Chapter Text
The moon hung low in the dark navy sky, its bright, iridescent glow the only symbol of peace in a desolate forest. In the distance, an owl hoots and the winter wind whistles through the branches, signaling the beginning of a nasty, incoming blizzard.
The Creature walks along the forest clearing, his rough, large hand grasping the handle of a broken wicker basket he borrowed from a nearby village. He stops by a berry bush and picks from it the last remaining blueberries that seem to cling to the dying leaves. He examines the berries carefully, determining that they are, for one, safe to ingest and not too damaged from the weathering of the winter season. With not much choice, and realizing they are safe to consume, he plops a few into his basket and meanders further along the clearing.
Two months have passed since The Creature reacquainted with his prideful father and allowed forgiveness to pass between them on the base of a Danish ship stuck in the Arctic Circle. Two months since Victor’s death, where he had told his begotten son that as long as he’s alive, he should allow himself to live.
Surviving was hard, but The Creature found that living was much harder. He hadn’t the slightest inkling on how he should live, or what to make out of this so called life he suddenly had firm control over. Should he return to Edinburgh where he was “born,” or travel to Geneva where Victor was raised? Should he flee into the Swiss Mountains or remain stuck near the Arctic Circle, a place where his Father’s soul lay permanently at rest? These thoughts stained his waking mind repeatedly, plaguing his dreams and absent excuse for a soul.
For the most part, The Creature had been following the rising sun, for that is what his Father, Victor, had told him when he was newly born. “Sun is life.”
The Creature, although still unsure of where he should settle his earthly body, decided that he would currently follow the sun whenever it rose in the sky. As long as he could feel the warm heat off of the big, orange ball nestled in the heavens that created light, he would always be guided by something beautiful.
However, the sun had since fallen and, in its place, lay a figure that filled The Creature’s stitched body with a sense of melancholy. The moon, a figure meant to illuminate the earth with subtle light and emit beauty for weary travelers as they lay their heads to rest after a long, grueling day of work, shone down on him like a weighted blanket.
How grossly quaint and lonely the moon made him feel. How, even in its beauty, did it only remind the poor wretch of how he can never shuffle off this mortal coil many men called life. Death, meant to be the infinite release of pain, was never to be in his possession.
The Creature glances away from the moon’s luminous glow and re-focuses his attention back to the route ahead. Snow crunches loudly under his large feet as he advances down a hollow trail clearing, barely visible by the light of the lonesome moon above. The Creature curses at himself for choosing a path so devoid of light, but continues onward, for now the wind is beginning to howl instead of whistle, and he feels that whatever the world is about to endure, it would be wise to stay sheltered from it.
Eventually, The Creatures arrives upon a clearing with a small stream now frozen over with ice. After chasing Victor to the Danish ship, The Horisont, and learning, quite quickly, that ice is slippery, The Creature doesn’t dare step a foot over the frozen water. Instead, he decides to walk along the river’s edge until something peculiar catches his eye. He notices, not too far from where he is standing along the pond’s edge, a couple of Arctic foxes huddling around a thin tree. He watches as the little critters stick their noses into what appears to be a thick bush, and hop around gaily as if they are playing some sort of game.
The Creature lifts the oversized hood that sits over his head and quickly realizes that the small bush is not actually bush at all, but a heap of cloth. Curious, he moves to investigate further until he’s directly in front of the bundle of fabrics. The foxes, detecting the larger being’s presence, swiftly flee further into the forest, leaving the suspicious heap of material alone. The Creature’s gaze follows the little beast’s escape route between the trees, but he suddenly grows distracted when the assortment of fabrics move subtly. Somewhat intrigued, The Creature leans closer, arm slightly outstretched, but he stops abruptly when a small hand suddenly emerges from the dark, snow-covered rags. He jumps back instinctively, fear and trauma already written itself into his recycled bones, and shields his face with his other hand.
The hand that emerges from the cloths is small, yet fragile, evidently smaller in diameter than The Creature’s own appendage. The miniature limb almost appears unreal as the thin fingers twist and curl around discolored flesh beaten by the cold wind.
With curiosity always advancing over fear, The Creature’s hand moves away from his face, and he dares a peek at the potential body connected to the small, childlike extremity. He peers down at the tattered rags and meets a pair of eyes, brown and clear, like the eyes of an innocent Robin.
The hand finally moves, causing the cloth that is draping loosely around a peckish, tiny body, to show the face of a small girl, barely conscious. Her soft, weary eyes wrinkle in fear, but her hand remains outstretched as if she is yearning for something comforting.
“A-are you t-the..the Grim Reaper?” She asks, her voice dry and terribly weak as if the poor child hasn’t had a sip of water in days.
The Creature’s eyebrows furrow and he cocks his head to the side in confusion. He watches as the girl’s hand sways helplessly in the air, and answers her question with a voice that is deep and steady.
“No. Not that I am aware of. I’m not even sure I know of that title. Why are you out here alone? It is not safe. Shouldn’t you be with your family?”
The girl’s lips quiver and her eyes appear to be loosing the soul behind them with each passing breath.
“Th-they’re not home. Tried so h-hard to be let in, b-but no..no one..home.” The young girl’s eyes tighten suddenly and a moan escapes her dry, cracked lips.
The Creature leaps forward, without thinking, and grabs for the girl’s hand before it can fall against her weary bones. He stares at her and feels a sense of rage rise inside of his chest.
What kind of monster would abandon their own creation? What kind of parent would leave their child alone in a change of weather such as this?
He feels the child’s fingers grip tightly around his flesh and watches as her face falters from illness to a mixture of curiosity and desperation.
“W-who..are..you? A-are you the a-angel s-sent here..to..to take me..away?”
“Rest assured, I will not harm you,” The Creature exclaims, hating himself for just how fearful he sounds, but also for the thought that he needs to explain himself at all. “It is far to dangerous for such a young soul like yourself to be out here all alone. We need to get you to safety. Will you allow me to help you?”
The child’s eyes soften and she reaches for his face, stroking the piece of cloth that covers the better part of his mouth and cheeks.
“L-let me see you,” she chokes out slowly, attempting to peel back the coverings, but failing miserably. “I w-want to see… the face of the angel..that is to be by my side w-when I.. leave t-this world. I-I’m so..so scared.”
The poor child’s face warps into a horrible expression of sadness and terror, and it causes The Creature’s heart to sink to the bottom of his chest.
“You will not die! I will not allow it!” He exclaims, helping the child rip away the fabric that is protecting his face from the same cold that’s seemingly causing her to lose so much life force. “I am going to help you! I promise! Please, just stay with me, little one!”
The girl smiles warmly as she regards the Creature’s complexion. Her fingers dance around his scars and mismatched skin as her jaw moves to utter another praise.
“I-I knew..that God..would send m-me an angel. Such b-beautiful eyes.”
Suddenly, the girl’s eyes droop slowly and The Creature has to brace himself when he feels her hand slip out from his.
A whimper escapes his throat as he looks over the child fearfully. He’s seen this story unfold before, too many times, and he doesn’t like the ending. However, a hope rises within him that just because he’s seen this tale repeated thrice, doesn’t mean he can’t try and change this unfortunate outcome.
With a sudden fire burning inside his chest, The Creature wastes no time ripping off his wolf-pelted coat and wrapping it around the girl as he cradles her fragile body in his arms. Her head slumps against his broad shoulder and The Creature swears he can smell Elizabeth’s perfume from her wedding night engulf his nostrils in one, gruesome memory. Pairing with this sentiment is his father and the Old Man’s words, now echoing inside his head and combining to form a new mission in his heart.
“I know what you are. A good man. If death is not to be, then consider this, my son. While you are alive, what recourse do you have but to live?”
The Creature stands to his feet, looking at the other poor creature nestled in his embrace.
“Do not worry, little one. I will do everything in my power to see that you survive. I may have lost so many people to the angel of death, but I will not lose you. Please…stay with me.”