“I made life,” he whispered. The fingers that never faltered were trembling now, splayed out on the painted face. “I made life: I discovered the secrets of stopping death… my Angel appeared to me only twice in all my life, Elizabeth. Once, when I had discovered the truth of my mother’s demise, and vowed to discover how to unmake death. And then, when I had succeeded, and slept believing I had failed… it came to me, in my sleep again, and I heard my mother’s voice cry my name: Victor, Victor!” He turned away from the wooden angel and thrust the heel of his hand against his brow twice to smartly punctuate his own name. Tears shone in his eyes. Elizabeth stood, concerned, as Adam followed her up: Victor had never before spoken so openly of his mother. She had suspected, of course, that his attachment must be deep and painful and not one to be mended easily— if at all. But she had known no details. “And I made you,” he croaked, stumbling around the foot of the bed and bracing himself with one hand against a post as he looked at his Creature. “You, you. I made you. And you were beautiful to me as you lay there— beautiful! Pale as the death-mask on her coffin, as an ivory model made in perfect proportion— joined together with care in order that you might live, not cut apart and left to die. Even your eyes, your hair— I chose it all, as best I could; chose it— my father loathed my mother’s dark eyes, dark hair; my dark eyes and hair, yet I saw beauty in them, and made you accordingly. You cannot accuse me of seeing no beauty in you, my Adam. I made you as beautiful as I could."
blakekathryn
gracieabrams
amandla
romaincrisis
jacobvanloon
ellievsbear
yousharknotpass
