My hands were shaking by the time I read the entry a third time. I turned to another.
She retains nothing of the person she was in life. She has become another creature entirely. I wonder who she will be, what she will be like. Already I have glimpsed gentleness and kindness, but these may be attributed to her childlike innocence. Is it too much to hope that there is goodness in her? Can these hands give life to anything good? I will have to give her a name soon.
I hesitated and flipped one of the more recent entries.
Persephone is learning faster than I anticipated. Her new eyes function perfectly. She appears to require very little in the way of nutrition, and is able to go without rest for long periods of time without exhaustion. Her intelligence, senses, and physical strength have been amplified to preternatural levels. I do not know if they equal her counterpart, but they already surpass anything she knew in her former life. Her dyslexia has vanished, replaced by a thirst for knowledge that rivals my own.
The older entries were even more disturbing, containing a mixture of anatomical sketches, scientific and mathematic formulas and calculations, and Victor’s comments on his experiments. With each entry, the truth became clearer and clearer, until at last I hurled the journal across the room and ran down the stairs, desiring to get as far from the attic as my legs would take me.
I came to rest in the cemetery, among the graves. I looked upon the broken and faded tombstones, finally aware of my true nature. Beneath the dirt lay the dead. My kin.
This was where Victor found me, hours later when he returned home. “I saw the laboratory. I know you read my journal.”
I didn’t answer him. I kept my eyes closed, feeling the caress of the wind on my lifeless skin.
“Persephone?”
I looked at him, full of anguish. “What did you do to me?”
“I always knew this day would come,” he said quietly.
Suddenly, I understood why he had me read the story of Lazarus. Victor had been preparing me for this moment, even then. “You dug me out of the ground,” I said, unable to suppress the flurry of emotions, “like one of the corpses buried under our feet. You turned me into some…thing. Why?” Victor remained quiet. “Tell me!” I shouted. It was the first time I had been angry with Victor, and I was furious.
Victor nodded and bowed his head. “I was seventeen when my mother died. Her name was Caroline. You would have liked her. She was a special person—like you.” He smiled, as if the mere mention of her caused him to despite himself.
“There is no one like me,” I answered.
“My mother died of scarlet fever,” Victor said, and his smile died on his face. “It was an ugly, painful death. She meant the world to me, and then she was gone, like the flicker of a candle.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” I paused, my anger abating. Until this point, Victor had revealed very little of his past to me.
“Her death changed everything for me. What good is life if it must end? Is it the destiny of everyone who lives to suffer and die—to pass on and fade from memory, as if we had never lived in the first place?” His voice grew firm and passionate. “I set aside all my pursuits and interests in the search of one goal: the mastery of life over death.”
“You wanted to bring her back,” I said sadly. For the first time it occurred to me that for all his achievements, Victor was really just a grieving boy who had lost his mother.
He shook his head. “It was too late for my mother, but I was determined to unlock the secrets of life and death. I wanted to learn to stop death entirely, and to raise the dead and restore them to life. I devoted my life to the study of medicine and learned everything there was to know about the human body, until at last I discovered how to bestow life upon nonliving tissue, the first step on the road to immortality.”
“What happened then?” I asked, afraid to know the answer.
“You saw him,” Victor replied. “My monster. I wanted him to be a bridge to a better future, a world free of death and pain.” Victor glanced at one of the shattered tombstones beneath my feet. “Everything that has happened since then has been the result of that endeavor.”
“Then I am like that creature?” I asked, terrified by the prospect. “A monster. Is that what you made me?”
Victor shook his head vigorously. “No, Persephone. You’re not a monster. You’re nothing like him. I believe it with everything in me.”
The memory of that terrible night returned, unbidden, its implications more apparent than ever before. “You told him to take me away with him, away from here—away from you.” I was certain that like the creature, I too had disappointed Victor, and now he would cast me aside. “You don’t want me anymore.”
Victor appeared stunned by my words. “That’s not true, Persephone. Watching the way you see the world has been nothing short of breathtaking. You’ve brought light back to my life, when all I saw was darkness. I might have restored you to life, but it’s your choice what you do with it. If you want to leave, I won’t stand in your way. But if you stay, I promise you that I will never abandon you.”
My heart softened at his words. I took a step forward, and another, until I closed the gap between us. Before he could say another word, I hugged him to me. Victor was startled at first, but gave himself over to the tender embrace.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said.
We were both wrong.
Again the weather turned cold under winter’s grip. Though the rains had stilled, the skies remained dreary and bleak. The sun showed itself less and less as night’s dominion spread. It was difficult to see anything through the dense mist that rose from the sea and hung over the estate like a shroud.
We spent much of the ensuing days confined inside the cottage, where even the warmth of the hearth provided a trivial reprieve from the icy temperatures. We emerged only to gather firewood or tend to the horses. When our supply of wood ran thin, I outpaced Victor in chopping new logs, thanks to the benefit of my augmented strength. I was also largely immune to the effects of the cold that Victor seemed to find intolerable, though he never said as much aloud.
Our lessons took a new turn. Since I had mastered the subjects Victor selected for my study, I now began to learn how to function and behave in polite society. Having known only my creator over the short course of my new life, the norms of social interaction were completely foreign to me. Victor knew I had my heart set on visiting the village beyond our cottage. He told me he wanted to make sure I was ready to stand independently of him before I did so. The prospect of seeing the outside world for myself filled me with more excitement than ever before. I think we were both looking forward to escaping our confinement.
Things had changed between the two of us. We now found ourselves on more of an even footing. I had always been mindful of the influence Victor held over me, but I began to perceive that I had an effect on him as well. After our conversation in the cemetery, he appeared more comfortable sharing information about himself with me. I asked him about his youth, and he told me about his happy childhood growing up in Geneva, and of its awe-inspiring mountains and lakes. He described his ancestral home, a castle his family had lived in for generations. Victor spoke often of his mother, and it was clear the impact her death had on him—a scar that had never truly healed.
I eagerly savored each new detail that further pulled back the curtain on the man who had given me life. It became clear to me in ways it hadn’t before that for all his gifts, Victor was a considerably unhappy man, though he took pains to hide it from me. The woeful tale of his murderous first creation explained his feelings of guilt and despair in part, but I couldn’t help feeling there remained something of the story he had not told me. I found myself wanting to repair the damage to his soul and make it whole again, to make him happy, as I was happy.
We often remained in the sitting room for hours, sometimes without saying a word for long stretches of time. Victor was always hard at work on some project or another, an
d when I was not sketching, my nose could safely be found buried in a book. There was one such volume I treasured above all others. Its pages were yellowed with age, its cover worn from use. The book was quite unlike the other books lining Victor’s shelves—a fairytale involving a heroic knight, a beautiful princess, and a monstrous dragon.
I must have read the story a dozen times or more. The characters stirred something in my imagination, a new emotion I had not felt before. Aside from a few allusions in the small number of poetry volumes among the bookshelves, the fairytale was my first exposure to the concept of romantic love. I wondered what it would be like to love someone and to be loved in return. My thoughts on the subject nearly always turned to Victor, the only man I had truly known during my short existence. I sometimes pictured us in place of the characters in the fairy tale.
When I pictured what it would be like to be kissed by him, I felt a strange, disconcerting sensation in the pit of my stomach, as if all the gravity had gone out of the room. Was I falling in love with Victor? Was he even capable of returning my feelings, when there was no indication he saw me as anything other than his creation? These unfamiliar, budding sensations left me troubled and confused. I struggled in vain with these sentiments for a time. Though I desired to tell Victor about what I was experiencing, doing so risked changing everything between us, and the life we shared at the cottage was a happy one. What if I told him how I felt, and he rejected me? Everything would change.
Finally, I could bear it no longer, and I gathered my courage to approach Victor. The hour was late, but he was still awake. I found him inside his study, seated at his desk with his back turned to me. It was deathly quiet. Moonlight spilled into the cottage through the windows. Candles burned softly, casting the room in a somber tone. Victor was staring again at the pocket watch, holding it gently like a sacred work of art. As I approached, I noticed that there was a picture of someone folded inside the open cover. Even with my keen eyesight, the outline was barely discernible in the dim light. It was a picture of a young woman, Victor’s mother perhaps. Before I got a closer look, Victor noticed me and snapped the watch shut.
“Persephone,” he said quickly. He sounded guilty, like a child caught misbehaving. “It’s late. You should be resting.”
I laughed to set him at ease. “I require precious little sleep these days, as you well know.” Victor stood and I peered into his eyes through the darkness, across the small distance between us. Amid the stillness, I could almost hear his heartbeat racing. I took a step toward him, and he retreated.
“Victor,” I said softly, uncertain what to say. The gap between us suddenly seemed an immense gulf, though we stood mere inches apart.
“Persephone, there’s something you should know.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What is it?” He was clearly wrestling with something, as was I. Did he feel the same way I did, or was it something else?
He looked away, unable to meet my gaze, and a hush came over the room. “Another time, perhaps.”
I followed his gaze to the bookshelf, seeking to break the awkward silence. “What are we to learn tomorrow?” I traced the volumes with my finger, wondering which book he would next select for me.
Victor shook his head. “Your lessons are over. There’s little more I have to teach you.”
The weight of the words struck me like a blow. I felt a great sadness within me, a premonition of some inevitable tragedy yet to come. “You can’t be serious. Look at all the books left unread.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Then read them. You no longer need me for that. I wanted to teach you how to learn for yourself—to think freely, with your own mind, your own personality. I wanted to give you a chance.” A chance at what, he did not say. Victor rested his hands on my shoulders and offered a brave smile. “Don’t look so sad. You’ve surpassed all my expectations, beyond my wildest hopes.”
“Victor, why does this sound like you’re saying farewell?”
He framed my face with his hand, and the familiar look of sadness was there again. “I’ve made many mistakes—more than I care to admit—but you’re not one of them. With you, I finally did something right.” He hesitated and kissed my forehead before releasing me. “Get some rest, Persephone. Tomorrow, I’m taking you to the village. It’s time to show you the world outside this cottage.”
I nearly gasped, overcome by a rush of emotions. I was about to get my wish. If only I had known how dearly it would cost me.
Chapter Six
Victor arranged for a carriage to deliver us to town. We were to have supper with his friend Henry in the tavern where he was staying, and then we would explore the village under the cover of evening to avoid attracting unwanted attention. This was to be my introduction to human civilization, and Victor was determined that it should go as smoothly as possible. I wasn’t nearly as concerned, since he would be with me the whole time. Besides, I was far too eager, having dreamed of such an occasion for so long. I understood too little of the world to fear it, having with few exceptions known mostly kindness.
Morning seemed to last an eternity. I sat in the parlor, staring out the window, willing the time to pass by. Unable to stand waiting, I busied myself by helping Victor with chores until noon. After lunch, I attempted to pass the time reading yet again from my favorite story, but all attempts to concentrate were futile, and after reading the same page several times over, I set the book aside and decided it was time to prepare myself for the evening. I tried on several dresses from the selection Henry had brought with him, wanting to look my best for the occasion.
“Persephone!” Victor’s voice carried through the cottage to my bedroom as evening set in. “The carriage has arrived.”
I studied myself in the mirror a final time, nodded at my reflection, and left the room. Victor was standing in the parlor, wearing a frock coat over his vest. He carried a black top hat in his hands. He stiffened when he saw me coming down the stairs, fiddling with his pocket watch as his gaze passed over me.
“What’s the matter?” I asked with a good-natured laugh, my hand resting on the handrail.
“You,” he said slowly, as if at a loss for words, like he was noticing me for the first time. “You look stunning. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so beautiful.”
My smile widened at the compliment. “You’re very kind.” I wore a simple white dress, a matching scarf, arm-length gloves, and a pair of buttoned-up brown boots. My hair was fixed in a bun.
“Well then, shall we be off?”
“We shall,” I replied happily.
Victor bowed and opened the front door, where a horse-drawn carriage waited outside. The horses neighed skittishly as we approached, but their reactions to my presence seemed diminished by the blinders they wore, and by the bridles holding them in place. The coachman helped us into the carriage before shutting the door and returning to his post. Moments later, we were off along the familiar trail that ran through the forest. I pressed my face against the window, observing the trees go by in eager anticipation. For his part, Victor sat back, folded his arms across his chest, and watched me contentedly.
It was another somber, gray day, but not nearly enough to dampen my spirits. Before long, the town materialized below the hills. Loch Aberfrey, as it was called, was a remote fishing village off the Scottish mainland, nestled against the water. A tall, uneven fieldstone wall encircled the village, covered in overgrowth and vines. The buildings were all packed tightly together; the businesses were concentrated in the center of town, while private homes were scattered farther out. The carriage rattled over the arched bridge leading through the gate that led into town, and from the window I saw green hills above as far as the eye could see, so tall they practically touched the wispy clouds. Aside from cobblestone streets running through town, the ground was covered by grassy earth.
“Let us out,” Victor said. He struck the roof loudly with his fist, and when the carriage pulled to a standstill, he climbed out and helped me down from t
he carriage. He rummaged through his pockets, handed the coachman some coins, and the carriage pulled away. “Well?” he asked, studying me carefully. “What do you think?”
I could hardly speak. It was the most wonderful moment of my life. Everywhere I looked, there was a new marvel to behold. Even the simplest occurrence of village life was foreign to me. A lively melody carried through the streets from a group of musicians near the heart of the village. The market was crowded with tradesmen of all kinds: butchers, bakers, tailors, smiths, grocers, and more. I smiled at the children who ran past me without saying a word, lost in a game of some sort. There were so many new faces, so many people in one place; men and women of every conceivable age, size, hair color, and dress. It was everything I dreamed of and more.
“It’s wonderful,” I said, utterly mesmerized. I squeezed his arm. “Perfect.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re pleased.”
We walked arm-in-arm along the road, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of the village. After a time, we came to a tall brick building with shuttered windows, spitting out thick black smoke from a wide chimney. A tattered banner hung over the entrance. The Seaside Inn, it read.
“Here we are,” Victor said. “Henry will be waiting inside.”
It was crowded inside, and loud. The tavern appeared deceptively larger within; a wide, dimly lit hall expanded around us in all directions. A sizable stone hearth burned near the wall to my left. Candles lit each of the tables scattered within the hall. Whiskey barrels were stacked in the corners of the room, partially hidden in the shadows.
Victor’s friend Henry was seated at one of the tables, waiting for us. He stood quickly when he saw me, nearly tipping over his chair in the process. Like Victor earlier, he seemed stunned by my appearance, but unlike Victor, uneasy—even fearful. He stared at me, unable to pry his eyes away from my face while reluctantly shaking hands with Victor.
Bride Page 7
