anabioun:
the being’s disgusting features writhed downward into a frown. the motion pulled the yellow-brown skin taut over the flesh, nauseatingly picking every vein and muscle out in sharp relief — an effect which the pale light of the moon filtering down through the windows did nothing to soften or lessen. frankenstein’s reply surprised him somewhat: he had expected the man to heap curses and execrations on him for what he, the being, had done, not to imply that he himself was the guilty party. after what i have done. “ i do not come, ” he replied eventually, “ to end your life, frankenstein. our tale is not yet at its end. ”
it is somewhat fortunate that the sigh of relief that escapes my lips goes unnoticed by the both of us. i believe -- rather staunchly -- that to show any sign of vulnerability when faced with an adversary to be the greatest failure of Man. but, then, i must ask myself ... have i already not failed this world enough? had it not failed me, as well? “well,” i begin, taking a singular step forward, grasping in the dark for some manner of seating. i find only the one chair, think of taking it for myself, then offer it to him. i motion for him to sit. “a stillestånd, then?” it pains me to even think of not wringing out what wretched life my Creation must call his own, but I am weak, cold and hungry. i am in no position for conflict. my next words are more like the Victor I left behind, that curious, arrogant youth. “i would think you eager to snuff out my flame -- to finish what you have started with Elizabeth.” her name pains me even more to say, to admit to the world and myself she is no longer here.
