𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐄𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 | 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄
Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist
Chapter Summary: While your father spirals into madness, Heinrich throws you an 18th Birthday Party.
Pairing(s): The Creature/Adam Frankenstein x Fem!Frankenstein’s daughter!reader
Warning(s): MDNI!! Slowburn/build, HEAVYY YEARNINGGG BY BOTH PARTIES!!! Descriptions of gore and abuse, disturbing imagery, period-typical sentiments, future chapters contain smut, a problematic and high-key emotionally abusive father-daughter relationship, read the hashtags for the rest!!
Word Count: 3.4k
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Your fathers stress was starting to become your own, endless months full of manic scribbling and frantic dissecting making it hard to keep the sense of peace you tried to create. He was jumping from place to place, barely in front of you for a moment before he was visiting the craftsmen Heinrich hired or sequestered upstairs poking and prodding the corpse he had displayed on his main table. You remembered vividly when he first hauled in the nearly complete body of a man, the lower half of the cadaver’s face ripped away leaving crimson fibres clinging to the upper jaw-bone.
“Help me, Y/n—” He wheezed from the bottom of the stairs, and you blinked a few times before you let out a heavy sigh. He had the corpse wrapped in blankets for the decency of transport, but they did nothing to help him get the body up to his workshop.
“Let me put on my apron, father. Wait there.” You had grumbled, having been interrupted from stealing one of his wax anatomical figures. You aided your father in bringing the man upstairs, placing him belly-flat onto the table so that your father could force the body into the fetal position, exposing the corpse’s back and nothing else when he removed the final blanket. You had watched your father cut the man open, watched him peel back layer by layer the skin and musculature that hid the spine. You examined the dried blood crusting on the metal clips that held the peeled anatomy in place, and you allowed yourself to take in the scent of death before you bid your father goodnight.
That body stayed unmoving for weeks, and you saw the way that its lack of energy frustrated your father. He pinpointed areas, sticking silver rods into the corpse, attaching them to his batteries and electrifying the rods—yet nothing. Every time, nothing, nothing, nothing! He would scream into the night, waking you a few times with his fury. You dared not comfort him in moments like that, there was no comforting or reasoning with Victor Frankenstein when he became puppeted by his passions. Your only respite as of late came in the form of your eighteenth birthday party, an event that you had been looking forward to since Heinrich had offered to host once he found out how close the occasion was. His quarters in Edinburgh were far larger than your own, the grand house including a grander ballroom where the party was to be held. It was nearing mid-day, and Heinrich had you prepared in one of his spare rooms, maids helping you into your gown and powdering your face matte. You did not know how to feel about the sudden warmth from Heinrich, but you had no doubt it was his way of encouraging your father to work harder. Look at what I can provide for your daughter, he practically said, look at what I can give you if you behave.
“Y/n, may I enter?” Elizabeth’s calm lilt came from the other side of the door, and you nodded for one of the maids to open it.
“Come,” You permitted, turning from the maid who rouged your lips to face Elizabeth as she entered. She was adorned in a deep mauve gown, purple feathers framing her face in the same way they framed yours. On your birthday you decided to wear your fathers favourite colour; green. You had hoped it would lift his spirits to see you waltz around as a figure of natural inclinations, not dissimilar to the forests which surrounded his childhood home. You chose a dark pine-coloured gown, with rich green feathers clipped to your crown that tickled the edge of your jaw when you moved your head, your hair tamed into a bun of braided beauty. The only thing that did not change was your mothers choker securely fastened above the hollow of your throat.
“Eighteen is a very exciting age to be.” Elizabeth reminisced, keeping her hands hidden behind her back.
“Indeed. I am a true woman of society on this day, like you.” You smiled sheepishly, standing from where the maids had you sat by the room’s vanity. Elizabeth came upon you, admiring your visage before she flicked her wrist towards the maids.
“Leave us, please, she is perfect.” Elizabeth smiled, and the sincerity in her voice might have made you cry if you had the sensibility. The maids curtsied swiftly, not wanting to earn the ire of their master's niece, leaving you and Elizabeth alone.
“I have a gift for you.” She grinned wider, revealing from behind her back a caged butterfly knocking on the glass of its prison. Its colours were beautiful, blue and black intertwining in a never ending pattern on the creature's wings.
“Oh, she is beautiful.” You gasped, caressing the glass lightly to get a reaction out of the insect.
“As are you. When your father and I went to the botanical gardens we caught this one, as well as one I have in my own room. Now we will forever be connected by them.” She placed the small enclosure in your waiting hands, and your brows furrowed for only a moment.
“You and my father?” You questioned absentmindedly, placing the butterfly down on the vanity. You would return to collect her once the party concluded.
“Yes, on that day you could not come, when you were ill, but I took it as an opportunity.” Elizabeth reminded giddily, and you bit your tongue despite having no recollection of ever being ill nor asked to go with them.
“Yes, yes of course..” You swallowed, and at that moment there was another knock on the door, this one far more brash than Elizabeth’s had been.
“Y/n, are you in there?” Your fathers baritone came muffled, and you broke away from Elizabeth, opening the door to see your father tapping his foot impatiently. When he saw you, however, his entire demeanor changed.
“My god, Ambraselle…” He breathed, the comment escaping him before he had time to think better of it.
“Father…?” You blinked, bringing Victor out of his momentary shock. He pulled you into a hug, kissing both of your cheeks with a laugh.
“You are the most stunning young lady I have ever seen, you are breathtaking tonight my girl. I don’t know how your debut will top this.” His fingers ghosted over the feathers in your hair, and he offered you his arm.
“Shall we?” He proposed, and you looked back to Elizabeth, who made a shooing motion for you to leave. You smiled gratefully, and allowed for your father to lead you down the hall and through a few doorways until you ended up at the entrance to the ballroom.
“Why was Elizabeth visiting your room?” Your father questioned innocently. You held up your free hand to the servants who went to open the double-doors, stopping them in place.
“To give me a birthday present…a butterfly, from the botanical gardens.” You craned your neck to look at your father, and you saw him grow stiff.
“A butterfly, how quaint.” He muttered, glancing between you and the doors.
“Indeed. She told me that the two of you caught it together, when I was conveniently ill and unable to join you.” Your accusatory tone made your father reach to readjust his cravat.
“How…uhm—strange.” Victor cleared his throat.
“I see her resemblance to my mother in her disposition, do not think me a fool, father.” You turned to look at the doors once more.
“However she is to be William’s wife, and as I have had to reconcile with girlish fantasies in the past, so too do you now.” You scolded, and your father wisely held his tongue.
“All I ask is that you are wise with your attitude towards her, please…for me?” You gave him a sidelong glance, and he let out a huff of frustration mixed with shame.
“I would do anything for you, sweet girl.” Victor cracked a small smile, turning you to face him, “I promise there is nothing I am hiding from you, I see Elizabeth the same way I view you.”
You gave him a skeptical look, and he kissed your forehead with a whisper, “I promise.”
You nodded, slowly, before the two of you resumed the proper entrance position. You took a deep breath, signaling to the waiting men that they could open the doors. When they did, a spectacle of light spilled into the hallway, chandeliers and candles bathing the magnificent ballroom in warm yellows and oranges. At least fifty guests made up of your peers at college and Heinrich’s inner circle were mingling, all dressed in their best coats and gowns. When the door opened everyone’s gaze fell on you, and there was silence for a moment before Heinrich cheered, the surrounding party joining him in his jubilation as he nearly skipped over to greet you.
“My dearest Y/n, happy birthday!” He raised your white-gloved hand to his lips, pressing two kisses to your knuckles as the room returned to polite conversation. As he leaned in on his cane you could smell an air of liqueur and aperitifs, the scent emanating off of him in overwhelming waves.
“Thank you, Herr Harlander.” You curtsied, ever the Frankenstein of manners and decorum that your father was not. Victor screwed up his nose, holding you closer by your arm.
“You—” Heinrich snapped his fingers towards a servant by the wall, “a drink for the lady.”
The servant eagerly came up to offer you a flute of champagne from the tray he was holding, bowing his head as he did so. You took it, and when the man offered the same to your father, he declined.
“Milk, for the Baron, please.” Heinrich’s tone was clipped, and the servant nodded rapidly, disappearing to fetch a glass for your father. It had been years since your father drank, years since he would wobble home drowning his sorrows at pubs or crying alone in his study. Your father did not like vices, and alcohol was the worst of all, he had decided. Your uncle came from behind Heinrich, wrapping you in his arms with the sweetest giggle.
“Happy birthday, Y/n.” William patted your shoulders gently, before his attention was drawn to a figure behind you.
“Excuse me, one moment.” He politely retreated, and from the way his eyes lit up you knew that Elizabeth had made her way back to the party.
“I should make my rounds, it is my birthday, after all. Father, Herr Harlander.” You curtsied to both of them, taking a ginger sip of your bubbling champagne before you floated to greet the nearest guest. Everyone was delighted to see you, some old friends and other new faces equally as excited to indulge in the event dedicated to your birth.
“Miss Frankenstein, may I have this dance?” Your uncle asked when he found you later in the afternoon, the band Heinrich had hired beginning to play their third waltz.
“Of course, uncle.” You allowed, putting your hand in his and striding into the centre of the ballroom.
“Are you enjoying the festivities?” Your uncle asked when the dance began, twirling you to and fro in an effortless sway.
“Immensely, and you?” You asked in turn.
“More than anything. You know, I remember the first ever painting you did for me.” William reminisced.
“Victor sent it to me with the express note that you had painted the landscape to remind me of where to find you when I came to visit.” He laughed, and you bashfully looked to the side.
“It still hangs in my home in Vienna, you know.” He confessed, and you looked up at him with wide eyes.
“You must let me paint you a new one! I cannot allow for the company you keep to think that is what I am capable of today.” You insisted, and William chuckled.
“Whatever you desire on your birthday, my dear, you shall get.” He acquiesced as the melody came to a close.
“Thank you, uncle. What I want most of all now, is the lady’s room. Excuse me.” You curtsied, and he bowed his farewell. You found yourself taking a brief moment alone in the toilet, checking that your lips had not smudged and that your hair was still in place before you went back out into the party. As you were walking through the hallway someone called your name, and you turned to see Heinrich approaching from further down, no doubt finishing a personal trip of his own.
“Y/n!” He grinned, his gray-green eyes hooded.
“Herr Harlander,” You curtsied, the practiced motion second nature tonight, “Thank you once again for hosting this party. It is most generous of you.”
“It is no bother, the war swings in my favour as of late so money is no issue.” He waved his cane loosely, eyes trailing over the feathers that perched stiff beside your cheeks.
“You are so beautiful, Miss Frankenstein, it is a wonder you have not been offered in marriage…” Heinrich hummed, his hand finding its way to your face, toying with a loose curl that had been misplaced from the careful style you sat for earlier that morning.
“My father says it is unseemly to think of marriage before I have been presented to Her Majesty at my debut.” You gave him a lilting smile, eyes flickering back to the entrance of the ballroom, only a few steps away.
“You have yet to debut? A girl as well bred as yourself, I find that hard to believe.” Heinrich chuckled, bringing his hand back down to his side.
“Herr Harlander, I have no female relatives and my governess was dismissed when I was thirteen, it has been…” You hesitated, “difficult for my father to make time for me as of late. I expected my debut to be later than most other girls.”
“Nonsense, I shall arrange everything for you my dear, we are to be family as it were, and I cannot allow a girl of mine be kept from her rightful place in society.” Heinrich assured, waving his gloved hand with an air of arrogance.
“I was there for Elizabeth's debut, in fact I orchestrated the match between her and William after they were acquainted at the debutante ball.” Heinrich offered you his arm, and you took it with a gracious smile.
“I could not accept such a lavish gesture, Herr Harlander. You have already given me so much in this celebration, and I could never repay you.” You rejected gently, but Heinrich only shook his head.
“Do not worry about repayments or debts, consider this promise my birthday gift to you, my darling.” He insisted as the two of you reentered the ballroom. The rest of your party was well spent, a cake two tiers high being brought out for you to cut and share with your guests to a sea of, “Happy Birthday!”
That evening when you went to bed you were the happiest you had ever been, floating on clouds to your dreams with symphonies playing in your head. That was until you were forced awake by a loud noise, the smashing of glass and pained shout of your father jolting you up in bed.
“Father?” You called, heart skipping two beats at a time. When you received no answer you fled to the hall, grabbing a candelabrum that rested on a nearby table and sprinting upstairs to your fathers workspace. When you reached the top of the stairs you saw the outline of your father, kneeling beside the corpse with shaky, bloodied hands. Beside him was something that had broken, or perhaps been broken by him, glass shards dripping with crimson. You ran to him, appearing by his side and placing the candelabrum down on the dissection table, reaching to bring his face up to you.
“Father…?” You gasped, feeling his arms tighten around you as he launched himself up, keeping your stomach rigid to his face and chest while his arms were steady around your waist.
“I am failing, Ambraselle.” He mumbled into your naval, and you could smell the iron of blood soaking into your nightgown.
“Failing at what?” You breathed, in a state of shock from how weak your father appeared. You had seen him in certain states of delirium, confusion—but not like this, never like this.
“Doing what I promised for you, for us. I know I can do it, I know I can!” He whined, sweat-slick curls sticking to the back of his neck.
“I…” You did not know what to say, settling for petting the crown of his head.
“I cannot live forever, I cannot…I cannot…” Victor whimpered, and you took a shaky breath as you pulled his arms off of you.
“Father, you must wash and go to bed. Now.” You ordered gently, helping him to his feet. His eyes, unfocused and blurred, honed in on you all at once. It was as if the rope that held his mind together snapped back into place, Victor looking sharply from the cadaver back to you.
“Good God, Y/n. I was just, I was…” He motioned, and you shook your head, going behind him to untie the apron he wore.
“Save your energy father, you are tired. You have worked too hard on this night.” You dismissed, tossing his apron on a nearby chair.
“Come, let me treat your hands, I will clean this up in the morning.” You comforted, leading him to sit by the fireplace. You went to his workstation, gathering a cloth which you wet alongside bandages. When you sat back down Victor was staring straight at the fire, holding his palms up so that he did not get anymore blood on himself.
“You look so much like her it scares me, you know.” He began once you started to gently wipe away the blood, “Sometimes when I look at you I think I’m seeing a ghost.”
“I know, father. I’m sorry.” You swallowed. As you cleaned away the initial bleed you saw that the cuts were not deep, two shallow slashes on his left palm and one on his right.
“Sorry? You have nothing to be sorry for, I only wish that you could have met her.” Your father teared his eyes away from the fire, watching your hands work on his instead.
“She was a force of nature, your mother—supernatural, some whispered.” Victor chuckled, wincing as you wrapped the bandages around the wounds.
“My Lady of Hearts…” He trailed off, and you secured the bandages.
“You’ve never told me how she earned that title, ‘Lady of Hearts.’” You sat back, assessing the damage to your nightgown. The splotches were extensive, but you had experienced enough menstruations to know how to deal with blood stains.
“There is not much of a story to tell. She was a mystery to British Society, a beautiful mystery, but still. They saw her wealth, they saw her talents, and they saw her affinity for hearts in her jewelry,” Your father shrugged, flexing his hands open and closed.
“So they decided she must be a lady, and if she is to be a lady she must be the Lady of Hearts. Those of the upper class are not creative with their titles or taunts, sweet girl.” Victor mused. He stood up, and you with him.
“And what were you? Her Lord of Hearts?” You teased, walking with him to the staircase, careful to avoid the mess he made.
“Oh, no, no. The title of Baron was enough for them to quiet their tongues.” He smirked, taking one last glance to his corpse, the dead man still stagnant.
“Hm…” He huffed, turning to head down the stairs. You made sure he was well before he went to bathe, then you changed out of your nightgown, throwing it to the corner of your room to be dealt with later. You wet a cloth and wiped yourself but did nothing more, slipping on another shift and climbing back into bed. You did not mind the scent of blood as some did, you found it oddly comforting—the same way you found the night to bring you peace.
You reached for your nightstand, picking up your mothers choker that you had taken off a few hours earlier. You flipped it around in your grasp, feeling precious stone cool your fingertips.
“Goodnight, mother.” You whispered, closing your eyes and drifting back into a dreamless sleep.
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Miss Frankenstein’s 18th Birthday Portrait, Circa 1855
A/N: Linked above is art I made for Y/n’s 18th Birthday dress if you are interested!! Hope you’re having a wonderful day/night wherever you are xoxo
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