Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was the child of a charnel house. Within its dead brain brought back to life with the strong spark of a storm and the strong thumps of a red-gloved fist angrily pounding against its own blood-covered fist, recollections of things it had never directly experienced surfaced to the forefront of its mind. Memories of battles it had never fought in before, yet its skin and muscle ached with old wounds. From sharp knives coaxing up blood from vessels. From bullets still smelling of gunpowder piercing through muscle. From bone breaking and shattering. From lungs wheezing in cold air and puncturing the delicate tissue.

From the faint recollection of dying, something that seemed so far for it. It had been shot at multiple times now. Shoulder. Torso. A graze near the head. It had been hit more times than it wanted to remember, a name on the tip of its tongue for each one. A name once spoken in reverence, facing the warm golden sun. A name that only brought bitterness now, filling its mouth with a foul taste, metallic and sticky and red.

Victor.

There had been kindness, initially. It would like to fool itself into thinking so. Victor’s gentle hand against its face in the dank, dark basement, freshly chained and covered in a red blanket that did nothing to keep out the chill. But it had been soft, and the hand had been soothing. Warm. It had leaned into it, like it had been the sun down in the basement. Like a candle. Like fire.

Those hands had cradled its face, and they had been soaked in unfathomable quantities of blood to make it. Soaked in viscera, muscle fibers and iron trapped underneath his nails. Shaking with days upon days of work with little to no sleep. It had read Victor’s notes, paper burnt around the edges and nearly falling apart from exposure to the elements. Detailed sketches, anatomical figures and systems. It had seen photographs of its face from before it was given the gift — the curse — of life. Cold and dead, grotesque and unreal.

Those hands had cradled its face, and they had been soaked in unfathomable quantities of blood.

But… they had cradled it, yes?

Perhaps that one moment — before it had disappointed him beyond anything of its understanding — was worth it. It stung like fire. Warm and alluring, but once it held onto it for a moment too long, it burnt. It hurt. So it could only think about those few warm moments in minute amounts from afar.

It was quite like snow as well, if it thought about it. Delicate and light, white and soft. But standing outside in it for too long caused its outermost extremities to sting from the cold, for its muscles to rapidly contract and cause it to shiver. It doesn’t mind it, but it has gotten so used to the comfort of a warm house, to the comfort of a gentle and warm hand that was wrinkled with age and wisdom, that it longed to be back soon.

But, would the old man still love it? Would he still allow it to read to him, to stay in his home once it shared with him the heavy knowledge of its existence? Those hands became heavy, landing upon his skull with disdain.

Cold air stung its lungs as it deeply inhaled, as if one physical pain can chase away the mental one. As it took a few more steps back to that quiet farm, trying to formulate its words, it heard it. A loud howl, followed by several others in a chorus of hate.

Wolves.

The creature started to run. Its hands reached out in front of itself, as if that trivial action could get it closer to the farm. The old man couldn’t see properly. ‘Blind,’ he had called the condition. Eyes glazed over with milky white, unseeing physically. Yet, the creature knew that he saw it. He saw intelligence, and gifted it kindness.

For that, it would gift him back protection.

It entered the house, lungs burning and body ready to bleed. Inside were several large wolves, lead by one with fur the color of the night. They were predators with sharp teeth, uncaring of who they bit into as long as they were fed by the end of the day. The wolves were driven by a base instinct to eat. The hunters were driven by the need to protect the sheep. Violence always erupted between them, both over the sheep.

But the sheep never asked to be eaten nor sheltered. The sheep never asked for any of this. Yet, they were the catalyst for violence.

The blind old man, with long colorless hair and a docile nature, was a sheep. It was inevitable then, that violence would occur between the creature and the wolves.

The roar that escaped from its mouth drew some of the attention off the blind old man and onto itself. The wolves growled and snapped their jaws at it. Bits of frothy spit formed around the edges of their mouths as saliva poured out, a frenzy in their eyes. Unintelligent.

The creature had seen wolves before, from afar. They were shy, running away from it when they caught its scent on the wind. But these wolves were unafraid. They were sick.

Perhaps then, what happened next would be considered mercy.

Spines snapped, and bones broke. The metallic scent of blood filled the air, and the creature’s hands became coated in blood as it skinned some wolves alive and crushed others against the ground. Life bled out from its hands, and when the remaining wolves turned tail and ran, the creature was shaking. Shivering from the cold as wind blew through the open door.

Slowly, it slinked toward the blind old man, who remained in his old wooden chair. It knelt to its knees and a hand (it shook; from the cold or the distressing noise, the creature couldn’t tell) threaded itself through its long hair. “My friend,” the old man whispered, “is it safe now?”

“Yes,” it rasped, curling its hands in on themselves and leaning into that gentle touch. “The wolves. They’re gone.”

The blind old man hummed, “Thank you.”

The words that the creature had planned to say died in its throat. Perhaps he may live a lie for a little bit longer.

Footsteps entered the creature’s hearing, and it froze when it heard a sharp curse and the click of a gun. “Father, what is that?”

“A good man,” the blind old man replied. The hand on its head moved down to rub at its back, and only then did the creature realize that it was breathing too fast. “You will show him no harm.”

“But what of Alma, and of Anna-Maria?” the hunter — the creature recognized that voice now, from his time of hiding in the mill gears — asked. “It’s not human. We don’t know what it might do!”

“He can protect us, as he did just before you arrived.” The blind old man gently pat the creature’s back and said, “Shall we go for a walk, my friend? Let my son clear his mind in silence.”

“Yes,” it said, and its voice shook.

Cold air bit at the creature’s lungs, freezing the words in its mouth. Thawing them took significant time, and didn’t come out easily. It choked on them several times, speaking the truth of its existence. “A monster,” it concluded, already preparing itself to be discarded. To be unloved and unwanted. To prove Victor right, and to eternally disappoint Elizabeth.

But the blind old man only took its hands in his own and said, “I know what you are. A good man. And you are my friend.”

Winter passed by. The snow melted and the ice thawed. Water flowed in streams once again, and the grass started to sprout up from the cold ground. The hunter brought his family back to the farm, and the blind old man greeted the little girl outside with open arms. The creature watched from the shadows of the house and flinched when the little girl’s eyes met with his own.

“My friend,” the blind old man called out, “I want you to meet my granddaughter.”

The creature slowly stepped out into the light, his eyes alternating between the ground, his only friend, the hunter, the mother, and the little girl. He watched as the little girl’s mouth opened slightly, eyes fixated on every stitch on his skin, on his mismatched eyes, on how he towered over her. He squatted before her, shoulders hunched forward and pulling his knees close to his chest as he sat, making every attempt to appear as small as possible.

The little girl reached out with both hands, gingerly placing her fingertips onto his face. Her brows furrowed with some unsaid emotion as she moved her hands from his forehead and down his cheeks, pulling back when they reached his chin. “I’m Anna-Maria,” she breathed. “What’s your name?”

“I– I don’t have one.” Shame flooded his face, and he tilted away slightly so to not show such an emotion to her.

“That’s okay,” Anna-Maria said. When she grinned, the creature noticed a gap in her smile. A missing tooth. She was imperfect, and yet she was loved. “I have two names, so we can share.”

The creature reached out to lightly place his hand on Anna-Maria’s head, mimicking the action that he saw the blind old man do to her. She smiled even wider and leaned into the touch, and the creature felt the corners of his mouth rise. Anna-Maria poked at the corners before wrapping her arms around his neck and whispering, “Thank you for protecting us, Spirit of the Forest.”

He was the child of a charnel house, given life unwanted and forced to live. Yet, there were people who found his existence pleasant. Elizabeth, with her kindness and patience. The blind old man, with his wisdom and warmth.

And now, there was Anna-Maria, with her wonder and gratefulness.

The creature wrapped his arms around her, and felt the warmth of the sun shine down upon him once again.

Chapter Text

Elizabeth’s marriage came and went uneventfully.

She walked down the flower petal-covered aisle (and what a waste of flowers it was, snipped from their prime for their delicate color and subtle scent, only to be trampled down upon by dozens upon dozens of feet), recited her vows with the enthusiasm of a rug, kissed her now-husband (and it wasn’t to say that she didn’t love him: he was kind and polite, always treating her well, but they felt more like acquaintances whose parents urged them to spend time with each other in hopes of securing a match), and retreated to her room as soon as she could.

The next several months were spent in utter boredom. When she wasn’t roaming the empty halls of the estate, graciously left to her by her missing uncle, Elizabeth was eating dinner with William or roaming the large outdoor grounds looking for insects.

Now, she admits, she exaggerated her narrative a bit. The halls had servants who were paid to cook and clean and not ask questions. They listened to her with empty ears and replied with “Yes,” “No,” and “Of course.” Sometimes, she wished that the halls were truly empty and not filled with the exoskeletons of a human.

Insects were often her only escape. Whenever she was unable to see them — as was now on the account of it being wintertime — she read about them. She drew them, labeling their parts and writing small notes about them. She often wished that she lived in a place where she could always find insects. Someplace tropical and warm, where her books have described insects the size of her hand. It would certainly excite her more than the gentle yet bland hand of her husband.

“Sometimes, I find myself afraid of him,” William confessed to her one evening as cutlery clinked against glazed ceramic plates. He daintily wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin as he added, “Victor, I mean.”

“I can certainly see why,” Elizabeth replied. She sliced her next bite a bit harder than normal.

“He’s got a brilliant mind,” William continued, “and his aim and dedication towards topics he chooses to dive into are spectacular. It’s just that…” He paused, fork circling above his plate as he formulated his thoughts. “His aim and dedication don’t know when to stop, and his mind certainly doesn’t help.”

“Except he does know when to stop,” Elizabeth said, her knife starting to scrape against the plate. She thought she could see sparks as she did so, only stopping when it started to screech in indignation over its treatment. “He only stops when he doesn’t get what he wants, like a child throwing a tantrum.”

“You still aren’t caught up on his creation, are —?”

“His creation? That’s a living creature, William! That’s a human being all the same!” Elizabeth took a breath in and out, pushed some food onto her fork, and placed it in her mouth. She eyed William with a gaze that said that she wasn’t done talking, but that it was rude to talk with her mouth full. After swallowing, she said, “Your brother has many, many faults, but his creature is not one of them.”

The look on William’s face was something she wanted to lean over and gently wipe away, but she stood her ground and finished with, “Now, if you will excuse me.”

They did not talk about it for the rest of the day.

When the winter months passed by and spring welcomed the newborn greenery, William surprised her with a house in the northern part of the country. “It’s smaller than our current one, with several staff to ensure it remains in good condition. And it’s surrounded by rolling fields with a forest nearby.” He rubbed a thumb over her shoulder and kept a neutral yet pleasant expression when she didn’t respond at once. “There’s a large library which I’ve kept stocked with books on entomology, and a room with nets and jars. I could also request pins and display cases, but —”

“You knew I wouldn't like that, trapping them forever,” Elizabeth responded. Her lips curved upwards at the edges and she chuckled when William’s face melted into a lovestruck expression. “Thank you, dear.”

To say that Elizabeth was excited for the trip was an understatement. The second she got settled in the smaller establishment, she wasted no time in exploring the fields and forest for insects. She spent hours of time away from her husband (who had business to do in the area, not that she minded too much), fingernails collecting dirt and notebooks filling up with her personal sketches as she compared them to the books in the library.

One day, she decided to explore a different part of the forest, her notebooks and sketching supplies in a small woven basket. The sun shone through the trees’ new leaves, creating dappled lighting as she brushed her ungloved hands against the bark, fingertips brushing against moss and lichen. A snap of a twig draw her attention behind her, watching with awe as a deer looked at her for a long minute before bounding off, a butterfly dislodging itself from the deer’s head just before it left.

Then, a different sound. Voices, hushed as if not to scare something.

Elizabeth carefully followed her ears, picking up on two separate voices. One was young, while the other was old and slow. As she got closer, she started to pick up on snippets of conversation.

“—nose tickles.”

“They are… very gentle.”

“Like you, Adam?”

“I think so.”

Sometimes, Elizabeth dreamt that she was able to save Victor’s creature from his fiery demise. She dreamt that he was somehow still alive, and that one day, they would meet once again.

She must be dreaming then, when she sees the creature not only alive, but interacting so gently with a little girl. Elizabeth hid behind a tree, watching with fascination as the creature picked a berry and held it up to a deer, who ate it like they were old friends. He picked another berry and gave it to the little girl, who mimicked his actions and giggled when the deer took the offering.

The creature was dressed in a long coat and had long brown hair with a streak of light. He moved with intent, with purpose. He no longer stumbled when he stood up to his full height, picking up the little girl with a single arm and smiling at her. When he asked her, “What should we do, now?” Elizabeth nearly gave herself away with how loudly she yearned to shout. Shout at Victor that his creative lived, he spoke sentences, he learned! Shout her joy to the creature, shower him in praise.

But instead, she swallowed it down. She stepped out from her hiding spot and called out, “It’s you.”

The creature startled, then turned around. His eyes focused on her, on her green and violet dress, on her gloveless hands and her face. “Elizabeth,” he said, and those mismatched eyes crinkled from how wide he smiled back at her.

Elizabeth closed the distance but didn’t embrace him. He was still holding the little girl after all, who was now looking at her with questions brimming behind her gaze. “Oh, you’re alive,” she breathed. “Oh, you’re marvelous and alive.”

“Elizabeth.”

He gently put the little girl down and they all sat in the soil together. Elizabeth turned her attention to the little girl. “Hello there.”

“Hello,” she shyly said. “I’m Anna-Maria.”

At this, Elizabeth realized that the creature and Anna-Maria shared a very similar accent. She smiled at the thought. “It’s lovely to meet you, dear Anna-Maria. My name is Elizabeth.”

“You’re Elizabeth? The one Adam tells me about?”

“Anna-Maria…”

Elizabeth’s gaze briefly glanced at the creature — whom she has the assumption to say that he was now named Adam — and stifled a laugh when she saw him huff in embarrassment. “Does Adam talk about me a lot?”

Anna-Maria nodded, and when she grinned, Elizabeth saw a gap slowly being filled in by a new tooth erupting from the gum. “Adam says that you taught him that throats make sounds, and that you taught him his second word.”

Elizabeth couldn’t hide her laugh now, and she reached over to comfort Adam when he started to curl in on himself. “None of that now, my dear. I’m flattered to have been talked about like that.”

“I… I don’t lie, Elizabeth,” Adam murmured.

“I know you don’t.”

“Adam’s my big brother, and we share the first letter of our names because Mama and Papa said I can’t share my two names with him,” Anna-Maria shared as she got up and moved over to Adam to lean against him. “Adam and Anna-Maria. And now, Elizabeth!”

Adam gently shuffled her off, only to pick her back up and laugh when Anna-Maria squealed. “Elizabeth,” he said, light and joyful and so unlike when she had first met him, “would you like to…” His brows furrowed as he paused, mouth moving but words stuck. Elizabeth waited patiently. “Would you like to walk with us?”

“Of course.” Elizabeth got up and brushed her skirts, joining the siblings’ side as she asked, “Adam. Anna-Maria. Would you like to hear about butterflies?”

At the twined affirmations, Elizabeth shared her knowledge, pulling out her notes to show them her sketches. She couldn’t imagine a more ideal way to spend her time, sharing in her interests with those who wished to listen.

She was free here, to learn and listen and live.

Chapter Text

Ever since William was young, he had never known Victor to be his older brother. Theoretically, he should. They shared the same father and deceased mother, so despite the many years between them, he should know that Victor was his older brother.

But, he knew that the parents he had were not the same parents that Victor had.

William remembered having disobeying his father’s orders to wait for him once, stealthily following him to watch how he taught Victor. He had flinched when his father had struck Victor on the face for the simple mistake of forgetting a word, demanding from him to do it again, from the top. William had slowly turned back to where he had come from, praying that his father would never do that to him, the red mark that had started to bloom on Victor’s cheek branded in his mind.

His father never did, showering him in only praise.

When Victor wasn’t in one of his moods (brows furrowed, face drawn down into a scowl, obsessing over a porcelain figurine of a pregnant woman), he was bearable. He gave William his undivided attention and listened to him recite stories from his time with their father. The gifts he gave the younger of the two. Even when the elder’s face started to drop (from envy, William later learned), Victor encouraged William to continue talking.

Sometimes, Victor shared stories of their mother. The red dresses she wore, her dark wavy hair and darker skin matching with Victor, her kindness and gentle touch. It was then, William would recall later on, that his older brother’s face would morph into something more mellow. As if the mere mention of the deceased maternal figure lulled Victor into calmer times.

William sometimes wondered what it would’ve been like if their mother had still been alive. Would their father have shown Victor more grace, the same grace he had shown him? Would he have been able to accurately remember the touch of his mother’s hand, the look of her face? Would Victor have grown up differently? Would William himself have changed?

He has his doubts.

“Elizabeth, my dear —”

“Now, we’ll have none of that,” his wife tutted as she dusted off her green dress and marched past him to tell one of their staff (one that, William noticed, Elizabeth got along well with) to prepare some simple snacks and tea.

William tried again. “Elizabeth, do you really think this is a good idea?”

“Nonsense William.” She turned her attention to a different staff member and instructed him to open the curtains of the windows, and to ensure that the library is in order. “Your brother, for all the faults he carried and all the vices he had replaced his virtues with, had only one thing that he did right.” William followed Elizabeth like a duckling that had imprinted on her, moving with such purpose that he initially thought only came from her love of insects. “That was the creation of Adam.”

“The painting, my dear?”

“His creature.” Elizabeth whirled around and waited for William to stop just before he ran into her. She was a headstrong woman, something that William admired from the beginning despite her mind going off on tangents that he sometimes couldn’t follow. “Adam is his name. And we are going to treat him, and his little sister Anna-Maria, with respect when they visit.”

“Elizabeth,” William said as he gently held his wife’s hands in his own, still marveling at the woman that he managed to marry and agreed to love until death did them apart (though, he worried, not as much as before; he has heard stories about love that grew stronger with time, and love that faded with time, so he can only hope that the love that he shared with Elizabeth will stay steady as time marched forever on). “I have no doubt that you are excited for this. But —”

“You will not be attempting to change my mind,” Elizabeth said.

Bless her soul, but damn her stubbornness! For a moment, William remembered Victor’s hand on her shoulder, how close he had been with her, and he pushed down whatever uncomfortable emotions bubbled up. “I was going to ask where we will be meeting them. Unless, of course, you have already invited them to the house when I was not here.”

“Oh, William.” Elizabeth pulled her hands out of his own and pivoted to march towards the door. “We will be meeting them in the forest. Adam and Anna-Maria have discussed it with me last time we met, and we will show them all the hospitality we can. Now, will you be accompanying me, or not?”

William ended up going with her, tripping multiple times on uneven ground. Roots from trees burst through to catch at his feet, and the earth was soft from the recent rains. He had to bite his tongue multiple times to not nag at Elizabeth, to not remind her to not get her dress dirty. The first time he pointed it out, she told him that she had already returned to him with soil beneath her fingernails, so why would a dress be any different?

“Adam?” she called out. “Anna-Maria?”

William didn’t ask if this was where the two had promised to meet them. After all, he didn’t join Elizabeth on her escapades to learn about insects. He didn’t join her on her escapades to meet with his brother’s creature and… he still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that it — he, according to Elizabeth — had a younger sister. He knew that his brother never made another creature; Victor had sworn that he would never create another monster, leaving the married couple after the wedding, muttering about other types of work he could instead do. Something about his leg.

Eventually, he heard a response to Elizabeth’s calling. Gravelly and a bit slow. Heavily tinged with a northern accent, much like the people that William currently worked with. They often made comments about his own accent, words about how well-educated he must be. Spitting remarks to not flaunt his money around (he doesn’t; not in public at least, not like Victor or Elizabeth’s deceased uncle). William turned his head towards the direction of the response, hurrying to be at his wife’s side just in case. He placed a hand around her waist and pulled her close, hearing her huff of indignation but choosing to ignore it.

There, a good distance away, stood Victor’s creature. He was more clothed this time, a long coat draped over his shoulders and trousers that didn’t reach his ankles. In his arms was a little girl in a simple dress, face hidden as her arms clung to the creature’s neck with such ferocity William thought that she was trying to strangle it. “Elizabeth,” it said. Its attention moved to him, and its face furrowed as its mouth opened with no noise escaping it. “Will– William.”

“That’s right!” Elizabeth gasped, and William had never seen her look so happy. “Adam, you’re more intelligent than Victor had ever imagined.”

Honest to God, the creature — Adam, William had to remind himself, Adam — had the audacity to appear timid at the praise. “Thank you, Elizabeth.”

“Adam,” the little girl piped up. Her voice trembled as she shifted her position in the creature’s arms, head swiveling around as if looking for something. “Can we go now?”

“Yes,” the creature breathed. “Yes, we will be going.”

The walk back to the house was a quiet one, tension thick as butter and armed with only a cold knife. The only noise was an exchange of names; a formality, really. As they neared the house, Anna-Maria asked to be placed down so she could walk the rest of the way, her hand gripping Adam’s hand so tightly William could see her knuckles pale from the exertion. In contrast, the creature’s hand was gentle, barely holding the little girl’s own as if he were afraid of breaking it.

(William was starting to think that the creature didn’t kill Henrich Harlander. But Victor had been so convincing, mixed together with panic and the need to keep Elizabeth safe and the uncertainty that was the creature’s existence in the bowels of Victor’s laboratory… how gentle did the creature have to be in order to hold the little girl’s hand without breaking it?)

However, when the creature placed Anna-Maria down, William saw maroon stains on the shirt of the creature, leaving the fabric in even more tatters than usual. Small holes intermixed with large bite marks, quietly sharing a story of violence.

“Adam?” William whispered, wincing when his brother’s creation startled at the simple action of asking for his name. “What happened to your shirt?”

“Wolves,” he replied. “They’re ill, and it makes them angry.”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed at his response. “Adam, are you alright?”

Adam appeared as if he was about to respond, but Anna-Maria let out a whimper before she quietly said, “Adam’s brave, like Papa. But… but, he…!”

At that point, they had reached the front door, and someone let them in. William had increased everyone’s pay to ensure that no one would ask questions about their visitors, nor share information to anyone else. Still, he could see that questioning gazes that their staff had. He supposed that it was only human nature to be curious.

He sat everyone down for snacks and tea, taking note of which foods their visitors avoided and their facial reactions at the tea. After some quiet contemplation over the little girl’s words earlier, William decided to pursue that path. “Anna-Maria, you were saying something earlier about Adam?” he tried.

The little girl, doing her best to be polite by delicately holding her cup and taking small sips, shook her head. “Papa wouldn’t let me see, but I heard it and Mama just held me tightly in our house. And– and I heard Adam scream and I heard Papa’s gun and I heard our sheep and I heard the wolves and —”

“Breathe, my dear,” Elizabeth hushed. “Breathe.”

Anna-Maria shook her head and instead crawled into Adam’s lap, the side of her head resting against his chest, hands grasping his stained shirt. She only appeared to relax when Adam delicately patted her head.

“Wolves attacked our family again,” Adam murmured. “We had to hurt them, so they wouldn’t hurt us.” The creature of William’s brother, who was accused of killing a person and had presumably hurt wild animals, acted so soft around others. He continued to hold Anna-Maria as his words slowly formed. “I… I was gravely injured from the wolves. I was also… mistakenly shot.”

“Papa didn’t tell me that,” Anna-Maria gasped. “Why did he lie?”

“I do not know.”

William gripped Elizabeth’s hand when he saw her start to rise from her seat, shaking his head at her and mouthing, ”Let him finish.” Something in his chest bloomed when he saw her faintly smile at his statement, and only later did he realize it was because of how he referred to Adam.

“I… I died. But then, the embrace of life grasped me, once again.” Adam broke his gaze from William and Elizabeth, moving his hand from Anna-Maria’s head to her back instead, rubbing up and down when the little girl whimpered at his words. “I cannot die.”

Adam’s revelation lay heavy as the pot of tea was finished and the snacks were eaten. Anna-Maria eventually began to quietly cry, refusing to part from Adam as a quiet rumbling started to emit from the creature. Elizabeth had long since risen from her chair and whispered comforting words to the siblings, her eyes faintly glassy as she did so.

“Everyone dies, my grandfather said that,” Anna-Maria mumbled, “so why can’t Adam?”

“I wish I knew,” Elizabeth replied, and William heard bitterness beneath her quiet comfort.

As for William?

William pushed his brother to the back of his mind. Pushed whatever words and phrases, whatever unconscious facial expressions he might’ve shown with his creature. He buried it all down and moved so he was in Adam’s line of sight. He reached out to touch his shoulder and even through the layers of clothing, the flesh was cold. “Adam, if you would like, we can change your shirt out. It must be terribly uncomfortable to keep wearing it.”

Working in finances, William learned how to navigate difficult topics — dare he say, better than his brother, for Victor’s bedside manner was as brash as their father’s methods for disciplining the elder of the two — with grace. The subject of death, and the inability to embrace it, was such a topic that deserved to be handled delicately. Whilst he kept a calm face, he turned his attention to Anna-Maria and asked, “Would you like to explore our house for a bit while we talk to your older brother? Someone can walk with you.”

“Why can’t I stay with Adam?” she asked.

“I’m afraid that the things we’ll talk about will be quite boring for you.”

It took a bit more convincing, but as Anna-Maria was coaxed out by the staff member that Elizabeth enjoyed talking with, the little girl kept her gaze on Adam until she turned the corner. Almost as if she was afraid that he would met the merciless jaws of death once again while she wasn’t looking.

It was that gaze compounded with the frightened, almost childish stare of Adam did William promise himself (and later, verbally promise Elizabeth, much to her delight), that if he could help it, no harm would fall onto his brother’s creation.

His brother’s… son.

“Adam,” he said much later, just before the siblings would travel back to their home. Pride filled William’s chest as he admired the simple yet clean shirt that his nephew now wore. “I’m going to leave you with a new word: Uncle. Adam, as my older brother —”

”Victor,” Adam hissed.

William recoiled at the tone of voice Adam used, but he shook it off and nodded. “Yes. Since he made you, you would be considered his son. Adam, that would make me your uncle.”

“Un… un-cal,” Adam repeated. His face scrunched up for a moment before he tried again. “Uncle.”

“Uncle,” Anna-Maria echoed, back in Adam’s arms and arms wrapped once again around his neck. “Uncle William.”

“Uncle. William.” Adam’s lips quirked up, slowly and unevenly, in a sort of smile. It was charming.

“Yes! Uncle William.”

“Thank you, William and Elizabeth,” Adam said.

“Thank you,” Anna-Maria mimicked, kicking her legs a bit as Adam turned around and started to head out back into the forest.

William watched until they were but a speck away, startling when he turned to face Elizabeth. “My dear, why are you smiling like that?”

“Uncle?” she asked. “Oh my. I didn’t take you for the type at first.”

“Someone has to take responsibility for what Victor did,” he bashfully replied, a boyish grin emerging onto his face when Elizabeth leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “My dear?”

“I told you it was a good idea.”

“Yes,” William sighed in good nature. “Thank you, Elizabeth.”