[What are you fighting for]
For a moment, Victor allowed to his palm to rest against Caliban’s face, feeling the keen sting of icy skin, before dropping it to his shoulder. “Say no more.” He gave an encouraging squeeze. With Caliban’s emotions so eloquent, words seemed unrequired. Furthermore, there was an oddness, awkwardness even, to this conversation that lacked the usual hatred and resentment. Like finding one’s way in the dark. “You must be hungry.” Victor stood and turned to gather a pot of stew from the small coal stove.
The subsequent clutter of dishes seemed overly loud in the silence stretching between the two men, each occupied with their own inner world. Recalling the rage and violence of past altercations, Victor couldn't help the notion of treading on dark slippery ground, where one misstep could send him sprawling. Yet the possibility of amends made was worth a risk. Peace not a thing Victor had striven for in the past. Ambition and arrogance had seen to that. Lily had changed that. Opened his eyes to the monstrous consequences of his actions. And now, he’d remedy his blunders, each creation in its own way. Science had not failed him. Human error had produced failure. Science would save Lily by eradicating her murderous desire. Science would alleviate Caliban’s grotesque and frightening features. And there’d be no more monsters. His work would see triumph still and his immortal creations would titanic after all.
“Tennyson, the poet has died, have you heard?” Victor placed the plates to the table, took his seat and recited with a half-smile, fork held poised over the steaming stew. “ But oh, for the touch of a vanish'd hand. And the sound of a voice that is still!”
