret. He would give gifts secretly, so that people would not have to beg to have something good in their lives. And even though he died many, many years ago, we believe that every sixth of December, God allows him to walk the earth with a companion, Schmutzli. While Samichlaus rewards those who are good," Victor said, gesturing to the nuts and orange and chocolate brick, "Schmutzli brings the switch to punish the wicked in life. That they may reform their ways so they may attain heaven yet."

"But... how does one determine what is good and what is wicked?" asked Adam.

"I really shouldn't be the one explaining this. Henry would be so much better," Victor muttered, sighing. "In... our... faith," Victor began haltingly, "we believe in a code of morality given to us by God - a being who is greater than all of us, a being who is the creator of all the world."

"But... you are my creator?"

"Yes, and my own parents have created me. But, according to this belief, there is a creator greater than all, who sees all, who knows all, and is all powerful," he replied bitterly. "Supposedly, he gave us a set of commandments to follow. They tell us what is right and what is wrong, and how we should treat everyone we meet."

"Why? Why do you need a higher power to... tell you what is right and what is wrong? Would it not pain you... to wound another, so like yourself?" replied Adam.

Adam's remark caught him off guard. His creation's thoughts did echo his own, only in the way that why did they have need for a God. But to Victor, God was absent. He'd created the world and then left them to go on spinning by their own devices. So, why should he have not made his grasp for power?

But his creation was contrary to the human condition. Every man sought what was best for him, fighting against another's greed to further their own. Adam, though: he was still an innocent soul. He was naïve enough to still believe in the innate goodness of people.

"People are driven by their own desires, and I have found that God has abandoned us," replied Victor harshly. Why was he so harsh? His creation was curious about something as simple as the gifts given to him, unprompted on this feast day. His creation had no preconceptions or expectations at all. So, why was he suddenly so defensive? Was it because it was innocent?

"But, no matter. Let's not discuss such... sullen matters on a day that's supposed to be happy," Victor said. Today was supposed to be a happy day. He promised Henry he would teach Adam why they celebrated. He wouldn't let his own disillusionment taint his creation's understanding.

He had said something that Victor hadn't agreed with. Victor had set these... treats in their stockings, in the guise that some... spirit? Ghost? Otherworldly being would reward them depending on their actions?

But, when it came down to it, there was no spirit. The was no ghost. It was just Victor.

Adam turned his attention back to the shining foil of the "chocolate." Chocolate that Victor had gotten for him.

"Here. Come into the kitchen. We'll grate some of this bar and make some hot chocolate for us - and Henry, too. He'll probably be stopping by," said Victor.

Adam picked up the silver brick and followed Victor into the kitchen. The tiny man was already searching through the cabinets, grabbing out some pots, grater, a knife, and some containers of different white substances and spices. At closer glance, Adam could see them to be sugar and cream, and a long black bean.

"I know Henry taught you to work the stove. Can you get us to a low heat? I can't have the cream burn," said Victor, filling one of two pots with water. The tiny man placed both pots on the same burner. Victor shot him a glance, seeming to sense his gaze.

"It's a bain-marie. I learned from Justine. She'd ring my neck if she ever caught me trying to make chocolate directly on the heat," Victor explained.

"Is it something bad?" asked Adam.

"Without the water bath, the cream could curdle, or once we add in the chocolate, the fats could separate, or the whole thing could burn if we're not careful. The bain-marie - it gives us more stability with our heat. Here - take the grater and the scale. Grate about 130g of the bar," Victor said, casting a glance at the boiler having filled the pot on top with the cream. "I'll be right here. I've already weighed out the sugar. I'm just going to prepare some vanilla for it," he said, taking the knife and the long black bean.

As he grated the chocolate, Adam watched Victor curiously as the tiny man expertly made a quick incision through the length of the bean before using the tip of the knife to scrape a bunch of brown stuff out.

"That is... vanilla?" asked Adam.

"Yes. Can you smell its sweetness?" asked Victor.

"I think so. It smells... nice," Adam replied. It really did. It smelled warm, smooth, even comforting.

"The chocolate by itself is rather quite bitter," Victor remarked. "Go ahead; taste some of what you've ground."

Cautiously, Adam pinched a couple curling brown spirals between his thumb and forefinger, bringing the grated chocolate to his mouth.

His face immediately scrunched up, and he could hear Victor laughing.

"B-b-bitter!" exclaimed Adam, scraping his tongue along his teeth. The bitterness of the chocolate lingered in his mouth. "This," he began, looking down at the sizable pile of chocolate he'd just grated, "is supposed to be a... nice drink? It's so b-b-bitter!"

Victor laughed. "That's where the sugar and vanilla come in. Baking, confectionery - its a science. These parts will come together and form something new. The sugar will sweeten the chocolate, and the vanilla will temper the bitterness. I think you'll find you'll enjoy the final product.

"But while I melt the chocolate, bring over the orange. If you peel the rind, you can eat the endocarp - the sweet, fleshy pulp on the inside. Go ahead; I'll be watching our chocolate so it doesn't burn."

Curiously, Adam retrieved the orange and proceeded to peel it, the rind coming away from the endocarp in large chunks until he was left with a splotchy white-and-orange ball.

Victor cast him a glance. "You should be able to see something going through the center of it; if you pull apart there, you can get clean wedges without getting all of its juice on yourself," Victor said, continuing to stir the chocolate on the stove.

Adam had succeed in splitting the orange in two halves before he heard a knock on the door.

"It's likely Henry. Here - clean the juice from your hands with my handkerchief," Victor said, using a free hand to pass Adam a cloth.

Quickly, Adam wiped some of the juices from his hands and went to open the door.

He'd learned quickly how best to open the door. He would stand behind and open the door a crack first. If he spied that it were Henry, he would open it wider and their mutual friend would enter quickly. If it were someone else - though it never was - he would quickly shut the door. Victor had insisted that, with the door hiding most of his form, anyone else would never think to look up spy Adam's face. Adam supposed he must truly be tall, since everything around him was built so small. His height was still a puzzle for him, but he was beginning to gain greater mastery over his body. Different or not, his body was his. He would learn it. He would master it.

"Clerval! Please, come in," Adam greeted their friend, holding the door open just a little wider for Henry to enter.

Henry seemed to lift his head into the air, sniffing. "I smell something sweet," Henry voiced.

"We're making chocolate," said Adam.

"Oh? Samichlaus visited you?" asked Henry.

Adam nodded, keeping his knowing to himself. "Victor told me that today is the Feast of St. Nicholas."

Henry cast a quick smile in Victor's direction before returning his gaze to Adam. "From the smell of it, you must have been good this year. Did you get lots of treats in your stockings?"

Again, Adam nodded. "We found nuts and chocolate and... and orange. The orange! Henry, come! Let me share my orange with you!" Adam said, remembering the fruit he'd been peeling.

"Alright, alright - lead the way," Henry said, trailing behind.

Adam pulled out a chair for Henry and a stool for himself - he'd quickly discovered that most of the chairs Victor owned were uncomfortably small for himself, save for the one lone stool. Without arms and without a back to confine his large form, it was the only thing that he could use to sit at the table.

"Victor instructed me on how to peel the wedges," said Adam, gingerly holding out a portion of the endocarp for Henry.

His friend pried apart another couple of wedges and invited Victor over for one. Together, the three of them ate their pieces of orange.

It was pleasant. Tart, but sweet - and deliciously juicy. While there were some foods he discovered were "dry" - seeming to suck all the water out of himself - this was juicy and hydrating.

Henry was watching him, he realized.

"I've heard that in Spain, they have so many oranges they squeeze them just for the juice," said Henry.

Adam looked back to his tiny orange wedge. It was juicy, but to have so many oranges one could squeeze them and make a drink? Incredible. "We should travel to Spain. We should try their... 'Orange Juice' together," said Adam. Henry sometimes spoke like this, employing grand ideas of far away lands. First Geneva, now Spain. They were quite surreal, still, but if they were "home" to Victor and Henry both, and Victor had already shown him Auwald... perhaps it wasn't as much of a dream as he'd thought? Maybe there was a chance to see it yet?

Henry smiled back at him. It was still a possibility then? "Maybe in the future," Henry replied.

"Absolutely not," said Victor, carrying three empty cups and the carafe of chocolate.

"But why not?" asked Adam.

"It's still far too soon to be thinking of such... silly notions. No," said Victor, casting a quick, sharp glance at Henry. "There are still issues pertaining to... Christmas... to be decided."

Henry frowned. "You need to send them a reply. At the very least, let them know one way or another-"

"I already did. I passed the letter to the Post this morning, thank you very much," Victor voiced, pouring the hot drink.

It was... different looking. Not like water nor tea, nor even coffee. No. It had a strange... thickness to it. There was volume to this drink, and the hot aroma wafted into the room, a welcome scent, an enticing scent, entirely contrasting the row between the two friends.

It confused him. They had been just having a pleasant conversation. Was it that Christmas was a detestable time? He thought Henry had once mentioned Christmastime was supposed to be happy? But, Henry spoke of correspondence - of communication.

"Is something happening?" asked Adam. "What is Christ-mas?" He was quickly learning that it was easier to ask questions when he was confused. Henry would often give him answers, and with Victor, sometimes he got answers, sometimes he got an experience to learn for himself.

Victor and Henry spoke at once:

"Nothing's happening-"

"It's Christmas-"

They paused, exchanging a look, before Victor made a face, picked up his chocolate, and took a long draught.

"Christmas is a happy time. A time for families to come together. We have big feasts and give each other gifts, all in imitation of the original Nativity of Our Lord," Henry explained.

Our Lord. Their king? Henry had slowly begun to explain to him the sovereignty of nations, and of kings and queens and emperors and shahs.

"Nativity..." Adam tested. It was a new word. Latin origin. "Birth?"

Henry smiled. "Very good - you're remembering our lessons," the blond said. "But, the Nativity of Our Lord is tied not to any singular nation - not Switzerland, not Germany, not France, not Italy - but rather is the King of Kings, Lord of Lords, Host of Hosts," Henry began. "We believe that on Christmas our Lord God - think of God as the creator of the entire universe - we believe that he humbled himself and manifested here on Earth as a person like you and me. But rather than come as a great king, he was born to a sweet virgin in a poor little town in Israel - a people heavily oppressed by the governing Romans. And in celebration of this manifestation of God-On-Earth, we teach our children that the Christ-child comes to Earth with his angels to bestow gifts on every Christmas."

Victor harrumphed. "Whether or not a god is watching, it's as Henry says: we're supposed to come together and find time to appreciate those close to us - our family, as it is."

"If Christmas is a time to be spent... with family, then... your letter: it was written to your family in Geneva?" asked Adam.

"Yes," said Victor curtly.

"Are we to visit them? Are they to visit us?" Adam asked. Would this be his chance to meet Victor's family?

Victor harrumphed. "Absolutely not."

"Victor-" Henry began.

"But Christmas - you said it was to be spent... with family. Why would you not see your own?" Adam asked.

Victor shot Adam a glare before seeing to realize himself, hiding it under a a flat expression. It was so unexpectedly intense that Adam recoiled from the shock.

"I can't. Not without explaining you to them."

It came back to himself? Why? "What is there about me that is... so terrible to explain to them? You've introduced me to Henry. Would your family be so different?"

Again, the intensity shot across Victor's face. "Yes," Victor snapped. "It would be so different. Henry's not my family. My father..." Victor's voice shook, and Adam could see his creator's tiny hands tremble. "My father's a syndic. A very important man back home. Our family... Our family has always been a part of... esteemed society. Appearances are everything. And you," Victor said, craning his head up to face Adam.

Adam could see his creator's eyes were bloodshot and watery.

"You were a mistake."

As soon as the words left Victor's mouth, Henry blanched.

He watched in horror as the giant fled from the kitchen and grabbed his cloak.

"Adam, wait," said Henry. This giant wheeled on him, and for the first time in weeks, horror reclaimed his heart. Adam's face was distorted by emotion, the skin by his eyes folding wrong. There was something wild beneath the surface, and Henry knew he could never force Adam to stay in a place he didn't desire to be.

"Please, Adam," Henry repeated, softer. But Adam didn't stay. The giant moved quickly on his long legs, and he was at the door in a second.

"Adam!" Henry called. The door shut. Adam was gone.

Quickly, Henry hastened to put on his jacket.

"I'm coming with you," said Victor, putting on his own coat.

"No!" Henry bit out sharply. "Mon Dieu, putain de merde, Victor!" Henry hissed. "You couldn't hold your tongue! It's always about you, isn't it? Well, you've done your damage. I'll find him. Alone."

He didn't wait to listen to Victor's retort. He needed to find Adam. He needed to make sure he would be okay.

He was in the stairwell. The window was open. Why? It was freezing. He hurried down the steps and leaned out the window. It was just enough that he caught a glimpse of Adam's cloak disappearing into the shadows of a building.

A door opened behind him. The Taubers.

"Henry!" Uwe called sharply. Henry could hear the concern in his friend's voice, but he couldn't stop. It was broad daylight and he needed to make sure no one would hurt Adam. "We heard a commotion - is something the matter with Victor?"

He couldn't hide his concern. He was furious at Victor and fearful for Adam. But he couldn't tell them of Adam. He'd promised Victor to keep his secret. And who could say the Taubers would treat Adam kindly once they found him? He knew Victor's family were more open-minded than most, always accepting. But the Taubers? No. He had to find Victor's creation, and he had to find him alone.

He shook his head in reply, shutting out Uwe's retort. He needed to find Adam.

A mistake. His creator saw him not just different, but a mistake.

Different was okay. Henry had his scar. Henry was different. Henry was still accepted.

But Victor called him a mistake. Henry had also been kind about his own mistakes, and would always patiently show him how to correct his mistakes. Victor, though, held a tighter temper and sought to wipe his errors out of existence. Had he sought to wipe him out of existence?

He'd jumped out the window; he'd quickly discovered that the courtyard was relatively empty most days. Occasionally there would be a wandering student, but most people didn't look up or in the shadows. If he moved quickly, it would be like he was never there.

He just needed to get back to the forest. He needed someplace quiet to think.

He followed the shadows of the buildings, or at least attempted to. He'd never left during the daytime. Everything was different in the sunlight. The shadows weren't where they were supposed to be. Light illuminated the usually dark spaces. He felt exposed.

He was about to walk onto the street, keeping close to the building, close to the scarce shadows, but he halted himself. The sun was so bright. His shadows weren't where they were supposed to be.

He felt the panic building in his chest.

He poked his head out into the street. There were better shadows on the other side, but there were a few people standing by the Gate's intersection. If he moved quickly..?

Adam darted across the street. His breaths came to him quickly and sharply. He fell into the shadows of a door frame. It would buy him some time as he thought. He closed his eyes.

He'd done it before.

Breathe in.

But not in daylight.

Breathe out.

He had to try.

Breathe in.

It was the only way to learn.

Breathe out.

He was about to step out when he heard... music? A cacophony of sounds, coming up around the block.

He paused, then he saw the first person. Then another. And another. It was a mob of humanity, marching down the street, and he could see doors to houses opening as they rounded the corner, marching steadily toward him.

He fled.

As fast as he could, he ran for the Gatehouse. He didn't care about Victor's request for stealth. They would be upon his doorframe and he'd be trapped in the throng of people. So many people. Tall and short. Young and old. Men and women. He would be found out.

But why do I care what Victor thinks now? He thought to himself, rounding through the Gatehouse and sinking down outside the Gates. He needed to catch his breath. His heart felt like it would explode.

Just breathe.

Henry hurried down the stairs. He'd deal with his snub and the rumors that the Taubers would spread later. Right now, he needed to find Adam.

He sped through the lobby on the main floor and nearly knocked over a couple snogging near the door. He tugged his coat tighter around his body and pulled his hat harder on his head. The air was bright and crisp, glistening the way it does when it wants to flurry.

He was familiar with the time table of the town. Their masses at the churches would be released for a reprieve around 10:00. He'd heard from Hr. Leder that Pf. Mederer was offering mass, and afterward he would participate in the parade as St. Nicholas this year. It would have been nice to show Adam something of what they practice as a society.

Bon sang, Victor.

Where would Adam have gone? Victor had taken him out to Auwald the once. Would he return there if he considered it familiar? He was a curious thing - would he instead run to the unknown in his panic?

He had to look. It was the first sensible thing his mind could think of.

He ignored the shouts and cajoling laughter of the St. Nicholas Day procession. There would always be next year - he needed to make sure Adam was safe for now.

Voices, Adam thought, finishing to catch his breath. He could hear voices - couldn't make them out too well, but he could hear them growing closer. He needed to get away. All these people - would they see him only as Victor's mistake, too? He fled into the forest; away from the people, away from the maze of wall, and let the familiarity of the woods draw him in.

The trees still stood in silent vigilance. But it was different in the light of day. Light pierced through the canopy, illuminating the floor in a patchwork of light splotches piercing the dark. He stood taller here. He didn't have to slink or creep around like in the city. He could be himself.

"Oh, dear God!" a voice exclaimed suddenly. He turned quickly toward the source. A man and a woman-creature - very similar to Victor or Henry in appearance, he knew this because Henry would sometimes point out the womenfolk on the street - clutched each other tightly. They had such a look of fear on their faces as they stepped back. Adam looked around - was there something he'd missed? No - their gaze was settled on his form.

"Please, I -" he began, holding a hand out only to be interrupted.

"No - keep away, Herr Erlkönig! Let us leave your woods in peace!" the man spoke quickly, already pushing his woman-folk behind him to create distance, an hand rifling through a pocket. Such fear!

"Do not be afrai-" Adam tried to speak.

"Begone!" the man cut in sharply. Adam flinched involuntarily when the man suddenly pulled his hand from his pocket, clutching a dark thing tightly in his grasp.

It was only after they'd both hasten to put distance between each other on their own ways - the man and woman back to the city, himself deeper into the woods - that he realized it had been an iron crucifix, similar to what Henry would wear about his neck.

Victor had said he was a mistake. Henry had said he was different. These people feared him.

They didn't know him. They couldn't see that he was good and kind, just as Henry was teaching him. They fled from him. They wouldn't even listen to what he had to say.

He walked deeper into the woods, staying away from the banks of the Donau. While the water would be nice, there would be people. More people who would be afraid of him. He needed to be alone.

Henry was able to slip out the Ingolstadt gates uneventfully. He was just another member of the mob on the streets. At least it didn't seem like Adam had called too much attention to himself yet. Ahead on the little dirt road, he saw two figures fleeing the woods as if running for their lives.

"Hey-! Hold up!" Henry called out to them. They appeared ordinary enough in dress, and he recognized the girl as Greta, one of Maria Theresia's friends. Another that Uwe had once been pining over. Another that, apparently, had set out to have a good time, if their equally disheveled appearances meant anything.

They closed distance with him, and he could see horror on their faces.

"Stay out of the woods!" the man called to him.

Henry looked at him in confusion.

"There's a demon - Der Erlkönig himself. I hadn't believed Schwarz when he said he'd seen the demon," the man said, shaking his head furiously. "We'd all assumed he'd been drunk as usual. But the demon's real - we only got away by the protection of the Lord," the man finished hurriedly, showing Henry a glimpse of an iron crucifix. "For your own safety, stay out of the woods!"

Henry watched as the couple departed. Mon Dieu, he thought to himself, running a hand through his hair before turning and hastening into the forest. He couldn't leave Adam alone.

The trees grew up tall around him, darkening the otherwise bright day. Splotches of dark and light intermingled made it difficult to see. He hated hunting; Ernest would have had the patience - no, the skill - to discern between sun-dappled branches, furred animals' natural camouflage, and a person. Himself? He was much more urbane. Even Victor would have had better sport than him in the woods, what with his love of categorizing things for study, but he still didn't trust his friend to say the right thing should he find Adam.

He put his hands to his mouth and shouted: "Adam!"

Adam could hear Henry calling his name. He could even see the man moving through the trees looking for him. But he had been learning the forest at night. It took time, but if he could learn how to step so as not to frighten the birds and rabbits, he could step just as silent so as not to be found.

Why did Henry search for him? He had heard them both talking. He inconvenienced both of them by existing, and Henry had taught him that a gentleman should never cause inconvenience. So, was he not right by trying to remove himself from their side? Victor certainly wouldn't have to panic about his family; Victor wouldn't hate him so much. Henry would be able to travel home for 'Christmas,' too. He wouldn't have to hold himself back for Victor's or his own sake. If he were out here on his own, they wouldn't have to worry about him any more. No one would ever have to worry about him.

He followed Henry at a distance. His friend was rather noisy, traipsing about through the forest. All manner of creatures fled from his friend's presence. He moved too much. He yelled too much. If you went to him, Henry would stop shouting for you, he thought. But then I would just further inconvenience him.

Henry kicked at a stone angrily. The sun was beginning its descent below the tree line while the flurries that had been playing all day had turned into a steady snowfall. The woods were eerily beautiful in the fresh snow, and yet it was soured by not a single track from Adam. A niggling thought from the back of his mind taunted him that he'd wasted the day - that Adam hadn't fled to the forest at all, but rather somewhere else entirely. Where else that was, his brain would not supply him the answer.

It was time to give up.

He'd spent the day looking, and he couldn't find him. He called for Adam many times, each time praying that no one else from the town was in the forest; praying that Greta and her man had been it. But were they it? What if someone else had seen? Someone more reliable than two lovebirds and a drunk? Adam was a peaceful soul, but he knew Victor's creation was a horrifying sight. He could stomach Adam because of proximity - because the month he spent teaching the giant taught him to see past his strange visage. He had even grown used to Victor's and Adam's strange chemical scents, always masking the faint undercurrent of rotting flesh.

He slipped back through the gates of Ingolstadt alone, his mind buzzing with worry.

If someone else had seen Adam, what would they do? Scream in terror? Notify the authorities? And what would they do? What would the Church think?

Henry shivered. He remembered overhearing his parents discussing the beheading of Anna Göldi. While the execution had taken place on the other side of Switzerland, it still sent shocks throughout the entire country. He'd been confused by the arguments at the time, he remembered hearing that the woman was a confessed witch, but he also remembered Victor's father being upset not by the confession, but about other factors surrounding the execution. Would Adam lead the people Ingolstadt to a new witch hunt?

He'd almost reached his building when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped, spinning around to face the person.

"I'm sorry; I hadn't meant to spook you," said Pfr. Seemiller, his academic advisor and oriental studies professor. The Jesuit had been his confessor and mentor through his entire academic journey. "I was growing concerned for you. I hadn't seen you at all at the High Holy. Are you alright?"

Henry shook his head. "I'm... honestly, Pfarrer, I'm not okay."

"Are you safe? Are you in danger?" Pfr. Seemiller asked gravely.

Henry shook his head, swallowing. "It's not me."

Pfr. Seemiller took it in. "Is it your friend? Frankenstein?"

In a way, it was. Adam wouldn't be out there alone facing God Knows What if Victor had known when to hold his tongue. "Sort of."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Maybe? Some of it is not mine to say," Henry said, his guard up.

"Tell me what you think it relevant, then."

"Victor's... nephew. Adam. They had a spat," said Henry, looking at the ground. "He ran away. Adam, that is. Victor said some rather hateful things, and, well, it wouldn't be so bad, but Adam's not from here."

"He's from Switzerland like the rest of you?" Pfr. Seemiller hazarded.

Henry shrugged. "He's not German, no. But he speaks the language well enough now. I worry, though. I don't know where he is."

"Do you want me to help you search for him? We could alert the police-"

"No! Please, uh," Henry cut in, realizing as he said it how strange it must sound to deny help. "His nephew's very nervous around others. I thought -" Henry twitched his jaw. "I thought he would have run away to Auwald, but," Henry sighed, "I searched all day. Nothing."

He knew it was strange, missing a person but refusing to ask for help. But he couldn't just come right out and describe Adam to anyone; he'd barely been able to palate the creature himself at first, and only because Victor had been his friend.

"You make this a very difficult challenge," Pfr. Seemiller said, crossing his arms over his chest in thought. Snowflakes coated his shoulders and got caught in his trimmed beard, highlighting the greys. He shook his head. "There is not much within your power that you can do, then, save wait and hope.

"You are a good, peaceful sort. You've already spent you day searching alone. If you cannot be by Frankenstein's nephew's side, then at least remain with your friend. Such a troubled soul," Pfr. Seemiller commented. "Return to your friend. Let your presence light his night, and help soothe him to creating a welcoming environment. Words are difficult to heal. They can strike to the soul deeper than any cut of a sword and form a festering knot uglier than any physical affliction. You know this in your heart.

"Your friend's nephew will return home -"

"How can you be so certain?" Henry interrupted. "Not seeing him - it felt as though he was purposefully avoiding me the entire day. My heart fears if he doesn't return. What if something happens to him? What if he's hurt?"

"He will return. The nephew is young. No child ever runs from a parent's side forever, and it sounds like Frankenstein has the duty of guardian while his nephew is in the city, correct?"

Henry nodded.

"A young child in a strange city. He's already spent the entire day away. Perhaps he needed the time to reflect. But now with the growing ugliness of the weather - not to say I do not love the snow, but the wind bites and the flakes wet your clothes until your very bones freeze - and the solitude on a day that should have been surrounded by loved ones, I would be inclined to think Frankenstein's nephew would seek the comfort and shelter where he knows it will be given: home.

"Now, get to your friend's side. Comfort him. And if his nephew still hasn't returned come the morning, come to me. We'll search together. I won't let a child go another night alone in the snow. Tonight, though, I pray God guides his way home to you and shelters him from harm. At your request do I pray for peace and safety tonight, but tomorrow I will be obliged by my soul to take action with you. Go in peace, Henry. May you find solace in the Lord" Pfr. Seemiller said, departing.

Henry watched his teacher and advisor depart before sullenly making his way up the stairs to Victor's room. As he rounded the turn and made the final ascent, he saw a figure sitting on a chair, arms crossed over his chest.

"My God, man. What kept you all day? You flew like you were chasing the Devil!" Uwe said, stretching as he stood from his seat.

Henry shook his head. "Victor's... nephew. He ran away."

Uwe cast him a skeptical look, and appeared as if he wanted to say something more, but choose to hold his tongue.

"I'm going to keep Victor company - help him keep watch should his nephew return."

Uwe nodded.

"Are you... are you going to keep sitting there?"

Uwe cocked his head and pursed his lips. "There's no rules saying I can't sit outside my door."

Henry nodded. "Good night, Hr. Tauber."

"Good night, Hr. Clerval. I hope Frankentein's nephew makes it back safely," Uwe said, settling back into the chair.

Chapter Text

-Earlier-

Victor found himself alone again.

Victor had watched Henry fly from his side in pursuit of his creation.

He had called his creation a "mistake." It wasn't a misnomer. It was truth. He hadn't meant for Adam to exist as he did. He'd had the grandiose scheme to steal the power of creation from God and tame that power for himself. Perverse and blasphemous were his methods - it was supposed to have been science, but to mutilate the human form in the way he had? To disturb the dead from their slumber and rip apart their forms as if they were dolls made for play? He corrupted life with the perpetual rot of death. He created Adam from decay and gave that sack of rotting flesh intelligence. He'd forced his creation - a veritable corpse-homunculus - into a life it never should have lived.

But it was still alive nonetheless.

It still thought nonetheless.

Was it a person? Thoughts, feelings, dreams, and desires - it sought kinship between himself and Henry. It even wanted to meet the rest of his family! It had no concept of the horror that its existence entailed. It had no concept of all the evils Victor himself had done to create it. It was perfectly, benignly innocent.

As its creator, he owed it a safe place for haven. God had granted Adam and Eve Eden, after all. Yet Victor himself chafed at his creation's presence. It wasn't perfect, so like God he desired to send it away. No. God did not send them away because his creations were not pleasing to him. God sent away his creations because they had broken a rule. Misbehaved. My creation.. my creation had never disrespected or bore ill-grudge against me...

Henry had persuaded him to keep it close. In this month's time, it had grown - not under his guidance, but Henry's. Even now, his closest, dearest friend was out there looking for his work - trying to fix his mistake.

Innocent. Like a child. How needy were children? They were absolutely helpless without the guiding hand of a parent. His father instructed his education from his youth. Even Henry learned much of trade from his own father. But what had he done? He birthed a monstered and his first impulse had been to abort the creature. Henry forbade him. Henry saw life - Henry saw... a soul? A true person - Henry saw in his Creature that shining thing he'd tried so hard to achieve. And he tried to end his experiment prematurely. Henry had seen success where he'd only seen failure.

Adam as he was had been a mistake. But could he grow from his error? Adam had just as sharp of a mind as himself - he'd made sure of that. He never would have allowed himself to craft an idiot. And yet, the expenses he took to ensure only the finest materials were used - he'd been so quick to cast it all aside. He'd dug himself into a hole, as Henry would say. He wanted so badly to step away from it all - leave behind the stresses and expectations of the entire world! Be done with their judgement! But now? Without Adam? Without Henry? It was too quiet. He needed them both back. He needed things to just return to normal.

He cast another look at the clock as he paced, the room much too small for his pent-up anxieties. 5 in the evening. The sun was setting. Where were they? Henry must have found Adam by now. Henry always had this knack about knowing people. He knew how they thought - so unlike himself. He felt it in his bones. Henry would come back, and he'd have Adam with him because Henry always knew how to talk to people. He'd know how to persuade Adam how to come home, and then he would flounder on some words of apologies because it was his fault that Adam was a mistake, but just because he was a mistake didn't mean that he needed him dead and out of his life, even if that would have made so many things so much easier. Adam was his creation. Adam was his responsibility. Adam was his own.

Victor paced some more. He'd tried studying his notes, an vain attempt to set his methods in order and mark how Adam had been growing and improving, but his mind couldn't settle on the words. The ink swam on the page, and his mind kept returning to Henry and Adam. He poked his head out the window. It was 5:45 and the lamplighters were making their way through the town.

The front door clicked and turned open, and Victor's head snapped to its direction, his heart leaping in his chest. "Henry! Adam, I'm -" his voice caught in his throat. Henry was alone. He swallowed hard. "Where's Adam?"

His friend shook his head. "I couldn't find him."

"What do you mean, 'couldn't find him?'" Victor asked incredulously.

"I looked all day in Auwald. I assumed that, since it was the only place you took him, he would return there," Henry replied woodenly. "Not a trace of him."

"Did you consider his curiosity?" Victor asked. He'd closed the distance quickly and grasped Henry's shoulders. "Only Auwald! He could be anywhere in Ingolstadt! Herr Gott! What if someone saw him?" If someone had seen Adam - seen how he was a composite of parts - they'd be no better than how he'd been. They would want to destroy him. Tear him limb from limb and render him back to the rotting earth from which he was crafted.

"I think people did, Victor."

"What do you mean?" Victor asked quickly, his heart racing.

"When I was entering Auwald, there was a couple. Greta and... whoever it was -"

"-Helmut Hennig."

Henry shot him a look, pausing. "Why do you -"

"Anatomy class. Continue," Victor replied curtly, gesturing for his friend to continue. He needed to know.

"Greta and Helmut - they'd been in the forest, and when I ran into them, all Helmut could talk about was seeing a spirit - Der Erlkönig."

Victor shook his head, knitting his brows together. "It's a fairy tale. No one would believe them. Two lovers, spooked in the woods. There's lots of creatures that live in the forest - they could've seen a shadow of any of them -"

"They aren't the first," said Henry, interrupting Victor's rambling.

Victor's head shot up. "What?"

"Old Hannes Schwarze - the drunk - apparently he's seen Der Erlkönig, too."

"But - how? Unless..." No. Oh no no no.

"Unless what?"

"Unless this wasn't his first time out alone."

Victor rubbed his temples with a hand while sinking into one of the wooden chairs in his dining room. This was all a mess.

"God, how did I never notice?" Victor muttered to himself.

He half expected Henry to utter some quip about having his head so far up his own ass, but, almost uncharacteristically, Henry remained silent. Victor looked up at Henry. His friend had pulled up a chair opposite him and looked at him. Was it pity? No, he couldn't abide pity. He wasn't weak.

Henry coughed and looked away, as if suddenly concerned that he'd been caught watching Victor.

"He'll come back, though," Henry said, breaking the silence suddenly.

"How can you be certain?"

"He'll come back to us; he'll be seeking 'home.'"

"Yes, exactly. The same 'homey place' that he ran away from, because I made it so nice for him," Victor bit out acerbically.

"You may not always be the... warmest personality, Victor," Henry said. Victor huffed at the statement and stood up, pacing to the window. "But when you are moved to care... you care deeply. Adam - he reminds me much of you, especially when we were kids."

Victor shook his head and turned to stare out the window. He'd heard Henry. How his friend saw anything good in him after all this time, he couldn't explain.

The snow continued to fall, heavy and white, blanketing the sidewalks and the street. Henry's set of footprints were long enveloped by the snow, and even the last lonely drunkard's prints were on the verge of disappearing. Even if Adam had wandered out before, would he make it back alright? It was a heavy snow - the type that blankets into a grave.

It was snow like this that stole the lives of so many in the peaks of the Jura. Fast, heavy, and cold.

He glanced at the clock. 8:15. He wandered into the kitchenette and pulled out a glass and a bottle of kirsch. He held it up, gesturing for Henry, who politely declined. He poured the clear liquid neat and returned to the chair he'd originally occupied, taking a sip of the liquor. It was a cheap drink. He could've gotten better quality if he hadn't been saving every thaler for paying bribes, but for now? It did the trick. Soon, he'd let the warm fuzzy take over his brain. His thoughts would stop their panic, and he would stop caring. At least, he hoped.

Damn. Henry was right.

He took another sip, and the two of them sat in tense silence as they both waited for the door.

Henry kept an eye on his friend. He still wasn't fully well; if he'd let him, he knew Victor would have easily gone out after Adam in nothing but a waistcoat, much like how he'd found him that first night after Adam's creation. Soaked to the bone and feverish. His friend never did think things through. The cheap wooden chairs that Victor kept did nothing for comfort, and while it had been a kind relief after his day of searching, now it seemed to dig into his muscles and bones in all the wrong ways. Henry stood, and his movement attracted Victor's lizard-like attention. His friend looked at him with the strangest expression.

"I need to catch some sleep," Henry explained, watching as Victor cast a glance at the clock. It was now 10:30. The night was deepening and Adam still had not returned.

Victor nodded stiffly. "I'll... see you in the morning, I guess?"

"Yes. Take care, and have some faith," Henry said, having crossed the distance to place a hand on his friend's shoulder.

Victor looked up to Henry, huffing. "I'll try," he replied, a funny expression on his face.

Henry left, closing the door behind him. Uwe was still in the chair on the landing, only this time he now had one of his law texts open on his lap.

At the sound of the door, Uwe looked up. "Any luck with the nephew?"

Henry shook his head. "I'll try looking again tomorrow."

"What a shame," Uwe replied, rising from his seat. "I saw no one here, either. Well, no one except Otto. It's getting rather late now, though. I'll see you tomorrow at fencing?"

"Maybe. It all depends if we find Victor's nephew."

"Otto and I can help you look. Otto is quite perceptive, even with glasses," Uwe suggested, tapping his temple. "I'd suggest looking now, but with the way this blizzard is building," Uwe shook his head. "We'll keep a prayer that he's found some shelter."

A ghost of a smile crossed Henry's face. "I'll keep the offer in mind. Sleep well."

"And you," Uwe continued, wagging his text at him, "If you're going to be looking again tomorrow, you can't have tired eyes!" Uwe called after him, finishing packing up his texts.

As Henry descended down the stairs to his own flat, he could hear Uwe unlocking and shuffling his chair back into his own place. Had his time with Victor made him so guarded that he would deny help when it was offered? If Adam died in the snow, would it be his fault for not enlisting Uwe, Otto, or Pfr. Seemiller's help? What was the value of an oath if it caused an innocent to perish? Henry thought to himself as he retired to bed.

The night had grown much colder after Henry departed his woods, Adam found, and the woods themselves regained their quiet isolation. He didn't have to burden them. He could learn to live here, away from people who shouted at him, away from his own Creator who saw him as a mistake. But the fact that Henry had searched for him the entire day through the cold snow remained with him, even as the beautiful sun set and the stars resumed their positions in the heavens.

Henry had searched for him. By running away, he burdened Henry. By staying, he burdened Henry. Whatever he did, he was a burden. Was there no way for him to find peace? Would he always be a burden on others?

And then there had been those people. Unlike Henry and Victor, they were afraid of him. Him, who hurt no one! Him, who was but created differently! If he took off on his own, would he find companionship in others like Henry or Victor, or would they all fly from him, screaming in terror? He'd never thought he'd be a creature of fear before. And they'd crafted such a strange name for him. The tone they'd used with it as they spoke was not friendly. He didn't like it. Henry had taught him goodness, but these strangers saw him as a villain!

In the darkness, he returned to the waters of the Donau: always flowing, always in motion, always changing. Yet though the waters change, it was still the same river.

The cold of night encouraged the growth of a crust of ice along the shore, and he bent over the water. His own face looked back at him, distorted by the rippling current. Was he so terrible that people ran screaming from his visage?

He bent down to see his nose better. The cold exacerbated the blue tones of it. He touched it, pressing his finger hard against the tip before releasing it. The flesh turned a pale, jaundiced yellow that refused to return to a normal tone.

Normal people - as he'd begun to observe on his nighttime trips - did not appear in blues and yellows, nor were any of them remotely close to his stature. Victor had created him different, and his own creator was loathe to be around him.

And yet, Henry had searched for him. Victor hated him, Henry tolerated him. No, it was something more than tolerate. Tolerating would not have spurred his mentor to search for him such. Henry did care for him.

Why did Henry care for him when those others feared him? Even his own creator could barely stand him - so what made Henry different? Henry, with his infinite patience. When Victor tossed him a book, Henry would sit with him to teach him the meaning of not just the words, but the phrases together. Henry taught him manners. Henry taught him etiquette. He'd even heard that Henry had been the one to persuade Victor into allowing him clothes - that which was such a rudimentary thing that defines all civilized peoples. Had Victor ever intended for him to join the ranks of men? Was he supposed to have fled and lived in the wilds like some beast? Was that what Victor meant to have created in him?

Victor was neglect. Henry, who had no connection to him, taught him. Did Henry truly think that he was worth the effort? A mistaken creation - was he loved?

He sucked in a deep breath and dashed the water. For Henry, he would return.

Adam crept back to Victor's apartment through the mostly deserted streets. There were still some late night - rather, very early morning - stragglers at this early hour. Three in the morning, based upon the Big Dipper and the North Star. The snow was falling silently and coated the ground in the purest white. Footprints and carriage wheel tracks were covered under the blanket. All traces of whatever happened during the day were erased by that thick layer of white.

He did not forget his stealth while climbing up the side of the building to his favored landing. Victor had instilled in him that first lesson, and the shouts of fright from those peoples earlier further cemented that concept. Gently, he opened the window - it no longer rattled like it did his first night. Time had taught him how to prise it open without a sound.

He crept up the stairs, pausing before the landing. Hearing nothing, he stuck his head up. Nothing.

He moved like a giant shadow through the dark corridor and finessed Victor's door open. The room was dark. Victor would be asleep. He would make his amends to Henry in the morning. He just needed to slip back into his pallet. He eased himself in and shut the door, the lock quietly clicking back in place.

"Where have you been?" Victor's voice cut through the darkness suddenly.

Adam froze. Victor was up? He was always asleep at this hour. Why was he still up? He turned slowly to face his creator.

Victor was sitting on one of the wooden chairs from the kitchenette, pulled into the center of the parlor. The light of the moon shone softly on his face, and he could tell Victor's eyes were dark and puffy. Had the man slept at all?

"I thought you would... be asleep," Adam remarked.

"Answer my question," Victor repeated firmly. His face was stern with a strange expression playing upon his features.

"I returned to Auwald," Adam replied meekly. "I thought to be alone."

"Did you? Henry searched for you all day. Nothing! Not a word of your whereabouts! Not a trace!" Victor exclaimed. "Not a trace except for rumors of a monster!"

Adam flinched at the word. Victor's breaths came quickly but regularly in the moment of silence.

A monster.

Was that the thing people feared? That which strikes terror, not love?

"... Am I a monster to you?" Adam asked.

Adam could see his creator fidget in his seat. Henry had remarked upon his eyes before, and how it was somewhat uncanny how he could see so well in the dark. His creator's gift to him - did that help make him more monstrous? Had Victor... had his creator sought to creator a monster?

Victor stood suddenly in the darkness. "It's not about what I think," Victor said quietly, moving into the moonlight of the window. "Society lives, breathes, and functions according to its 'moral norms.' Henry has been teaching you in my... absence, I believe. All those good 'gentlemanly' ideals. They form the foundation that no man alive can ever escape. 'Order,' 'Beauty,' 'Social Class' - those are some of the postulates that our society is built upon. Respect the order and judicial system of your Country. Strive for beauty to honor the world. Adhere to your social class.

Victor sighed. "My father... my father always sought to push back against those ideals. But... sometimes, it's not enough. Society is stronger than a single man. And I, too, thought I was better," Victor muttered, laughing humorlessly. "And for what?" his creator said, turning to face him. "Your being bears every mistake I've ever made. You are a testament to my failure. You: my greatest success and triumph - my creation, I have cursed you by the deeds I've wrought!

"No matter what I think, society will spurn you. You exist outside the normal order of things. You were not begot by a mother and father - only my own piss-poor self. You," Victor said, pacing across the pitch black room to stand before Adam again, straining to reach up to caress Adam's face. Victor had never laid a hand on him in such a way before.

"- I crafted you to be perfect. I crafted you in beauty, with only the most desirable features. A noble nose from a noble man. Your tresses? Long, thick and black - a young girl who had the misfortune to catch her death of fever. She had great pride in her hair, can't you tell? Thick, long, and full? It was perfect for you. Your legs I received from a casualty from that war with France. His family buried his body, but I got his strong, marching legs for you. Nothing a couple thalers couldn't buy. Even the very brain you use to think, kindly donated by a professor. Your every bit of being I hand selected. Do not doubt that I did not seek beauty and perfection in you. No - you are comprised of only the finest organs money can buy.

"But," Victor turned again, beginning to pace in the dark room, "Perfect organs or not, my... clumsy hands ruined you. Imperfect sera, shaky stitches, inexperienced in the face of the difficulties of the flesh, organs, nerves and vessels. I wanted to show off - no man has ever grafted tapetum lucidum into a human eye before. You are the first. You are a miracle, and by your miraculous creation, I have damned you," Victor said, slinking back to stand by his chair. Adam could see Victor's knuckles turn white as the tiny man clutched the back of the chair with such force.

"I... don't understand," Adam asked softly. Henry had only taught him so much, and all of this? It was... much more complicated than he thought. Was love a conditional thing? Or was Victor's upset part of this... unseen burden of society?

"I wouldn't expect you to. I've - We've - Henry's tried to shelter you from the brunt of... of what's to come. I know it will have to happen some day, but, those people who called you 'monster' - there will be more of them. Because they - society - doesn't understand: not you, and not me."

Adam could see Victor's jaw clench as his creator grappled with some idea in his head.

"Society spurns that which it does not understand," Victor began slowly, beginning to pace again. "To this day, I don't even know if it will ever fully understand me. And you! My damned creation! Perfectly damned, you are! The people of fine society will see my flaws in you first and foremost. Every one of my mistakes, permanently etched upon your flesh. I know Henry fears for your safety. People will hurt you. They will desire to harm you. And it won't even be for anything deserving - only for the two-fold sin of your - frankly - horrifying appearance and being my creation! My transgressions against the laws of society are embodied in your form. Your very existence is an affront to the status quo! And I'm afraid - if you ever run off like you did today in broad daylight, Henry and I - we would be unable to protect you."

Victor sighed heavily, running a hand through his wild hair. "The rule of leaving this apartment unseen and going with myself has been for our safety. Yes - our. The rules of society are strict. If you are condemned for your looks, I am condemned as your maker, and Henry condemn as our secret-keeper. At your making, I hadn't the foresight to... see where my actions would lead. And they brought us here. You: perfectly mild-mannered. You'd be the toast of Ingolstadt - certainly every mother with a daughter would seek your personality as the finest eligible Ritter on the entire continent - if it weren't for your looks. Myself: a- a- mad scientist, dabbling in witchcraft of all things. And Henry: sympathizer. Society hates nothing more than the innocent."

Victor stopped, slinking back into his chair again. "Oh God. What have I done," he said quietly. "I didn't think. Of course I didn't think - I thought I was right. I've - You've- I'm the only one to blame for all of this. It's all my fault. I pushed away Elizabeth, my brothers, my father, even Henry! Herrgott!" he exclaimed, planting his head in his hands.

Adam gently placed a hand on Victor's tiny shoulder. At the sudden contact, he could feel his creator stiffen before twisting and craning his neck to look up at him.

"Why did you come back?" Victor asked quietly.

"...I had some time to think," Adam replied.

Victor tilted his head, nodding.

"I go to the Donau... to think. I like to... gaze into it's waters. Moving. Changing. I thought about you. I thought about Henry," Adam said, looking at Victor. His creator seemed so much tinier than usual. When he'd first returned, Victor had commanded his attention. But now? He was a tiny, fragile thing.

"You never intended for me... to be like people," Adam stated, his eyes still on Victor.

Victor frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"You created me... so different from others. Different alone is not bad. That I have learned from Henry. But different with other different things..." Adam shook his head. "I had seen others... when I went to Auwald. They were afraid of me. You and Henry... neither of you fear me. Not like them. I have seen how others interact. And Henry has taught me their customs. But I do not fit in. You yourself call me mistake. But... I am not base like the beasts of the Wood. You and Henry... you both taught me. And in the... loneliness of the shore, I realized something," Adam said, looking Victor in the eyes. For once, Victor matched his gaze. Not in anger or fear or worry, but in quiet curiosity.

"I realized... I do not wish to be alone. All the freedom to come and go... but if there were no one to tell? And I realized, too, how... ungentlemanly... it was for me to leave. Will you help me... apologize to Henry in the morning?"

Victor nodded quietly. "I will. Come, now. Get yourself out of those wet rags. Henry would skin me alive if I sent you to bed wet as a dog, never mind if you catch something from exposure."

Adam stripped down to his undergarments. Those, at least, had been spared getting soaked by the snowfall. He crawled into his pallet on the floor and watched Victor's tiny form retreat into his own room in the darkness, the apartment lit by nothing save moonlight. How strange Victor had been. His words - Victor had never spoken that much to him before. Even when he did speak, it was never like Henry with smooth, eloquent expressions. He'd sometimes heard Victor and Henry speak behind closed doors when they thought themselves supposedly alone and in secret. Victor always spoke much to Henry, but never to him. And yet what he said - a reprimand for going out, but and expression of worry? Selfish worry, but unselfish, too. Before he'd met those people outside, he never would have understood Victor's fear. But Henry had been alluding to other things outside of their control. Society: that which Henry was trying so hard to help him to fit into; that which Victor so feared.

It was still the very early hours of the morning, at least. He could still sleep an hour or two, then have Victor help him craft an apology to Henry in the morning. For now, though, he had a safe place to lie down and a warm roof over his head. Sleep came easy.