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🫀 Pairings: Victor Frankenstein x female!Reader 🫀
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Diary entries of [Redacted]
Winter arrived bearing its familiar miseries, ushered in by the first fall of snow. The shrill cries of birds reminded me of my own incessantly fluttering heart. The sun had never held much dominion over me, yet its absence seemed to unseal something recondite within my mind. Ordinary days blurred into a state of agonising spite. Ordinary weeks reshaped themselves into a species of private torment. It was ever most unbearable as night drew near.
I dreamt of encountering him again and woke with revulsion clinging to my skin. I recalled the sound of his voice and shook my head in disgust. I traced, with trembling fingers, the very places my flesh still remembered his touch, and shuddered with abhorrence.
My blood coursed thick with a poisonous amalgam of longing, wrath, and melancholy.
It has been three weeks and five days precisely since we last encountered one another. Gossip regarding Baron Frankenstein’s unexpected appearance at the ball my uncle hosted still lingered in the air, more stubborn than smoke. As far as I could ascertain, he had returned to his gruesome pursuits and once more favoured the solitude of genius over any further public display.
Some whispered that he had been seen bargaining for the remnants of corpses on the outskirts of town; others swore they had glimpsed him among the spectators at public executions. Of course, society took a perverse pleasure in whispering of his blasphemies, true or imagined. High society delighted in baring its fangs and sinking them into his flesh.
The morning it occurred, rain fell steadily. A dense fog clung to the brick streets. The cold crept into sleeves and sank through skin to bone. I kept to the outer edge of the gardens, where the paths narrowed and the fog pressed close, blurring iron railings into shadow. The rain softened the sound of my steps, and I was pleased by it. There is a peculiar comfort in moving without a sound.
I turned toward the market streets only when the hedges gave way to brick and stone. The fog thinned there, stirred by carts and passing bodies, though it still hung low enough to veil faces until they were almost upon one another. I walked slowly, my thoughts fixed nowhere in particular, save on the dull ache that had taken up residence behind my eyes. My dark woollen dress was already damp at the hem.
It was several streets on before I sensed it. Not a sound. Not a movement. Some would call it a slight pressure.
The unmistakable awareness of being observed.
I did not turn at once. Pride forbade it. Instead, I watched my reflection slide and distort in the rain darkened windows as I passed. In one of them, briefly, another figure appeared behind me, indistinct, elongated by glass and water, yet unmistakably male. My pace did not change. Neither did his. I forced my face not to smile, though to compel my heart not to flutter with joy was quite impossible. Embarrassing, really.
At a crossing near the market’s edge, where the smell of damp straw and raw meat bled into the air, I finally slowed. Footsteps became more profound behind me then, measured and unhurried.
“Tired of playing hide-and-seek, Baron Frankenstein?” I asked, without turning.
There was no immediate reply. His steps drew closer instead, stopping a pace behind me.
“I do not recall hiding,” he said at last. “Nor seeking.”
I turned then, slowly. The fog thinned just enough to reveal his face. His unfairly handsome features once again made an effect I was abashed to admit.
“You followed me,” I said.
“I did,” he replied simply. “When did you first notice me?”
“Three streets ago. You are not so invisible, Baron.”
A faint curve touched his mouth. “I am flattered that my presence should so readily catch your eye.”
“Mistaking observation for interest once again,” I said, resuming my pace.
“I mistake nothing,” he replied, matching my step without haste. “Interest announces itself far less reliably than you suppose.”
“That sounds a lot like self comfort,” I said. “At least you appear adept at soothing yourself.”
“I have had considerable practice,” he replied evenly. “One acquires it when applause is inconsistent.”
I intended to cut deeper.
“Oh, is silence so unbearable for you when there is no one to praise your doings?”
“It is not,” he said. “But society does not distinguish silence from distaste, and I make use of its confusions.”
“You speak as though people are mere instruments in your design.”
“Aren’t they?” he asked, without looking at me.
I halted then, just long enough to force him to stop as well. What a monstrous monstrous man.
“You are exhausting, Baron.”
“Then tell me to leave, my lady,” he smiled. How on Earth no one has yet beaten him up.
I resumed my pace, slipping into a flat tone again. “I was under the impression you did not care to do as others instruct you.”
“I find you to be a singular exception to many things, my lady,” he murmured.
“Do try not to choke upon pleasantries.”
“I assure you,” he said, “I have never relied upon them for sustenance.”
“That much is evident.” I turned my head away from him, unsuccessfully trying to mask irritation with boredom.
Victor chuckled, as if completely unaffected. “I thought, at our last encounter, we had agreed to postpone our battle of wits.”
“The postponement has expired.”
“So it has,” he said. “You appear determined to waste no time.”
“I have wasted enough already.”
“Do not flatter yourself.”
“I would not dare,” he replied, though his tone suggested otherwise. “Still, you permit me to walk beside you.”
He inclined his head slightly. “I shall endeavour not to overstay it.”
“You have already begun.”
I forced myself not to look at him, gazing ahead.
“Well I was never known for my manners.”
“That much I had already inferred.”
“And yet,” he said, a fraction lighter now, “you continue to tolerate my company. One might call that propitiousness.”
“One might,” I replied. “One would be mistaken.”
“According to you, I am often mistaken.”
“Someone has to tell you how frequently you are.”, I glanced at him with disgust. “Even now you mistake your obstinacy for charm.”
“Do I?” he chuckled. “But I have learned that irritation often disguises a reluctance to part.”
“Irritation,” I said, “more often disguises revulsion.”
“An admirable skill to mask it,” he replied. “Though one that grows tiresome to maintain.”
“That is hardly my concern.”
“No,” he agreed. “Yet you continue to maintain it.”
I did not answer. We walked on in silence for several paces. The street narrowed, the fog thinning just enough to reveal the outlines of passing figures, each absorbed in their own errands. I felt deeply furious and bewitched at the same time.
“You have a talent, my lady,” he said at last, “for turning dismissal into conversation.”
“And you,” I returned, “for mistaking proximity for invitation.”
He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the strike.
“I accept corrections,” he said. “When it is competently delivered.”
“You accept very little.”
“True,” he answered calmly. “But I am learning to make exceptions.”
“I cannot express how grateful I am, Baron.”
The spiteful words had scarcely left my mouth when my foot slid upon the slick stone. It was nothing dramatic, but enough of a misstep to break my balance. His hand closed around my arm at once.
For a moment we stood too near, the space between us abruptly erased. His grip was firm, steady, as though he had expected the possibility and prepared for it. I hated how I felt the heat of his palm through the damp wool of my sleeve, felt the precise awareness with which he held me, neither tightening nor releasing. It was a confusing mix of complete repulsion and inexplicable attraction.
“You should watch your step,” he said quietly.
“I was,” I replied, though my pulse betrayed me.
He did not withdraw his hand at once. I became acutely conscious of how still he was, how carefully he restrained himself from turning the accident into something else. My body was frozen as well and all I could manage to do was stare into his black eyes. The fog pressed close around us, muting the street, granting us a privacy neither of us had requested.
“You may let go,” I said colder than intended.
“Of course,” he answered.
Yet he waited a fraction too long before doing so. When his hand finally fell away, the absence of it felt sharper than its presence. We resumed walking side by side once more. Silence was so suffocating it threatened to crush my ribs.
“Are you going to follow me all the way to my house, Baron?”
He did not answer at once. His gaze remained fixed ahead, as though weighing the propriety of candour against the pleasure of transgression.
“No,” he said at last. “I have no interest in being invited where I am not yet welcome.”
The street ahead bent toward quieter quarters, the market noise fading behind us.
“How remarkably gallant of you,” I said with spite. “You may part ways here, Baron.”
Victor slowed, though he did not stop.
“I will,” he answered. “When you tell me to do so without hoping I will not.”
I felt my step falter, only slightly. The audacity of this man. I almost choked on my words. “That is an absurd condition.”
“Perhaps,” he said softly. “But a truthful one. Your behaviour is quite absurd as well, my lady.”
“One of your biggest flaws, Victor Frankenstein, is that you allow yourself too much,” I hissed.
“Indeed? And here I thought you claimed my greatest flaw to be arrogance.”
“You possess a talent for collecting them,” I replied. “Excess seems to suit you.”
“No one is flawless, my lady. The thing is to have more charming traits than unattractive ones.”
“You fail within your own rules, then.”
A brief pause for which I hoped I gained victory. But then a glint of amusement crossed his face.
“On the contrary,” he said. “I merely dispute your assessment.”
“Of course. I am hardly inclined to accept unfavourable arithmetic from a hostile observer.”
“Hostile?” I repeated. “If I were hostile, Baron, you would not endure five minutes in my company.”
His gaze lingered on me in a measuring way.
“I doubt that,” he said quietly. “Hostility has never discouraged me. It merely clarifies intent.”
“That is not the reassurance you believe it to be.”
“No,” he agreed. “But it is an honest one.”
I turned my face slightly away, as though the fog required my attention. My uncle’s mansion was visible behind the trees.
“If you knew anything of me,” I said, “you would know how little patience I possess for men who overestimate their welcome.”
“And yet,” he answered, “you continue to educate me.”
I felt my jaw tighten. “Consider yourself dismissed.”
Victor did not move. “Not quite hostile enough, my lady,” he said softly.
For a moment I considered saying something that would truly infuriate him.
For a moment I considered how quickly he might enjoy it.
My mouth opened but nothing came out. We just stood there staring at each other. One in amusement, one in fury. I noticed his gaze dropping to my lips for a second.
“Your uncle has invited me to dine in your house tomorrow.”
“Do you want to see me there?”
“I am not forbidding you.”
“That is not what I wanted to hear.”
“Life can be unfair, you should learn to enjoy what is given”
“Oh I do enjoy it, my lady. I assure you, you made me deeply… pleased.”
“Will you finally leave me in peace, Baron?”
“As you wish, my lady.” Victor smiled in deep satisfaction and brought my gloved hand to his chest. “I am infinitely grateful for your company and…”, he took off my glove and slowly kissed my bare knuckles. “Cannot wait to be enlightened by your presence again tomorrow.”
I inhaled too loudly and his terrible smile deepened. His hand still held mine.
“It was…,” I forced myself not to stutter. “It was pleasant to walk with you, Victor Frankenstein.”
Victor bowed gallantly and released my wrist almost reluctantly. I nodded and started walking quickly to the house. The voice in my head begged me to look back, but my pride was already too wounded. When I reached the main gates, I realised he did not return my glove. My heart was beating in mad agony of embarrassment and unholy desire.
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pls let me know if you wanna be tagged in the future and interested in part 3!!
