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Golden sunlight filters through the lush green canopy shading them from the afternoon. Birds sing as they flutter between branches, insects hum with the life of summertime. In the distance the creek that runs through their property babbles warmly.
“Nothing is more painful to the human mind than, after the feelings have been worked up by a quick succession of events, the dead calmness of inaction and certainty which follows and deprives the soul both of hope and fear,” Thrawn continues. They lay together in the lush, green grass. Thrawn is propped up against the trunk of the tree where they established their picnic, cushioned by a deep orange pillow brought along with them. Eli is curled up on his side, head resting upon Thrawn’s chest as he reads.
“Justine died, she rested, and I was alive. The blood flowed freely in my veins, but a weight of despair and remorse pressed on my heart which nothing could remove. Sleep fled from my eyes; I wandered like an evil spirit, for I had committed deeds of mischief beyond description horrible, and more, much more (I persuaded myself) was yet behind. Yet my heart overflowed with kindness and the love of virtue. I had begun life with benevolent intentions and thirsted for the moment when I should put them in practice and make myself useful to my fellow beings.”
“He’s a better person than I am,” Eli murmurs.
“What do you mean?” Thrawn asks.
“Frankenstein. He’s a better man than I could be.”
“I do not believe that.”
Eli twists so he can look up at Thrawn. “If you died, I couldn’t be kind. I couldn’t be useful.”
Thrawn hums. “But you already have, you assisted our people when I was lost.”
“Yeah, but I was miserable.”
“Misery does not negate benevolence. He says so here.”
“Could you?”
“Could I what?”
“Be kind if I died?”
Thrawn is quiet for a long while. He presses a kiss to Eli’s forehead and whispers. “No, I could not.”
“But you would do your duty.”
“Miserably so, yes.”
“Then I guess we’re both like Frankenstein.”
Thrawn sets the book down in favor of taking Eli’s hand. “It is my fear that you are the creature, and I am your creator. That I am the monster in our story."
“How so?”
“Was it not my influence that led us here?”
“Was it not my love for you that made me follow?” Eli counters.
Appeased, Thrawn takes up the book again, but doesn't open it quite yet. “It is impossible not to be warped by the events of life. I am simply grateful we are both alive.”
Eli curls closer, listens to Thrawn’s steady heart beat. “Yeah, me too.”