꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧Amy’s Whimsical Weekly Wednesday Waffling✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
꧁Frankenstein Reality꧂
“To truly know ourselves, we must go through unimaginable change, as it is through metamorphosis that we truly gain our wings” - A. A. Edwards
✧ In the years Victor Frankenstein spent trying to flee the creature, his creation, his greatest achievement, he felt shame for what he had brought into the world. Something that was never meant to exist, never meant to live and know what it is to be in a cruel world. He was not meant to make yet another monster to roam.
✧ So he decided to create another life, something good, soulful, beautiful. He wanted a child in a way that was not some wretched creature brought together from corpses and string, sewn with blasphemous ideals.
✧ So came his angel, his repentance, his daughter. Angelica Frankenstein. She was meant to be the good in the world, like Elizabeth had been.
✧ In the little time he had before the creature was to find him, he did his best to ensure that she would right all the wrongs in the world, to bring change. He only hoped she would not inherit his obsessions and live a life without vices.
✧ Angelica Frankenstein is just nineteen when she discovers her deceased father’s journals; detailing his academic childhood and introduction to medicine up until he defeats death itself through a beastly creation. Distraught and disgusted, she casts this journals away into the darkest corners of her mind and her vacant home. Her father had created an abomination and she would not indulge in his memory after knowing the truth.
✧ There has always been rumours of her father being hunted by a creature, but to know it was a monster of his own making? That man’s ego truly was so vast?
✧ Men envy women for their ability to do the only thing they long to be able to do; create life.
✧ For months it tears her up inside. Creating life from death, to raise a phoenix from its ashes through science. It is unimaginable. Yet she imagines it. Cold flesh warming from her touch, her mind. A heart once again ticking, a brain again thinking. A sickening obsession emerges.
✧ November arrives, cold and dreary, just as her father had described at her age when he had his idea. The plan is simple: where did Victor go wrong?
✧ A clinical approach, emotional distance and ego plagued her father’s notes. She would not do the same.
✧ Collecting parts is painstaking, trying to find the perfect resources. Men who died valiantly, lived humbly with a gentle touch is hard to come by. Each stitch, each cut, is meticulous and precise. Handling both the necessary materials and the unwanted waste with care. Whispering and talking into her creature as she makes him.
✧ Her creature? That would not do, all life needs to be named.
✧ Edgar.
✧ She tells him stories, reads him poetry, speaks of politics, hoping a part of her soul may bring his fragmented being together.
✧ The organs chosen are pristine, the best found in a cadaver. From lungs to liver. A woman’s spleen for a touch of a feminine soul.
✧ However he remains unfinished, put on ice and stored away. For what kind of man is blessed with a fitting mind and pure heart? Edgar must be the best of man, and a feeble brain and evil soul will never do.
✧ So he remains there, a state of limbo as she lives.
✧ Angelica is twenty-two when she meets Guillaume Monet - a romantic poet, author, painter and radical - in France when she goes on her travels across Europe.
✧ He’s perfect. The mind of a thinker, and soul and heart of an artist and lover.
✧ They fall in love almost instantaneously, spending every waking hour together, adoring and conversing about every possible topic until it is exhausted.
✧ A nagging part of her mind draws back to Edgar. His brain and heart would be perfect to complete him, but she could never bring herself to take a life, least of all Guillaume’s.
✧ Three years later, after they are engaged to be wed, Guillaume dies in a tragic accident.
✧ Distraught, grief-stricken and in need of a distraction, her thoughts returns to Edgar.
✧ Before Guillaume’s funeral, she extracts his brain and heart with the care of a devotee, placing it inside Edgar’s defrosting patchwork of physiology.
✧ Following her father’s journals exactly, she manages to utilise the sky just as he did.
✧ It works. Of course it does, she’s a Frankenstein.
✧ Edgar awakes, confused and scared. Thrashing around clumsily until his eyes meet Angelica’s. They soften in breath-taking recognition. There is no memory but the fibres of his body know her, remembers her, and all his other lives.
I hope you enjoyed this because I know I did. I might turn it into a book if I won’t get #sued so this is now copywrited or however it works idk CLAIMED! see? That’s law or whatever, I don’t know I’m doing a creative writing degree. Speaking of writing - the quote is from me, I fear it’s necessary to clarify because an A. A. Edwards published a book ON MY FREAKING BIRTHDAY WITH MY NAME called “Porn Addiction” THAT IS NOT ME GUYS. Out of all the names, topics and days, this reality loves to test my patience I tell you.
Anyways, sorry for the high-key cliffhanger at the end - maybe they get together, maybe the creature returns and finds her? Who knows - I will… soon enough
Have a whimsical Wednesday, my ladybugs,
Love you all, especially my mutuals kiss kiss x
⋆˚꩜｡ Ames ｡꩜˚⋆
P.s. there’s a “only women can give birth” vibe and I just wanted to clarify that terminology is dated because of the time period and does not reflect my views in any way, not being able to give birth (for whatever reason) doesn’t make you less of a woman and vice versa, remember to love everyone guys x
Also any Frankenstein inaccuracies will be excused with “it’s another reality”