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It is a sensation that William Frankenstein has had the pleasure of never feeling in all his life.
Up until recently, his life has been very relaxed, all things considered. Normal. He is never one to boast, he knows how good he had it, despite his somewhat down trodden upbringing. He made the best of it. Happy living, happily successful career, with happy people all around him. And while his resting face has always been somewhat of a sad and uncomfortable frown, he was a genuinely happy man. Everything scared him and yet he willed himself to be optimistic. There had to be some brightness out there left for him.
And this day was to be his wedding— such a day of hope and happiness for the future. Leading up to this day, even before he shared the news with Victor and subsequently got roped into his brother’s ambitions, he was nervous. Incredibly nervous. It seemed all too good to be true— he had never made it to such a stage in his life before. As nervous as he was… he felt he was ready.
Ready to finally have the have the life he always dreamed of. A comfortable life, settled with someone he loved. The two of them would live together in a beautiful house, where they could care for each other, grow wiser together, perhaps start a family if and when the time felt right. A blissfully normal family. Children, siblings, that loved each other and played together, with their parents lingering long enough to see them grow old and start lives of their own. The love would grow and grow into something that would shield all doubt and fear. For a time, Elizabeth would be his whole world and he would be hers. William cannot imagine what a feeling that must be.
William had been so scared for so long that such a future was not meant for him. And for a fleeting day… that fear was gone.
But then there was Victor.
Victor, the older brother whom he never really knew. Victor, the strange older child who loomed and lingered in the corners of the home when he tried to play with him. Victor, the brother who refused to ever celebrate William’s own birthday when they were younger, for the date signified a more important and harrowing day to him. Victor, who sent very few letters in reply to William’s many. Victor, whom he looked up to, but the admiration only seemed to come from one side. Victor, who had hugged him at first greeting, congratulating him on his engagement and commenting about how much William had grown. Victor, who asked for his help, knowing William’s drive and arrant usefullness. A brother whom William shared his kindness, his wit his generosity, his love, all in exchange for very little in return. A younger brother cannot help but love his older brother. And he believes truly, Victor loved him too, as despite their every difference, there was a fraternal protectiveness that lingered in the older sibling’s eyes. He tried his best. They both tried their best with what they had.
If they only had more time, the two of them might have even had a close kinship. But… there was never enough time.
For this was also the Victor who, despite the years passing, still terrified William to death.
Not simply because of the morbidity of Victor’s studies, though that is a factor, but because Victor, to him, was a candle. As soon as he ignites, he burns, burns, burns away at himself to an unending degree. His flame and his mind is bright and yet also has the capacity to destroy. Reach anything too close and it, too, ignites.
Yet the most terrifying thing about a candle is not that it will burn you if you reach out your hand too close— but the knowledge that all it takes is a tipping of the candleholder over the edge for the flame to spread beyond the candle and to the room around it. The flames would eat away at everything. Recklessly, it devours. Fatally, it engulfs. Endlessly, it destroys. Reducing the candle’s whole life, and everything around it, to nothing but ash.
In his heart, perhaps William has always known that Victor would ignite his life such as this. The irony does not go unnoticed in this metaphor, either. This very thought was on William’s mind when he witnessed the laboratory consumed by fire. All of Victor’s belongings, including the last remaining portrait of their mother, gone. All of the blood and tears that went into that project, reduced to nothing. Yes, Victor had attempted to destroy what he had created, and in doing so, he, in turn ignited his whole life.
That day, William verily believed his last remaining family had gone insane. And perhaps the name Frankenstein was doomed to reach nothing but peril.
It is a misconception to say that Victor has lived in William’s shadow. This is not so— as this would imply that it was William who was the more resounding presence. But rather, Victor Frankenstein is the shadow that has, in quick succession, stolen William’s life. Victor has always wanted what was not his own. And without fail, he takes it.
So when William hears the great clamoring of destruction upstairs on his wedding day, he knows it is Victor.
There was no question, nor much debate in William’s mind. He knew it was Victor, because it always was.
Rushing down the hallway, he heard a gunshot and Elizabeth scream— William ran faster.
She better not be dead, Victor. He thought to himself. Please, do not say you have shot my bride!
He didn’t even know what his panicked heart was thinking by the time he ran toward the creature who was hunched over Elizabeth’s form. His ears were completely deaf to Victor’s lying words, William had no intention of hurting the figure. All he wanted to do was push it, perhaps, get him out of the way so that he could see if Elizabeth was alive. That’s all he wanted to do…
But when he felt his body being thrown to the side by a force unknown to him, by a being even more unknown, time slowed down.
Truly, William never thought he’d know what the splitting of one’s own skull feels like— but as he has quickly learned, life, tragically, is never what one wants it to be.
At first he did not even register that anything even happened. He felt himself being pushed and a heard cracking noise somewhere outside of his body. A sharp thump of pain followed by a strange sense of being jolted out of the world entirely. Everything in his vision was nothing but vague shapes, with darkness lingering on the edges. A terrible ringing started in his ears. He was so caught off guard by the overwhelming disorientation, that his mind drifted away from the events happening within room. The only sensations being the heave of his breathing and the thrum of his heart. It was almost peaceful.
But this only lasted for a few seconds. The shock wore off, and as the room around him began to take form once more, his initial reaction was to try and get up off of the floor. But this only proved to be increasingly difficult as he was then met with the most torturous headache he has ever felt in his life, paired with a dizziness so all encompassing he could only manage to sit up against the pillar he was already slumped against. Anything more and he fears he may fall off of the edge of the world.
From William was sitting, he saw the tall figure bend over Elizabeth, lifting her into his arms. Her dress, ethereal and voluminous, was stained with red at her abdomen— like a dove that had been pierced by an arrow. Beautiful, cascading red hair fell over her shoulders while she was cradled tenderly in the being’s arms.
William longed to stand up, see for himself if she was okay. To put his palm over the source of the spreading red spot in her body. This figure bore her in his arms with such love, he wished to do the same, and weep if her wellness is not to be so. If she was to die. But as much as he desired this, he already knew that lifting himself to his feet was impossible.
He choked, wanted to call out to her. Say anything to her as he saw the crowd of men part and the being slowly stride away with her in tow.
“Elizabeth…” William managed out, though the word was not as strong as he wanted it to be. The syllables were whispered so quietly on his lips, in fact, that he half believed he only imagined saying it.
As he, too, imagined all of the things that he would say if he had the strength to as he watched her angelic figure departed from the room. Elizabeth! He wanted to beckon, Don’t leave me. We were supposed to be wed today. I cannot stand at the altar alone. I cannot start this new life with no one here beside me. Please don’t leave me here alone.
William’s shoulder felt damp and warm.
He wanted to tell Elizabeth how beautiful she looked in her wedding dress. This was the first time he ever saw her in the gown, his heartstrings were rung tight in his chest. Oh, how William wished he had the breath to weep! She would have made such a lovely bride.
The relentless spinning in William’s head merged into thoughts and images of the two of them spinning around together. Twirling inside a grand space that was much bigger than the head in which his brain was trapped in at the moment. The two of them, they are dancing. He has, indeed, missed so many opportunities to dance with her, and he now yearned endlessly for it. The visual that painted itself in his mind, they are already wed, and in their first dance as husband and wife, they would sway and spin as one on the ballroom floor. They allow their hearts to beat within the same rhythm. Like two elegant white butterflies fluttering in the moonlight, her dress flowing as she turns, spreading out into a blurred shape, that of a white rose. Around and around they go, he can feel it so vividly. I love you, he wants to say, I love you more than anyone. You are my good sense. You are my faith. You are what makes my spirit light. You are my joy, the art in my soul that paints a portrait of a new and brilliant life. You are every flower I have planted and hope to grow. My heart sings for you. Come back to me, my dear Elizabeth. Come back to me…
They spun. They spun and spun until the room was a blur and they were the one’s standing still. They spun until he felt he would be sick upon himself. Until… he felt a soft red drop leak out of his nose.
With what little effort he could muster he glanced downwards. A small speck of crimson had fallen onto his white dress pants. And he could tell from the metallic scent in his nasal passage, and the sticky sensation that gathered at his lip— his nose was bleeding. The droplet was followed very soon by another— this time it was not from his nose but from his hairline.
The red on white brought his thoughts back to Elizabeth once more. Her dress, was as pure white as any maids and no less untarnished… if it weren’t for the great pool of blood spreading across it. He remembers her scream. The gunshot. The tall being carrying her off. William’s delirious mind cobbled together pieces of a grim puzzle together to form a whole.
Elizabeth is going to die.
The thought sinks in so suddenly. The dream of them dancing together has vanished, leaving something bitter and despairing in its wake. Was this truly his wedding day? This one day without fear. This day of love and safety. This was the start of his happiest days?
It was as if his life were fine china, which fell from the shelf when he wasn’t looking.
You cannot die, Elizabeth. He thinks, We are being wed today.
If he could laugh he, would have let out a bittersweet one at his own delirium.
Another heavy drop of blood falls from his forehead to his white clothes.
And what a fine couple we should be. He muses, Standing at the altar. The bride, her dress stained in red, the groom, bleeding from the head. The white of our attire befitting our complexion. Two ghosts, two well dressed corpses. We are now no more cadavers on a mortician’s table than we are a handsome couple. The wedding guests will look upon us and lament, ‘What a tragedy is your matrimony, dear William Frankenstein! For we did not know the steeple that holds your love also houses your grave.’ Oh Elizabeth, my dear! May the flowers we lie in smell ever sweeter and may you find comfort in the insects that pick at our bodies. Such sorrow it is I will not be able to bid you farewell before I, too, die.
That’s what it was, wasn’t it? He was dying.
The idea should scare him, really. But it doesn’t. It seemed right. There was no other logical explanation for the feeling overwhelming his body in this moment. It was death, who had placed her gentle kiss upon his brow and had come to claim him. And fighting against it was not in his heart, it simply felt like the next step forward as he feels the blood pool down from his skull to his shoulder like a broken eggshell.
Perhaps this wedding, this normalcy that he had hoped for… it wasn’t for him. After all, he was an infant that was born in the wake of his mother dying. He is very lucky to have survived that, as most infants lay down with their mother if she dies bringing them into the world. Maybe he was just simply a stubborn babe. I did not get to live life, yet! He could hear his infant soul saying, Let me live life for a little while longer, and then I shall come back.
Well now, he was ready for all of this to be over. Ready for heaven to welcome him home. His life has been a conglomeration of both contentment and doom— and certainly not a long one— but at the very least he lived it. That is more than he could ever ask for.
However out of the fog he heard a voice. William knew exactly who it was before he lifted his eyes.
“William!” Victor’s voice called as he kneeled down next to his brother.
William’s eyes drifted closed again for a moment more, but he could feel Victor’s hands on him, examining him with a medical delicacy. One hand gripped his chin to tilt his head up, the other, brushing aside William’s golden brown locks to feel the sight of the wound. The motion reminded William of how long, exactly, he has been sitting completely still. As even the slightest motion made William’s head feel like it was filled, unnaturally, with liquid, his brain sloshing within the draining skull. The younger brother felt another drip from his nostril as his nasal cavity contained little else but blood. William let out a slight gasp followed by a pained groan as Victor sought to analyze the fatal wound. He didn’t want Victor to do this. Not again. Treat his dying form like an experiment, trying to find solutions. William’s hands reached up to try and tug Victor’s hands away.
“No, let me… I can save you.” Victor says, his voice rushed as if to tell William that this was all for his own good. But William wouldn’t believe that.
“I can save you.” Victor repeats.
“From what?” William managed out quietly and calmly, actually forming a smile at asking Victor this question. From what, indeed? Death? No, no… if he let Victor do that, his older brother would alight his candle once more. Make it his obsession. Stop at nothing to make it happen, no matter the cost. Morality. Sanity. William’s own humanity… William will not become a doomed, cobbled together creation of Victor’s. And he will not let Victor steal his life like that. It was his. And for once he could decide what he wanted to do with it.
“From you?” William whispers, a hand reaching up to cup Victor’s face, looking into his teary eyes. He pities Victor, he really does. He has never seen Victor show emotion such as this, and even now, lying in his older brother’s arms, William wishes only for them to hug one last time. He is reminded that they are brothers, and he hasn’t felt that way for so long.
But as much as he loved Victor… William would be damned if he spent his last moments pitying the brother who has burnt his life to ash.
William continues, “I fear you, Victor... I always have.”
His older brother lets out a slight desperate noise, “No, no…” he says, as if sensing William was bidding his final goodbyes, begging him to just let him save him. Victor wanted to fix everything. He wanted to put William back together again… William wouldn’t let that happen.
Victor was shaking, breathing short, a trembling hand coming up to the side of his younger brother’s face, stroking it comfortingly. Patting it like he used to. Though whether the comfort was meant for William or for Victor himself, the line is increasingly obscured. Much like William’s ability to focus on the details of Victor’s face.
William spoke, his words level, though he struggled to stay audible as his breaths grew few, “Every ounce of madness and destruction… The very conflagration that devoured… everything. It all came from you.”
These words dug deep and hurt as much as they needed to. Victor took a deep breath, shuddering a sob as he shook his head for a moment, eyes locking onto William’s fading ones. Though he does not say anything, Victor seems to know this is true. It wasn’t the world, his morbid creation, nor the cruel hand of death. Nobody else has dealt the destruction of this life but he who sought to control it and have it for his own. It was Victor. It was always Victor.
Will Frankenstein could feel his attachment to the living world grow fainter. And in this moment he thought of what he should say as he dies in his brother’s arms? Such a lifetime of misery and insanity, not enough time to atone for it. He looked into his brother’s fearful gaze, the hopeless way that he caressed the sides of William’s face.
William almost wants to tell Victor that he forgives him… that isn’t true, is it?
After a moment of silence, the dying brother looks into Victor’s eyes, muttering in finality, “… you are the monster.”
Pain, the spinning in his head, and the burdening weight of his body, all of it was gone. Victor is gone.
A blanket of the silent, final sleep drapes over William Frankenstein.
Victor still doesn’t let himself weep openly, but this is the first time in many years when he gets very close to. He cradled William’s head in his arms, continuing his soothing motions. He does not know whether he is trying to lull William peacefully to sleep, or gently wake him up. Several tender kisses are placed to William’s brow as if he were trying to syphon love into William to renew life in him. But it does not fix it. Nothing fixes it.
Victor Frankenstein would later be seen by wedding guests running off into the forest with a determined expression and a shotgun. They said a certain fire was lit in those teary eyes, one that mirrored all of the candles on the chandeliers. He was not present for William’s burial, in fact nobody would ever hear from Victor Frankenstein ever again.
But William Frankenstein was buried on the grounds of his childhood home. And despite his rather traumatic death, those who attended the funeral said he looked rather peaceful in his final resting bed. As though death had cradled him into her arms like a mother holding her infant son for the very first time.