Work Text:
8/13/1818
To whom it may concern
It hasn’t crossed my mind how our escape is to be made from the unmoving ice, not anymore. Even through indefatigable efforts and the undoubted will of the men aboard, there was no sign that our last days would be spent in the comfort of our homes, rather than the icy grip of the arctic. And as time passed few things brought me feeling such as writing. The thing that sustained me for so long, let me know I wasn’t truly alone. I knew the risks and I knew them intimately when I set out on this expedition, even in my first letter I made it clear, I might not be back at all, to St Petersburg, to England, to my sweet Margaret.
That never frightened me before, so much as it does now. I find myself swallowing my doubts, forcing them out of sight and mind. Only on the coldest of nights when I am so alone with myself as to be the only man on this earth can I give myself the luxury of fear, sorrow or most shameful tears. What reason have I to weep?
Every time I gaze over my shoulder I flinch, he remains there day and night, feverish, I hear him murmuring names I do not recognize from his story. I know he his hurting more than I could ever imagine, more than he’d ever say aloud. He has become my world, my salvation, my dear Frankenstein. If survival were in the cards I would do it all for him, I feel ashamed, as I know we will not survive this barren land for much longer. But the prospect of seeing him restored to health is worth; at least, trying.
Even close to death, he is not foggy, his mind is clear as his eyes, and what eyes. He looks back at me not so often, when his eyes are open he keeps his forehead pressed to the frosted glass pane by the bed, staring into the storm. Those eyes, downward cast, are so full of thought, and more focused than they should be for a man so sick. I know, and he knows better than I, he’s getting worse. He somehow talks more now, though not at length, but instead offer small crumbs of conversation and gentle queries, I think he means not to be a bother. But that is a voice I could listen to all day and night if he’d allow me, the longest he went on without stopping for breath came in waves. He kept his head down as he shivered and trembled through the tale of his creature, not so much its fabrication, but that most horrible destruction that brought him to me.
I don’t wish that such terrible things should happen to any good man such as him, but I find some small bit of hope that I was the one to find him. But as each day goes by with no progress, I find the need to tell him of my… feelings, necessary, (And I pray I use the term ludicrously) before it is too late. I could not live with myself if I let such a visionary pass this world by, without telling him how much he means to me, even after so short a time. I only hope to set things right. It’s ever so late, I must tend to him.
To the future and what it holds
R. Walton
I set my quill aside, the light of my candle dancing and casting shadows along the back wall of my cabin. My thumb, middle and forefinger press themselves to either temple, they don’t remain long as bring both my hands across my face. A deep exhale wracking my body, though I’d never admit it, my frame ached from the many long nights, each spent at Victor’s bedside. His night terrors had been getting all the worse for weeks, and I’d be there, coaxing him into slumber. I’d been sleeping on the floor beside him, making sure he remained asleep for the duration of the night. Tonight had been a good night, the first one in a while. But I was restless, I couldn’t sleep knowing something might happen.
With the sound of a clatter behind me, I was jolted upright at my desk. Victor was up, standing, he hadn’t been up without my help in weeks. He sounded terribly distressed, calling out frantically. I came to him quickly, setting the candle at his bedside.
He grabbed me by either shoulder, upstarting “Henry! Where is Henry?”. I sighed, putting my hands over his and moving them to clasp at my chest, “You were having a nightmare Victor, there’s nobody here”, this hardly assuaged him. “Let go of me! Let me pass!” He pounded his fist brusquely against my shoulder, upon trying to reach past me he looked terrified rather than angry.
“You don’t understand, Robert please! Let me go!” He went on “You can’t let me stay here, the beast will be here for you! He won’t rest-,”. “That’s enough Victor!”. I never anticipated having to wrestle him into compliance, it felt brutish, but it was a horribly stupid idea to let him leave my quarters in this state. He fought ferociously, pleading, repeating that same name over and again. Henry. Eventually I pressed him back down onto the bed, doing my best not to hurt him, I kept a hand firmly on either wrist, waiting for the thrashing to stop. He began to cease after a long while of intense struggle, throwing his head to the side as he rambled on in an incomprehensible fashion. His unkept hair formed a curtain around his head as his shoulders squirmed, his words began slowing until all I could hear was the choked sound of tears.
“Don’t leave me Robert, please don’t leave.” He whimpered as he began softly hiccuping between each mumbled word. I froze completely in fear and shame, how could I do that to him, he would hardly look at me. “Victor, it’s okay…I promise you, you’re safe.” He shook his head as his sobs grew louder, I loosened my grip, shifting to my side as he curled into himself. “Robert…don’t leave me, don’t go out there again, I beg of you, I can’t bear to see you…y-you.” I gently turned his face to mine, his face was slick and puffy with fresh tears, he was feverishly hot in my hands, and quickly he clung to me. Hugged me tightly in the fresh warmth of the bed. I felt frozen aside from my hands rubbing against his back, he now lay half in my lap as I soothed him.
He croaked, still not finished crying. “Robert…I’m a coward.” “You are no such thing.” My voice carried an unfamiliar bite to it, my hands tightened. “I’ve run for so long and so far, I have lost all that made life bearable.” I tried to calm him, but the words flowed from him like a faucet “Oh god I can’t bear to see you end the way they did, at the hands of an unholy creation. I am no true creator, all I have created is hell for my own personal dwelling!”.
“Oh how you would’ve loved Geneva, Robert, it was beautiful in the spring. And in the summer when I would return finally from Ingolstadt, to hear the sweet sonnets composed by beautiful Henry, gentle Henry, Loving Henry! Such a love of which I was undeserving, all the years which formed my youth spent in the most serendipitous company, and I repay them all in unchecked misery, sweet death, a mercy! Oh Robert…I miss them so, my darling Elizabeth, and young William! Gone before his eighth year, I dashed the pride and joy of my family to pieces with such a horrid act of creation, and he will not rest until you are dead like all who came before, and any in my name who may follow. Oh god Robert, oh dear god in heaven!”
His whole body shook and trembled between anguished moans, the sound muffled with his head pressed to the hollow of my shoulder. I shivered at the sting of his nails curled into my back, the sensation brought me back to the moment, and without realizing it, my eyes had welled up, already spilling over. His weeping didn’t cease, only softened as he dwarfed any energy or adrenaline to none as all, hot and ruffled in my arms. The only sounds to remain were that of our tears and of his own thudding heartbeat.
Softly now, he murmured “I’m afraid…I don’t want to die Robert…if I did, not now.” My voice caught for a moment before I swallowed the feeling, “Oh Victor, never will harm come to you under my watch, never I promise you that. When we are freed from this desperate land I promise you, there will be bed and board for you. In England…with me.” Even in such a sorrowful state his eyes gleamed with a soft wordless excitement, the light of the moon catching in the deep pools of ink which stared back at me. I foolishly smiled even as tears still slicked my cheeks, he fully faced his head towards mine now, lips trembling, not quite a smile or a frown.
“Robert…I’m so frightened, but…if everything must die, I want to die when you die.” I laughed, soft and sad all at once, he pressed his forehead to mine as we both wept. He wrapped an arm tightly around my neck, the other pressed to my cheek reminding me how warm he’d become. Wordlessly, I pressed my lips tenderly to his forehead, once, twice, thrice. There was a slight taste of salt on my lips, his forehead still covered in a cold sweat. He pulled away slightly to look me in the eye before craning his neck to meet me in the middle, kissing me softly.
That was something I never even dreamed of, his lips were perfectly soft, gently pressed to mine with no insistence. They parted slightly with a soft ‘mhh’, I pulled away just slightly before hugging him tightly, his palms were pressed to my back as we lay together. My body was pressed to the coldness of the window sill, I look just slightly over my shoulder, staring as Victor often did, out into the desolate arctic. I turned back to him as I felt his hand on the back of my head.
I sat up slightly, looking down as he moved to his back, looking up at me. I pulled the down fur blanket up to his shoulders, leaning down to kiss him, before snuffing the light of my candle.