Chapter Text
The Frankenstein mansion loomed large over the flat expanse of snow-covered lawn that stretched out around it, a sprawling stone mausoleum that was as different from the low slung wood cabins and barns of the Creatures previous home as a mouse was from his own self.
The address written on the letter to his creator had given him the name of the place he sought, but it had been the work of weeks of wandering, of reading road signs and daring to slip closer to the danger of civilization, listening in on the conversations of travelers staying at roadside inns, to lead him to the grandiose building in front of him.
What wealth his creator must have, to reside in such a place. What fortune he must have been born into. The creature thought of the humble dwelling in which he had first found comfort and friendship, and ached.
People swarmed around the manor, more than the Creature had ever before seen in one place. Men in matching uniforms carrying torches and opening carriage doors for women in sweeping gowns and fur stoles to keep out the cold, their gentlemen companions tall and slender in their black coats and top hats.
The Creature watched it all, eyes hungry and searching the bewildering mass of bodies for a familiar face, a familiar voice.
But no. No, this was Victor's home. Victor would be safely ensconced inside, not among these many and myriad guests who chattered and laughed like so many birds as they made their way into the building. Why were they here? The Creature knew and cared not. He would slip past them all, out of sight and free of the fear and shouts that came when humans laid their eyes on his inhuman face.
The rear of the building then, where the servants were busy with their work and the blazing torches were replaced by softer candles which cast long and lovely shadows in which the Creature could make his home.
There, up on the third floor. A window with a wide sill, slightly ajar.
He climbed, slow and silent. There was no rush. He would find whom he sought, one way or another. He would make his petition, his only desperate wish. Surely, surely one who was capable of making something like him, surely he would see that he must make another? No one could be expected to live alone. In the stories, gods of creation always granted their first child a companion with which to build the world; why should his be any different?
He crouched down on the ample ledge provided by the windowsill, not yet daring to peek inside. Instead, he strained his ears, trying to divine who, if anyone, resided within.
Through the cracked open window came voices. One low and entreating, the other clipped, strong emotion straining against tight control.
A slap rang out, and the Creature flinched away on his precarious perch, hand lifted against the blow. No. No, it was another who had been struck, and he blinked, shuffling forwards despite himself to peer curiously at the scene within.
A woman, sitting alone. A flash of white waistcoat was all the Creature glimpsed of her erstwhile companion as he stormed from the room, and so his gaze settled upon the glowing red hair of the single person who remained.
She sat before a mirror, her lovely face crumpled with sadness, her shoulders bowed in their white silk covering. As the Creature watched, she reached into a drawer and withdrew a book, opening it to reveal a dried and preserved leaf, which she cradled tenderly in her palms, a single tear tracing a glimmering path down her cheek.
In the Creatures chest, his great heart stuttered, stalled, and then took off. That leaf.
He knew that leaf.
He closed his eyes, and saw in his mind a cavernous chamber, felt the echo of cold metal around his wrists. Clear water that ran cool and soothing over his skin, and the precious leaves that blew in from the wide tiled hole in the ceiling - his only playthings, his only comfort. The only gift that he had to give.
His hands pressed unthinkingly against the window that separated him from the world inside, forgetting that it was not properly fastened.
It swung open with a heart-stopping creak, and the woman turned.
Those eyes. Those large deep eyes, so full of wonder and sadness. They were the same, exactly the same as they had been all those months ago, and they rested upon his hulking form without fear.
The Creature could not move, transfixed by his own memory, by the devastating hope and longing that flooded through him. It seemed like something from the sweetest of dreams, a face once known and lost, returning to him in his darkest moment. Fragile enough to shatter at the smallest movement.
“You,” she gasped. “It’s you- ” And she stood, so abruptly that he recoiled, but she was already running, throwing the window wide open and gazing out at him with indescribable emotion, her arms open as if for an embrace.
Dazed with the force of memory bequeathed without warning, unable to resist the overwhelming pull that he felt towards this beloved stranger, the Creature advanced past the threshold to meet her.
“Eliz-a-Beth,” he murmured, so quiet he could hardly hear himself, and yet so certain. His mouth remembered the shape of that word. His throat knew its feeling.
Fingers landed, butterfly-wing soft, against the edge of his jaw, and his entire body curled inwards toward the sensation. That softness became sureness, and smooth palms cupped his cheeks, delicate thumbs sweeping away tears he had not even noticed weeping.
The fabric of her diaphanous dress was soft against his forehead as it found its way to her shoulder, and the sweet scent of dried summer flowers overlaid the human tang of her skin when he inhaled, his lungs shaking and unsteady.
They stayed, suspended in time, breathing and trembling in each other’s arms, until a loud laugh rang out, echoing in the corridor outside the room, startling them out apart.
“It’s freezing,” Whispered Elizabeth. “Come in, come -“ and she closed the window and took his hand in hers, leading him to a chair behind a screen, in front of the fireplace, where she settled him down on the cushions and knelt on the rug in front of him, her eyes still fixed hungrily upon his face faces, as though afraid to look away. It seemed absurd, that she should appear to feel such a way, when she herself was so miraculous.
“I… know you,” rasped the Creature, turning his hand to carefully curl his long fingers around her slender wrist. “I know… your face - and your voice.”
A brilliant smile lit Elizabeth’s face, and she nodded.
“We met only once,” she told him. “When you were very young. I wished to help you, but did not know how. I tried to show you kindness, and you - ” she cast her eyes over her shoulder towards her dresser, and the precious leaf that lay upon it. “You were kind to me, in return.”
“I did not… remember you,” he confessed painfully. “Not until I s-saw you, here. I remembered only - fire. And metal. The man who m-made me. I wish… I wish that I had remembered.”
At the mention of fire and metal, Elizabeth’s brows drew together, anger flickering in her expressive eyes.
“Suffering is always harder for us to forget than kindness,” she said. “We remember terrible things so much more clearly than good ones - perhaps so that we might avoid the circumstances that led to them in the future. And yet, here you are, now - remembering.”
Shaking her head in wonder, she leaned up and brushed his hair away from his face, pausing to marvel. “You are here!” She breathed. “After so long. Here and alive, and having learned so much.”
A soft rumble rose in the Creatures throat as he leaned into her hand.
“Yes,” he agreed. “I have seen this world. Its beauty. Its ugliness. I found… a friend… and I lost him.”
Understanding and sympathy came to Elizabeth’s face, and her touch became ever gentler.
“Is that why you are here?” She asked. “You seek companionship again, in the absence of your friend?”
“Yes. I have come… to find Victor.”
At the utterance of Victor’s name, Elizabeth drew back, her mouth twisting as though she had tasted something unpleasant.
“Victor,” she echoed.
“Yes,” he said, and grasped tighter at her fingers, the reminder of his purpose renewing his urgency. “I need him to make a companion, for me. One… like me.”
“Like you? Why?” Elizabeth asked, confused but not angry. “You have found me now - I could not save you before, but now I will do everything in my power to grant you the safety and happiness you deserve-“
Shaking his head, cutting off her flow of speech, the Creature groped for words, the right words, to make her understand.
“I cannot die,” he managed finally, hunching inwards. “And I cannot live… alone. My one friend in the world was taken from me. And I could not follow him.”
“Follow him!” Elizabeth stood upright in alarm, clutching at his shoulders. “Do not speak so! Grief may have found you, as it does all of us, and I ache to know that you have suffered it, so early and so great - but the world is better for your being in it, and to lose you also would be a tragedy beyond any other.”
“You do not… understand,” the Creature said, despairing. “I have known death. It came to me, by blade and by bullet and by water. It took me in its embrace, and then, seeing what I am, it spat me back out, into hideous life.” He shook his head, as though to rid himself of the memory.
“I am unceasing. I will not… fade, as all others do.”
Tears shone in Elizabeth’s eyes as comprehension dawned.
“So you must have another like you, to walk the earth by your side when all others forsake you,” she said quietly.
“Yes! Yes!” He reached out to her once more, overcome. “You will help me?”
Shoulders slumping, Elizabeth bit at her lip.
“My dear friend,” she murmured. “I do not think you know of the character of your creator. Victor has attempted to erase all evidence of your existence - the tower, his notes - all of it is gone. Even you, he intended to extinguish, in that terrible fire. He believed that he had failed in what he set out to do, and so, in his arrogance, he deemed it worthless. It is my greatest regret,” she whispered, “that I did not realise sooner what he intended, and move to stop him.”
Hopelessness welled up inside the Creature.
“Then…” he said, “He will not… help me. It is all for naught.”
“No.” Elizabeth said, the light of battle entering her eyes. “No, my friend.” She drew away and began to pace, hand coming up to fidget with her cross necklace as she thought. “My fiancé - the man I am marrying tonight - he is Victor’s brother. He took charge of the building of the lab in that tower, the equipment within it, and he is both meticulous and diligent. He will still have copies of the plans, I am sure of it. And the library, here - it is a vast trove of medical knowledge, there must be something, some hint, as to what, exactly Victor was doing. He worked with my uncle too - all of his things have passed to me, as his only remaining relative, and he would not have sat passively by, it was not his nature…”
How painful it was, to hope and despair and hope once more, his heart wrenched one way and then another like a tree in an unforgiving storm.
“Yes,” Elizabeth pronounced, coming to a halt in her pacing, triumph on her face. “We shall gather all of these things to ourselves, and together see what can be done.”
A knock sounded at the door, and both of their heads whipped towards it.
“My lady?” Came the voice of a footman. “My lady, it is time.”
“Oh,” gasped Elizabeth, then “A moment! I shall be there presently!”
The Creature watched as she snatched up a sheer white cloth from her dressing-table, draping it hastily over her head.
“My dear friend,” she said to him lowly, “you must stay out of sight. If any were to discover you and alert the Baron to your presence -“
“I understand,” breathed the Creature. “I will do as you say.”
“There is a statue of an angel outside my window,” Elizabeth told him. “I will leave a letter there for you, with a time and place for us to meet - oh!” She paused, worry in her voice. “Can you read? I’m sorry, I did not think -“
“I can,” he reassured her. Then, tremulously, “Thank you.” And, with great daring, he caught her hand in his once more and brought it to his lips, kissing it in gratitude.
“My lady?” Came the voice once more.
“I am coming!” Called Elizabeth. “Go!” She whispered. “May God keep you, my friend.”
Overwhelmed by the tumultuous emotions of the evening, fearing that the voice from outside would return and shatter the peace he had found in this room, the Creature unfurled himself from the chair and ghosted to the window through which he had entered, lingering only to look back and catch a final vision of Elizabeth, angelic in her voluminous white gown, and fix the image to the back of his eyelids to keep him company until the next time they would meet.