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ooihcnoiwlerh · 1 month

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Hello! I'm back with another chapter of my Feyd-Rautha/Reader arranged marriage series.

AO3 link here for full fic: And I Don't Want Your Heart - Chapter 5 - ooihcnoiwlerh - Dune (2021) [Archive of Our Own]

Side post that has some of my headcanons for how I interpret Feyd-Rautha's own relationship to his sexuality: Hello, Friend - So I've been working on a Feyd-Rautha/Reader... (tumblr.com)

This fic and this chapter are 18+ up only. Tags, content warning, and full chapter below the cut

Tags/CW list: rape/noncon; graphic depictions of violence; dubious consent; arranged marriage; forced pregnancy; nature versus nurture; implied/referenced child abuse; implied/referenced sexual assault; implied/referenced incest; first time; rough sex; oral sex; vaginal sex; vaginal fingering; blood kink; pain kink; sadomasochism; period sex; problematic smut; inappropriate misuse of BDSM; slow burn emotionally but the exact opposite of a slow burn phyiscally

CHAPTER FOUR: A BLOODY GASH

You're fertile. You’ve never had any reason to believe otherwise. This union is contingent on giving him children–at least one son, and as many attempts as necessary to get there ( and you desperately hope that you’ll only need that first one. You don’t want to raise a daughter in this place, amongst these people .)

So you’re horrified when you wake up the following morning to blood smeared between your legs, staining your chemise that rode up to your hips when you were sleeping, and leaving a smear on the sheets below when you move.

No. No. You pull up the hem of your chemise and stare at your inner thighs as if just looking will change the outcome. Feyd-Rautha came inside of you four times in two days for nothing . He’ll be furious. He’ll question your very biology. He’ll have you examined as thoroughly and cruelly as possible.

You scramble, trying to cover yourself, wondering what you can even do next when Idrisa comes in with fresh water and coffee.

To her credit, she doesn't drop the tray when her eye line goes directly to your bleeding crotch for the few seconds it’s still visible.

“I knew my time for it was coming up, I just didn't think it would,” you say to yourself as much as her and come to meet her gaze.

She glances back down out of respect, but the awkward tension hangs between the two of you for a moment.

“Do you…” you start, embarrassment flushing your face and neck, “do you have anything for it?” You have no idea how menstrual care even works on Geidi Prime. You’d just assumed that it wouldn’t be an issue for another ten months.

She composes herself again immediately. “Why yes, of course, Na-Baroness. I apologize for my negligence.” Before you can tell her there's nothing to apologize for, she adds, “I'll help you get cleaned up first.”

“That’s alright, I can do it,” you tell her as you wonder for a moment who she served before that she’d assume you want her to clean between your legs when you’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself.

She inclines her head further. “Thank you, Na-Baroness. I’ll be back in just a moment.”

As soon as she’s out the door you’re up and walking briskly to the bathroom.

You’ll need to have the sheets changed.

It’s only been two days, you think, washing between your legs. This doesn’t mean anything bad . When he asks for you, you can just explain the situation and try again in a few days. Until then…until then… For a moment you draw a blank, before remembering a conversation you had a few years ago with a slightly older friend when you asked her if husbands still desired their wives when their wives were bleeding.

“ They honestly just want something warm, soft, and wet to bury themselves in, ” she’d told you matter-of-factly. “ So most men just use their wife’s mouths .”

“ What do you mean? ” you’d asked, fairly certain you had an idea what she was talking about but still more willing to briefly embarrass yourself by asking than remain ignorant.

“ You know what goes on between a man’s legs, right? ” she’d asked in turn.

“ Of course ,” you’d said, a little offended that she’d think you so naive.

“ When you’re bleeding and he still wants you to please him, put your mouth there instead, ” she’d told you. “ Like he’s burying himself inside your mouth instead of your canal. You can’t make babies that way, of course, but they often don’t care about that . You can’t really make babies during your monthly courses anyway. ”

You wonder how she reacted when she found out who you’d be marrying. You never got the chance to ask and assume, like many young women and their parents, that she was relieved that she wasn’t the one hand-picked for him.

You also haven’t done that to him yet, nor any other man, for that matter, and you’re sure your lack of skill will show. How are you meant to take the entire thing in your mouth when you can barely fit it where it’s meant to go? What are you supposed to do with your teeth? It also just seems somehow more daunting and personal than just having inside of you in the traditional manner.

He’ll be aggressive with it, like he is in everything else.

You can’t stop thinking about it as you brush your teeth and hair and try to ignore the discomfort in your lower belly before you hear a click and the door to your quarters opening.

Idrisa’s back with a basket made of some kind of black synthetic material; it’s covered to protect its contents from passing view. You could kiss her for that, you think, and she starts unpacking.

She pulls out what look like thick handkerchiefs, going to your bathroom to stack them neatly on the countertop. She also hands you a canister that you open to find a handful of circular tablets.

“They’re not as strong as what I left for your wedding night,” she says, “and they won’t put you to sleep, but they should suffice if you need them.”

You’d chalked up your cramps to nerves but now that you have your answer the symptoms couldn’t have been more obvious. “Thank you, I think I will,” you tell her as you think about how you’ll likely be expected to join your new family, if one could call them that, for breakfast again. The thought makes you want to crawl back under the covers.

“Can you also please tell Feyd-Rautha that I apologize for missing breakfast but that I'm feeling unwell this morning and wouldn't want to be poor company in my condition?” you ask.

Idrisa hesitates, nervous. You realize that she's thinking, You know that your husband finds me far more disposable than he finds you, right? He could easily kill and replace me and no one would care. You also realize that she can’t and won’t say no to you. But just that look reminds you that as frightening as this fortress is to you, it’s much worse for her. You haven’t seen Feyd-Rautha kill outside of the arena yet, but you also barely know him; killing people who displease him over minor inconveniences, especially if they’re low-born and low-ranking, could be a common occurrence for him. The Harkonnens didn’t earn their reputation for nothing.

“Unless you think they won't notice if I’m even there,” you add, thinking. The Baron couldn't care less if he never has a conversation with you again, and outside of the marriage bed, Feyd-Rautha doesn't appear to have any real plans for you. “I could just…stay here and if Feyd-Rautha has any questions he can ask them.”

Idrisa’s shoulders had been locked and tense but appear to relax just a little at your words. “I can make a plate for you and bring it back here,” she says, already knowing your preference. Given Geidi Prime’s incredible wealth and lack of natural resources other than fuels and metals there are imported fruits that you’d never had before coming here that you’re certain you’ll never get sick of.

“Sounds perfect, thank you,” you tell her, and take advantage of the new medication when she leaves.

When she returns with another tray for you, she’s accompanied by two other girls holding a fresh arrangement of sheets; the hems and necklines of their garb are cut a little different from hers and they look younger, perhaps the same age as your little sister. You wonder if the difference in the way they’re dressed suggests rank? They keep their heads down and don’t acknowledge you other than a silent curtsy before stripping your old sheets and setting down a new spread. You look at them for a moment, wondering if it’s at the Baron’s insistence that no staff ever look a Harkonnen royal in the eye or if this rule’s been going on for generations when Idrisa snaps you out of your thoughts.

“I have a tea prepared for you as well, Na-Baroness,” she says, gesturing towards the tray that she’s set on your end-table and removing the cloche covering your plate. “It’s not medicine strictly speaking but it has soothing properties.”

You turn and look at her. She doesn’t look much older than you, but the same can be said of most of the female slaves. Are they banished to where they won’t be easily seen when they reach a certain age? What’s the life expectancy? It feels more than a little insensitive to ask right now, so you just let them work as you take a seat at your end-table and take a sip of your tea.

After breakfast is over and you’ve found a comfortable position sitting up in bed, propped up by the pillows and headboards, you read a bit more on the Harkonnen lineage. The more you read, the more you understand why Father always insisted that Geidi Prime is no place for a woman. Women in high places, you find, have in history been assassinated more often than the men, or kidnapped to use as collateral and tortured. You wonder if that’s why you saw so few at the wedding and reception, why they seemed so hidden out of view even while accompanying their high-ranking husbands.

You’re reasonably certain that your new husband’s concerned enough with his image as heir to the Harkonnen throne not to tarnish the alliance your marriage has created, that even if he doesn’t really know you and may never love you–you’re reasonably certain that he’s incapable of feeling such an emotion–he’ll still make sure to protect what he sees as his. His uncle will likely be another story.

The door opens unannounced and you look up, expecting Idrisa only to find Feyd-Rautha letting himself in without a word and closing the door behind him. He doesn’t speak at first, but everything in his demeanor tells you that he did in fact notice your absence and wants an explanation.

You compose yourself. There’s no need to panic. “Good afternoon, husband. To what do I owe the pleasure?” you ask, tone as light and cool as the weather would be on your home planet right now.

He leans against the door as he folds his arms across his chest and looks you over. “I missed you at breakfast,” he says.

“Yes, my apologies. I’m not feeling well,” you tell him.

He clearly doesn’t believe you. You don’t seem feverish , he seems to think with his unimpressed gaze. You seem fine . “Still getting adjusted to the atmosphere on Geidi Prime?” he asks, and for a foolish moment you hope that he’s giving you an excuse. Maybe he thinks you’re avoiding him because of last night, and you’re content to let him think that.

“Yes, husband,” you tell him.

“That’s a shame,” he says, crossing over to your bed and sitting at the edge of it. “It occurred to me last night that whoever taught you close-range maneuvers didn’t do their job right. You should’ve been able to evade me.”

You wrinkle your brow and don’t have it in you to hide your insulted glare; your House’s military is considered a force to be reckoned with and a slight against your training is a slight against your House and your father himself. “Did you want me to evade you?” you ask.

He seems amused by your sudden sharpness, and you realize that he’d wanted to hit a nerve. He knew what he was implying and got the precise reaction he’d been hoping for. “That’s not the point, wife. You said yourself that you were out of practice and as soon as you’re feeling better I intend to rectify that. Your cute little boot-dagger won’t serve you any good if you can’t correctly use it.”

He places his hand on your leg, trailing it along your thigh and stopping just shy of your apex, his thumb brushing against it through the fabric of your skirt. You give a sharp inhale that makes him smile. You start to close your legs but his hand, now cupping your inner thigh, holds one open enough for him to continue to fondle as he pleases.

His hand stays there for a moment, stays over the light material of your skirt even as you're sure the soft flesh of your inner thigh heats his palm, as flushed as you feel under his touch. He leans in, inhales as he leans over you and sniffs your hair. It’s not even the first time he’s done it. You wonder if he finds your hair to be a sort of forbidden fruit; something he can’t say he likes because to do so would disrespect Harkonnen hairlessness, but still something he finds fascinating or even enviable. You’re not sure yet whether his lack of it is down to genetics or grooming but you assume the former, if it affects everyone including those who wouldn’t have such prime access to constant shaving.

But then he fully brings his hand between your legs, fingertips rubbing up against you and you flinch.

Now? Is he going to try and fuck me right here and now? You shift, trying to hide what you’re sure is a look of panic on your face, trying to scramble for an excuse as Feyd-Rautha rubs a whimper out of you.

In the moments he does and you freeze, he watches your face a moment longer and then something shifts in his eyes, and he pulls back.

“I’ll call on you soon,” he says. There’s something satisfied, almost smug in his tone. He doesn’t wait for a response from you before he gets up and leaves, and you wonder what caused his departure.

Idrisa comes in a minute later with more tea for you. “The Na-Baron seems mollified,” she says. “He’s taken the news well.”

“I didn’t tell him.”

You catch Idrisa furrowing her brow-line, incredulous even with her head bowed before she can smooth over her expression into one of polite indifference.

“He doesn’t need to know yet,” you tell her. “He said he’d call on me later.”

“My apologies for speaking boldly, Na-Baroness,” she says, “but the Na-Baron will still take you to bed tonight or whenever he decides is convenient. Harkonnen men expect their wives to always be available to them, no matter how they’re feeling.”

You suppose you already knew this. It certainly doesn’t help the gnawing feeling in your stomach even as the medicine Idrisa gave you has soothed the cramps for now.

“It appears I can hold him off until after dinner, at least,” you finally say. There’s that; you also appreciate having another meal without the Baron’s presence.

You wish you had someone you could talk to about this in which it wouldn’t feel weird to ask. You look over at Idrisa. She’s the only friend you’ve managed to make so far and while you don’t see that changing anytime soon, you haven’t forgotten that she keeps you company out of obligation. You can’t be certain as to whether or not she actually likes you, or if she only tolerates you due to her heightened position within the Harkonnen Fortress as your personal attendant. Still, she’s certainly better than no one to ask. She takes your old mug and heads for the door.

“Idrisa,” you start. She turns. “You’ve…have you been with men before?”

She inclines her head in a polite nod. “When it’s required of me,” she says.

Your second question dies in your mouth. Oh. Right . Yet again you’re disgusted but can’t say you’re all that surprised.

And instead of asking for advice you’re struck by another thought. “Has the Na-Baron ever…?” you start and she immediately shakes her head.

“Never, Na-Baroness,” she assures you. “He has never been known to satiate himself that way with slaves.”

Are you being honest or telling me what I want to hear? you almost ask but spare her the indignity. You’re reasonably certain that if Feyd-Rautha had taken advantage of her, he’d have gloated to you about it. “Thank you,” you tell her. You don’t want to know how men on Geidi Prime have abused her mouth. “I was just curious.”

“Not at all, Na-Baroness,” she says.

As the hours tick by you wish you'd just told Feyd-Rautha your situation and gotten whatever awkward ensuing conversation over with.

In the evening Idrisa brings you dinner, more tea, and a glass of wine. “The Na-Baron has given you two hours before expecting you in his bedchambers.”

You sigh. “Thank you, Idrisa,” you tell her, not quite willing to add, you were right . You eat, you have your tea, you bathe and clean your hair. And in the remaining time that you have before you need to leave, you sip your wine. You’d be foolish to assume that it will truly settle your nerves, but it tastes nice.

“I guess it’s time,” you say finally, looking at the timepiece on your nightstand. “How angry do you think he’ll be?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, Na-Baroness,” Idrisa says as she opens the door to lead you to your husband. “He’s never been married nor been instructed to sire an heir before.”

When you get to his bedroom he’s already standing in the middle of it, wearing only black pants with a relaxed fit that suggests leisure, maybe sleep. And here you hadn’t taken him as the kind of man to own pajamas.

He looks over your shoulder at Idrisa, who seems just as surprised to see him as you are even as she immediately lowers her head in deference.

“Dismissed,” he tells her, and she curtsies and scurries out of the room, closing the door behind her, leaving the two of you alone and rather more dressed than you’ve been in this room.

You stand, awkwardly, playing with the sash to your robe as the two of you look at each other in silence. Or rather, he stares at you and you look down, knowing what you’d rehearsed and still needing to force the words out.

“My apologies, husband, but it’s my time of month,” you finally manage.

“I know,” he says. “I could smell it on you. I could feel your rag in between your legs.”

Was that what he was doing? You look up at his face and find nothing that you can really parse and pause, unsure what you could say to that, before you move on.

“I know it’s not ideal, but we can try again in a few days, and in the meantime,” you try to sound like you’re not as nervous as you are, fully aware that seduction was never something you learned, “I know that there are…other ways to satisfy you.” A few days and we can resume trying to secure your firstborn .

He gives a small smirk at the second part of your statement but comments only on the first. “A few days?” he repeats, as if you’ve just said either the funniest or dumbest thing he’s heard all week. “What makes you think I care to wait a few days?”

You’re not sure you heard him right. “The blood,” you say slowly. “I can’t control it.”

“You think a Harkonnen would be scared of a little blood?” he says.

You’re not sure what to say to that. In hindsight, you’re not sure why you’d assumed that this man of all men would be too squeamish to fuck a bleeding woman.

“Strip down,” he says, after the seconds of silence that follow. He sounds so casual as he says it, as if he just told you to have a seat. You hesitate, still unsure if he’s being serious.

“Did you not understand me?” he prompts when seconds tick by and you haven’t moved.

“I do, husband,” say. “But still, I have to warn you that it’ll make a mess.”

“Y/N,” he says, his tone somehow light. There’s an element of danger to it. “You’re not the one who’ll have to clean up afterwards.”

Nor you , you think. “So you want me in this state.” You don’t phrase it as a question but he can hear the confusion in your voice.

The smirk never quite left his face but returns in full as he crosses the few steps over to you that leaves you close enough that you can feel his breath. He takes your wrist and presses your hand to his groin–it’s rapidly filling out.

“What do you think?” he says.

You gasp, almost giving an incredulous laugh as you glance between his face and back down to his groin. Harkonnen men are built differently, you suppose.

You pull away enough to unravel your robe and step out of your slippers. He doesn’t object to your garments being left on his floor instead of neatly tucked on his dresser, so you keep going, pulling your chemise over your shoulders, pulling down your undergarment and letting it slide down your legs, until you’re bared entirely for him.

He looks down at the blood that gathered in the kerchief lining the gusset of your undergarment as it hits the floor and you step out of it, and then he looks back at you.

“Hold your arms out like this, wrists together,” he says, extending his own to demonstrate.

He still doesn’t seem angry, his tone suggesting patience that you know he doesn’t have, but you hesitate before mimicking him.

“Very nice,” he says, and you bristle at his condescension as he half-circles you before heading for his armoire. You turn around to watch him open it, and your jaw drops when you see what’s inside.

It’s lined with whips, rope, chains, knives, scalpels, collars, and other items you’ve never seen before but if this is in his bedroom then it must serve one particular purpose, either on himself whoever has the misfortune of being with him when he wants to use any of these devices.

He glances over his shoulder and looks if anything delighted by your stunned reaction, the growing sense of dread. “I didn’t say you could drop your arms,” he says, and turns back to pick out a length of black rope.

You suppose you ought to be grateful that he didn’t pick out any chains.

You watch as he loops an intricate tie binding your wrists. He does it with such practiced ease he looks directly into your eyes as he does it. You manage to hold his gaze in defiance even as your heart hammers in your chest and you’re scared of what’s going to happen next. You know that, like a true Harkonnen, he likes your fear, but it hasn’t occurred to either of you yet that he also appreciates your fire.

“Get on all fours on the bed, pet,” he says, tone light and playful as much as his gravely timbre can make it.

You try to keep your eyes on him as much as possible, making sure he’s never fully out of your sightline as you get on the bed, squirming but managing to maneuver the position he wants while your wrists are bound. He knows that you don’t trust him, and if anything that seems to elevate his excitement.

Good girl, he seems to be thinking. He looks you over, turning and sauntering so he can take a moment to gaze first at your naked profile, then at your backside.

You have to keep reminding yourself that he won’t do anything that will risk you being able to give him children as he turns away and pads over to his armoire. For a moment you’re not sure if he’s trying to decide what he’d like to use, or if he’s purposefully biding his time to make you more nervous. His fingertips seem to dance over the whips, then the chains. He briefly touches the handle to one of his knives.

Not the scalpel. Please not the scalpel.

You see it–corded leather. A black whip with multiple knotted tails. He takes it down from his display but leaves the armoire doors open–undoubtedly to keep reminding you of what else he could be and very likely will be doing to you in the future.

You think about the Bene Gesserit Litany and try to repeat it in your head as you consider the tool? the weapon? clutched in his fist. At first glance the whip looks like the cat-of-nine-tails your brother-in-law seems so fond of. However, when you shut your eyes, take a breath, and think of the words– fear is the mind-killer –you realize when you open your eyes again that what Feyd-Rautha’s holding is a lot smaller than a proper cat-of-nine-tails and the tails thicker. You have no doubt that this is going to hurt, but it doesn’t look like it will rip you apart.

“What, what is this? A punishment for bleeding? ” you finally ask, unable to handle the silence anymore and because that’s the only explanation you can imagine.

And yet Feyd-Rautha looks amused that you’d suggest it. “It’s because I want to use it on you,” he says, as if any further explanation would be silly. “Ever since I first saw you, I wondered what that pretty ass of yours would look like after I’d taken this to it.” He holds up the device for emphasis. “I wondered what noises you’d make. I wanted to know what you’d look like with your wrists bound, naked and helpless in my bed. What you’d look like squirming and bleeding.

“ Yesterday was a punishment,” he adds. “This is just fun.”

For you, perhaps, you think. It’s no matter; you’ll just have to prove that you can take whatever he dishes out. You just have to decide whether it’s better or worse that he’s not doing this out of anger.

“Are you scared, pet?” he asks.

“ No, ” you lie in the most adamant and dignified tone you can muster, and once again he acts like what you’ve said is cute. He clicks his tongue.

“You mustn’t lie to me in bed, pet,” he says, approaching the bed again, his free hand skimming over your ribcage, your side, your hip, as he finally stands beside the bed, and ever-so-slowly draws the corded whip up and down the backs of your thighs. The tassels brush gently against your skin and it feels perverse, the anticipation he’s building within you. On his second pass you inhale sharply, shutting your eyes, hips twitching away from the device, and Feyd-Rautha chuckles at that.

“Relax,” he says.

Fuck you. You know I can’t. Just do it and get it over with , you want to tell him with your sharp exhale, and one second later he draws his hand back and brings the whip down.

You cry out, rocking forward, your entire body clenching up as much from shock as pain. Nothing could really prepare you for this; his hand from the first night had been easier, more personal. The individual cords spread out like a fractal tree, like cracks in a block of ice fanning out.

The second time is less sharp, more of a thud that reverberates through your body, the impact reverberating in your pulse. Tears prick up at the corners of your eyes and for a moment you can’t breathe. It would figure that this man has used this device often enough that he knows how to inflict different flavors of pain depending on whether he’s putting the movement in his wrist or his forearm. You clench your fists, waiting for the next lash, and then the next.

Your nerves are on fire. You can barely think, barely focus on anything but the exquisite pain on impact, the sharp sting of the air against your impacted flesh, the sweet moments you adjust, finding your breath, before he comes down again. You don’t scream, not after the first blow, but the tears forming at the corners of your eyes start trickling down your face and then drop directly onto your forearms the covers below you when you bow your head.

You don’t know how long he keeps going, don’t keep count. The pain starts to dull but the intensity becomes overwhelming as he compounds on every lash. Your ears are ringing. You taste iron at the back of your throat. The worst part is that you find, to your horror, your nipples feel stiff. You start to feel wet.

It has to be a fear response. This isn’t enjoyable . It’s intense, it’s painful, and you can’t help but feel shame lance through you that your body would react this way.

Please. I can’t take any more , you want to tell him, but opt instead to whimper through your clenched teeth.

At that moment the whip comes down and it sends you toppling forward, finally collapsing. The covers are soft against your tear-stained cheek. You shut your eyes, panting, waiting for him to haul you back up and continue the process.

But nothing happens. You don’t try to look behind you and hope that he’s done. You just take a rattling breath and listen for the sound of the whip and its tendrils slicing through air, and it doesn’t come.

“You lasted longer than I thought you would,” Feyd-Rautha says, the first time he’s spoken in minutes, and you open your eyes and turn your head to see him twist the coils of his whip and head over to the armoire.

“Come on,” he says over his shoulder. “Back into position, pet.”

You grit your teeth and force yourself back up on your hands and elbows. “Good,” he adds softly, and it’s embarrassing how one single word of praise makes you flush, sends a pleasant tingle down your spine. This shouldn’t have the effect on you that it does–maybe it’s because now that it’s over, you feel lighter, almost dazed. All of your muscles had tightened into coils, but now you feel pliant to the point that your limbs feel rubbery. You’re exhausted. You’re hurt. You don’t know what else he has on the agenda for you tonight but you just hope it doesn’t involve another one of his whips or ropes.

He sets the device back in the armoire and turns to face you. He looks at your flushed, tear-stained face and smiles, mouth-closed before approaching the bed, his cock hard in his pants, and even though part of you wants nothing more than to melt into the bed and to get some relief for your stinging backside, you know he’s still going to chase his own pleasure.

‘He’ll want your mouth,’ you remember.

You won’t wait for him to force it or grind your face into his privates. If that’s what he wants, you’ll get there first, and so you drop your head and fumble as you reach with bound wrists for the fly of his pants.

You’re focused on what’s directly in your eyeline, so you don’t see his brief look of surprise, but you hear his voice, sounding pleased. “Let me help you with that, pet,” he says, pulling away long enough to pull his pants down, stepping out of them.

It’s even more daunting when it’s this close to your face, but he steps back in, cradling your jaw, and you lean in and lick the tip of him.

For a few seconds that’s all you know to do, to lick around him, feeling the ridges and veins under your tongue. It’s all the verification he could possibly need that you’ve never done this before, and that spurs him on, cradling your head in one large hand as the other guides himself past your lips and into your mouth.

It confirms what you suspected; he’s too big to take all the way and thankfully, doesn’t try to make you.

Not yet, a part of you thinks. You try to breathe, try not to get your teeth on him, try to relax and close your eyes as he controls the pace. It’s easy enough at first; far from the rutting of the past couple of nights. It doesn’t occur to you that, by his standards anyway, he’s being gentle with you. Doesn’t occur to you to wonder why. You just try to keep up as your backside and the backs of your thighs sting like hell and you hope Idrisa will have some sort of lotion for it when you get back to your quarters.

Feyd-Rautha appears to have yet another reason to like your hair, it seems, as he threads his fingers through it, guiding you onto him in slowly greater increments until he’s suddenly over halfway in and you freeze, nearly gagging, forgetting how to breathe.

He holds you in place for a moment, just long enough for your eyes to widen as you glance up at him and his heavy-lidded eyes and chest heaving with arousal. He waits until you’re about to struggle and tear away from him before he relinquishes your hair and steps away, pulling out. You take a deep breath, gulping the air down.

“Stay right there,” he says, and settles in behind you, stroking your hindquarters like you’re a horse that he’s trying to calm down. Will he put a saddle on you next? You exhale hard through your nose, mouth pursing, waiting for what he’ll do next. Will he mark up the stinging raw skin he’s already flogged with his hand?

Fine. Fuck you again. I can take whatever you’ve got. I can handle it , you want to tell him out of spite. You sense him shift, dipping his head, and despite your steeled nerves can’t help but gasp and feel something flutter in your core when you feel his breath against your lower back.

What exactly is he–? is all you have time to think before he dives in.

You jolt and wriggle in shock as he licks over one of your growing welts; you can’t quite tell but wouldn’t be surprised if he broke skin. However, it’s how his tongue glides over your backside before shifting his weight to your folds that sends waves of shock, revulsion, and excitement as you cry out, stunned.

He’s licking my wounds .

You’re trying to wrap your head around how salacious it is that his lips and tongue alternate between licking the impacted skin on your buttocks and the backs of your thighs and dipping his tongue inside of you. He has your hips firmly in place, which serves him well given that you’re torn between recoiling away from the heat of his mouth and wanting to press back against it. You can feel him smirk at the sounds of your shocked moans.

He pulls away long enough to turn you on your back and you wince at the impact before you see him slide down along the bed and continue the onslaught. You can hardly believe it as he grabs your still-stinging buttocks and buries his face against your bleeding pussy.

This is disgusting , part of you thinks. Another part of you can hardly understand what’s happening. In all your years you’ve never met a man who didn’t recoil hearing about monthly courses. You’ve never heard of anyone wanting to taste a…a bloody gash .

Your wrists are still bound, and you grip onto the pillows above your head as he lifts your thighs to rest over his shoulders and dives back in, tongue pressing inside of you.

It feels incredible. You’d prefer it if it didn’t. More than anything else, you don’t want to be enjoying this, wish the continuous whines and moans he’s drawing out of you were insincere, but he can feel as well as you do that you mean every sound. You, Lady Y/N of the powerful and dignified house of Y/H, are getting your bloody pussy licked by the ruthless barbarian Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen and Great Mother and every forgotten old god, you’re enjoying every visceral and shocking moment of it.

He knows it, too, the smug bastard. He probably feels even more powerful like this, on his belly and with his face between your legs, than he did when he was tanning your hide.

He raises one hand from your hip to your breast, giving one of your nipples a cruel pinch, smirking against your slit as you whimper in protest, and continues. His nose presses and rubs against your bud in the onslaught and you finally admit to yourself that any last vestiges of resistance you might have had has caved when you squirm, rocking your hips upwards and desperately wishing that your wrists were free so you could press his face closer into you.

He keeps up his pace, bringing you as close to the edge as possible without reaching it until finally, mercifully, he shifts his mouth to your bud, his fingers replacing his tongue inside of you. Your unrestrained cries fill the room, spurring him on, and then the force of it hits you as he brings you over the precipice for the first time. It feels like it comes in shockwaves, especially as he keeps going through it all.

You’re still pulsing and squirming against his tongue when he stops, raising himself up and leaning over you. Inky, sticky blood coats the lower part of his face, from his chin to his nostrils, and you’re a little surprised at how the sight doesn’t alarm you as much as it probably should, especially since that’s your blood covering his face.

There are far worse ways he could be smeared with your blood . You gasp, still, at the striking color against the pallor of his face, reminded of seeing him in the arena.

He presses damp, open-mouthed kisses against your stomach, your ribcage, your breasts and collarbone, as if to mark you with it. Finally he sits up, bringing your legs over his as he guides himself into you with his bloodied fingers.

He stays upright as he pulls you onto him, and you watch his face as he looks down where you’re joined, his groan like a rumble in his chest as he sees himself pumping in and out of your bleeding pussy. He won’t last long, you realize. He’s been holding himself back from fucking you into the mattress since he visited you in your chambers hours ago.

He curves in then, bracing one hand above your head to grip your still-bound wrists as his other hand grabs your hip to keep you stable. You realize what he’s about to do a split second before it can happen.

He’s going to kiss you with that bloody mouth .

You tamp down on the revulsion of it and the coppery smell, again refusing to let him shock you or give you anything you can’t take and move in first, leaning up and capturing his mouth in a kiss.

He groans into it, hips pumping, tongue invading your mouth as he speeds up, going hard, hips snapping into you. He’s relentless; this would be agonizing if he hadn’t worked you open and pliant with his lips and tongue and even still, it veers on the edge of being overwhelming. Your whimpers and cries only encourage him.

And then he finally comes, burying his face in the crux of your neck and biting down, not hard enough to draw blood but enough that it will leave a bruise later.

For a moment the two of you stay that way, then he releases your wrists and sinks down onto you, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder as he pulls out and takes a moment to catch his breath. After a moment he raises himself back up on his forearms, pauses, and takes in the sight of your face and your lips stained red before reaching for your wrists again and untying the rope; once freed you notice that your skin’s been chafed rosy but still fully intact.

He gets up, and you watch the lines of his legs, the slope and curve of his buttocks, the taper from his shoulders to his waist as he gets up and sets the rope back in the armoire before finally closing it shut.

Guess he’s done for the night .

But is he going to send me back right away? you wonder, turning to your side to watch the way he moves. It takes some effort. You feel as depleted as a rung-out damp rag.

He approaches the bed and wordlessly holds out his hand, and once you take it guides you to your feet and leads you into this bathroom.

Like his bedroom, it’s larger than yours.

He doesn’t let you wash your blood off your body; he wants it to remain on you until it dries and peels off on its own. Instead he wipes his face, rinses and cleans out his mouth, and gives you a cup of water to do the same. He wipes off in between his legs and then yours, quiet and strangely peaceful. He takes another cloth and wets it, and then grabs a small bottle out of a drawer. “Turn around, hands on the counter,” he says.

Fairly certain you know what he’s about to do, you acquiesce. “Did you draw blood?” you ask over your shoulder.

He shakes his head. “Not this time,” he says. “Wasn’t trying to.” And then he surprises you by getting down on one knee.

You give a small gasp. It just seems…lewd? Subservient? And tired and sore as you are, you can’t help the twinge you feel in between your legs as he gingerly presses the cloth against your reddened skin. You grip the countertop tighter as he opens the bottle of what you can only assume is ointment because after a moment his fingertips are smeared in a cool balm that offers such sweet relief you drop your head, trying to hold yourself together when your legs feel like they’re about to give out and you can feel Feyd-Rautha’s breath so close to the sensitive skin of your backside.

He seems to be applying the ointment to the worst of the welts, starting in silence and then adding, “You’re sensitive, but you have a decent pain tolerance. I like that.”

You huff a laugh. I bet you say that to all the girls, you almost tell him, and immediately think that that’s probably not true. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s tending to your wounds you’d assume that he’d never do anything like this. Something tells you that this small act of kindness isn’t to be taken lightly or for granted.

Once he seems satisfied with his work he gets back up, sneaking a glance of your face in the mirror.

Is he thinking about how much you’ve already changed since you’ve met? Since you’ve married? When you see your reflection you don’t see the same person you did a week ago. Of course he didn’t know you a week ago. He barely knows you now. Still, when your eyes meet in the mirror, he looks at you with something almost close to affection before he leaves the bathroom.

“Stay the night,” he says when you walk over to your abandoned clothes so you can gather them up, get dressed, and return to your chambers.

You look over at him.

“I’ll want to sample you again first thing in the morning,” he explains, “so it’s more convenient if you remain here.”

You huff, torn between incredulity and amusement. “Taking advantage of the situation while we still can, are we?” you ask.

“I doubt it’ll come again for another ten months,” he says, and then strides, still naked, for the door. He opens it, and a few words of battle-language later he shuts again. He sees your confused expression and explains, “Your slave was still waiting for you. I told her to go.” He tilts his head in the direction of his bed, and after a moment you follow. It appears that he doesn’t even want you to pull your undergarment back on.

As soon as you’re under the covers with him he tugs down your end of it to get one last look at your marked chest. And after he’s looked his fill, he reaches for a switch that turns off the lights and even as the two of you can’t quite see each other, you still find yourselves on your sides facing one another.

“I wake up earlier than you’re probably used to and I’m a light sleeper. Your slave assured me that you don’t snore,” he says.

“Not that I’m aware of,” you tell him.

“Once you stop bleeding I’m going to start having you train in my Halls,” he adds. “I was serious earlier.”

“But for the next few days I’m chained to this bed.”

“That could be arranged,” he says. “In any case you weren’t complaining when I was licking your cunt earlier.”

He won’t see your flush, but he must know that it’s there. “So… is it safe to assume that none of this is…” you try to find the right words, “typical? For a man, I mean.” And in quite possibly the biggest understatement you’ve ever made, “You’re not a normal man.”

You’ve adjusted enough to the dark to see his smirk. “I think you've known that since before we met, Y/N,” he says. And after a moment he lays his head, settling in and getting comfortable. He doesn’t say another word to you that night, just closes his eyes and within a couple of minutes his breath slows.

It’s hard to imagine being able to let your guard down enough with this man to sleep beside him, even if he falls asleep first. Like sleeping beside a wild animal.

Sleep does come to you, though, after long minutes watching him sleep, waiting for him to wake up and scare you, lunge for you, and it doesn’t happen.

You turn to your other side, facing away from him then, and the only signal you get that he’s not entirely asleep is that as you start to drift off yourself, he reaches one arm to pull you in closer to him.

Tag list: @wo-ming-bai @blazeflays @richardslady121

Let me know if you'd also like to be tagged!

#feyd x reader #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd-rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha smut #dune part 2 #dune part two #feyd x you #dune fanfiction

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eventinelysplayground · 15 days

Text

Anatomy Lesson

This fic is brought to you by my conversation with @echoes-in-the-forest when we were laughing over the misreading of my previous Isaac fics title. It just stuck in my head and I was inspired for this, it is also the fic that got 0% of the votes for my badly described WIP poll awhile back which me knowing what it was made me laugh because I think it'll be popular, it was also finished awhile ago but it got pushed back for other stuff. This fic is definitely NSFW so minors do not interact. Isaac decides to learn more about anatomy and enlists your help while studying. WC approx 1796.

Isaac sat in his chair reading, his desk was covered in books, some closed while others were laid open to various pages. He barely registered the knock on his door or the sweet voice that followed it.

“Isaac it's me, I brought you something to eat and some rogue.”

“Huh? Oh!”

Isaac had finally lifted his head out from his book at your voice and when he did he noticed it had gotten very dark.

“I must have read through dinner.”

“That's why I brought you up something.”

Isaac felt you place a soft kiss on the top of his head and he smiled up at you.

“Thank you and I am sorry I didn't come down to eat.”

“It's alright Isaac I know you get lost in your research though, this doesn't look like your normal research.”

“You're right it's not.”

Isaac followed your gaze down to one of the open pages that had a diagram of a skull on it.

“I didn't think you were interested in biology.”

“That's a bit generalized but you're right I never really cared much about it.”

“So what brought this on then?”

“Earlier today Le Recteur ‘asked’ me to take over Professor Belanger’s anatomy class for him as he was called away for an emergency and I was free. I told him I wasn't familiar with anatomy but he said I would be fine, the students had just started an examination and only needed someone there to supervise them.”

Isaac heard the giggle you tried to hide and he frowned.

“Getting back to the point as the students began to hand in their examinations I decided to look over them and realized just how little I knew about the subject. I always had a generalized knowledge of it but nothing in depth. Honestly I never really cared to study it, I was too focused on other more serious subjects. I found myself quite curious reading through the exam papers and just like other scientific fields it's changed so much over the intervening years and I found myself wanting to learn more.”

Isaac reached for his sandwich and took a big bite out of it.

“Well I'm glad you found something new and interesting. I'll let you get back to your books, just promise me you won't forget to eat again.”

As you turned to leave Isaac had an idea and he hurriedly swallowed his bite of sandwich.

“Actually, would you mind helping me?”

“Of course not but I don't think I can be of much help, biology wasn't my best class.”

Isaac stood up from his chair gently grabbing your upper arms and guiding you to stand in the center of his room.

“Umm Isaac how is this helping you?”

Isaac walked back over to his desk and picked up a thick book before returning to you.

“This book talks about the different bones and muscle structures. The drawings are good but I think it will be easier to understand by following along on an actual body. That is, if it's alright with you?”

“I already said I didn't mind helping you and I'm done with work for the day so why not.”

“Excellent! Thank you.”

Isaac gave you a quick peck on the cheek before he started flipping through the thick book. As he combed through the text he would reach out and poke, prod or twist you around in different places feeling for muscle groupings or seeing how they worked together while your body was in motion.

Isaac was mildly aware of you moving occasionally, like when he ran his fingers from your side across your stomach and you squirmed as you let out a giggle, but for the most part he was completely absorbed in his new fascination. He started to become more focused blocking out all possible distractions as well as becoming more thorough with his touch.

“Isaac.”

His hands had slowly and methodically moved their way upwards caressing over your stomach and sides, along your arms and shoulders and now moved slowly along your neck.

“Isaac.”

Isaac didn't stop, he brushed your hair aside to get a better look at the back of your neck leaning in close to examine you better with his lips almost grazing the side of your neck.

“Isaac!”

He was pulled back to the present suddenly by your loud and desperate sounding cry of his name.

“Did, did I hurt you? I'm sorry I should have been more careful poking and-”

Isaac had moved to stand in front of you concerned he had hurt you somehow with his examination but what he found was not a look of pain or distress on your face but one of longing and desire.

“You didn't hurt me Isaac it's just…”

Your words trailed off and Isaac could see your cheeks and ears were flushed.

“The way you were touching me felt so good and…my body started getting other ideas.”

“It, it did?”

“Yes.”

Now it was Isaac whose cheeks were turning red as he thought about the way he had been touching her. He felt that familiar heat stirring inside him. Encouraged by the look in your eyes he stepped closer to you running his fingers along your cheek.

“You know I…I think it would be more helpful to me if we removed your clothes. That way I could get a better feel of everything. Of course you don't have to if you don't want to-”

“No! I mean, no it's fine Isaac. I don't mind taking them off.”

Isaac swallowed hard as he watched you slowly unbutton and remove your blouse, followed by your skirt. He stood there in awe of your perfect body, your perfect heart that loved him despite how awkward he was. Once you were completely bare in front of him he stepped closer and began his study of your body again.

Isaac started where he had stopped when you had called out to him. His fingers glided along your neck followed by his lips. Each time his lips touched your bare skin he could feel you shiver and detect a change in your body temperature. Slowly, methodically he kissed his way across your neck and over your shoulder. He heard the small sigh you let escape your lips and he smiled to himself.

He kissed down from your shoulder across the top of each breast while his finger caressed down your sides and hips. He could hear how fast your heart was beating and he rained kisses down right where it should be. He continued his exploration of you running his tongue over one nipple before capturing it in his mouth and sucking hard.

“Mmm Isaac.”

“Shhh, I like quiet when I study.”

Isaac was surprised that he voiced his request aloud and he looks up to see your eyes briefly wide with shock before you nod at him, a sheepish smile on your lips. Of course he knew he could be demanding but right now he wanted to explore your body fully and just the sound of your sweet voice alone was enough to undo him.

He brought his lips to your other breast tenderly kissing along it. As his lips closed around your nipple he moved one hand from your hip down along your stomach and in between your legs. His fingers caressed your inner thigh as he methodically studied every little twitch of your muscles brought on by his actions.

Slowly he moves his fingers further inward towards your most sensitive spot. He makes sure his touch is feather light as he lets his fingers glide over your wetness, wanting to draw out more reactions from your body.

“Do you know how many different muscles and parts of the body are used to perform something as simple as a kiss?”

Isaac's question was rhetorical of course as he closed his lips over yours before you could even begin to think of an answer. As he deepens the kiss and twines his tongue with yours he hears the muffled moans of pleasure that try to escape your captured lips. He wanted to take his time studying your body but now his own desire is too far gone.

“I'm sorry, I can't wait any longer.”

“Don't apologize, I want y-”

Isaac runs his thumb along your lips to cut you off.

“Shhh.”

He kisses you again as you both move towards his bed, your hands working furiously at the buttons on his shirt while his own undo his belt. Isaac wastes no time once you've reached the bed and has you pinned beneath him without breaking your kiss. He doesn't even bother to finish removing his pants instead just pulling them down just enough to free his hard cock so that he can take you.

“I wanted to be gentle with you but I can't.”

Isaac's lips find yours again as he briefly brushes up against your wetness before guiding himself deep inside you. His thrusts are quick and deep and he can feel your body reacting to his. The way your skin is flushed and warm, the way your panting into his kiss, the movement of your hips and the increasing wetness as he pleasures you. He grips one of your hands in his and laces your fingers together.

“Your body is amazing, the way you react to my touch, the way I fit inside you perfectly and how you tighten around me. It's like your body was designed to compliment mine in every way, created for me alone.”

Isaac kissed you once more before sinking his fangs into your neck. He feels your body arch as your core tightens around him and he knows you're desperately trying not to cry out in pleasure. He thrusts even faster and harder now, his heat reaching farther into you then it has before. His free hand moves to knead your breast as he licks the blood from your neck. He lifts himself to look at you and finds you biting down on your hand to stop your cries.

Seeing you trying so hard to fulfill his desires only makes him want you more and he thrusts even faster. He moves your hand from your mouth nipping at your lower lip before piercing it with his fangs. As your body writhes beneath him from the new wave of heat his release hits and he fills you up with it. Normally he would be satiated with this much for now but not tonight.

“It's not enough, I'm going to love you all night long.”

Isaac waits only long enough to catch your nod before he starts thrusting again while sinking his fangs deep into the crook of your neck and keeping true to his word.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp fanfic #ikemen vampire isaac #ikevamp isaac

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doodlenovaa · 2 months

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MKAY

I GOTTA RANT ABT SMTH THAT HAPPENED AT SCHOOL WITHIN THE LAST 2-ISH HOURS

Story under the cut:

BIT OF BACKGROUND INFORMATION BEFORE WE START

So, This is my biology teacher, We’re gonna just call her Mrs. Bio

Well, last week I came to school, Monday, Mrs. Bio wasn’t there, my friend Eevee (she loves Pokémon) had told me and my friends in the gc we had, we were thrilled because the thing about her is that,

That’s not a joke either! She will get upset if we get out of our seats 5 seconds before the bell rings, not exaggerating. And our teacher assistant, she’s chill, for the most part,

But, last week on Monday, when she wasn’t there, we were given a 2-paged packet, no biggie I get it done before class ends, I turn it in,

The very next day when I get in there and Mrs. Bio handed packets back, she didn’t give me mine back, I wasn’t that bothered about it because oh I already did the assignment

BUT NO

She gave me a new one when she seen me drawing and listening to music, because she asked me why I wasn’t ’doing my work’

It was already done

I did it the day before

Now, I didn’t re-do it- nuh uh I refused to

Same thing with the next because we spent three days on it, (we have a few days per assignment unless it’s like,, a YouTube video we need to watch, then it’s due at the end of class)

So, yesterday we were given study guides (our assignments we did all stapled together) and that one 2-Paged assignment? Wasn’t there, so I finished an assignment that’s due tomorrow, then I watched YouTube

Now, note, Eevee wasn’t here today because they had Girl Scout stuff to do, but when the Mrs. Bio said we can go to the lounge if we had all our work done, she told me I couldn’t go

It was the fucking packet

I argued that I had it done, and she refused to believe me, like she didn’t even look through the papers on her desk, she said I didn’t do it and tried to make me do it again. I once more refused and I verbally said I’m not going to do it,

Oh- and she then proceeded to say, that for the 3-day length that this assignment was given she watched me mess around and draw

All three days

SHE WAS ONLY THERE FOR TWO DAYS.

Best part about this? I have 4 people as witnesses for all of this, 3 watched me get my work done, Eevee, my friend (fuck it we call him robo) Robo, and my friend (his initials (middle and first)) EP,

The fourth person was in front of me, and my friend Robo was nearby, when she said this wonderful line

‘I will videotape you doing nothing the next time this happens’

For those of you unaware, without mine or my parents/guardians consent? That was illegal.

So, me and Robo then reported this to an admin that we ran into the hall,

This all happened in roughly 20 minutes. And this isn’t the first time Mrs. Bio was reported, this is the second time from my class specially that she’s been reported,

—

thank you for reading this,

I SWEAR ILL UPDATE YALL ON WHAT HAPPENS

#high school story #Karen teacher #Will update #none of this is exaggeration either

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seidenbros · 2 years

Note

Hi! Would you be up for writing a little something where Eddie and reader have never gotten along but for some reason find themselves stuck indoors during a storm and it’s cold/power goes out so… need to huddle for warmth. And the more they bicker, the more turned on they get. Would love angst-to-smut (couldn’t even pick a prompt from the “make me go feral” list but all are perfect) if possible! Thank you ❤️

Hello, my love! THIS was a wonderful request and I was so eager to get on it, you have no idea. You mean this list, right? YES! It's so great, that I chose a couple of prompts that I put into this. Didn't expect it to go this way and to bring out a bit of soft Dom Eddie, but here we are. Hope you enjoy 💚

Requests are open | prompt lists for inspiration | Stranger Things Masterlist

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Word count: 4983

Prompts: Louder. Let me hear you. | Shut up! Make Me! (a variation of this)| Spread your legs wider. | Keep your eyes on me. | Don ‘t hold back.

Warning/Tags: angst to smut, kinda soft Dom Eddie, light praise kink, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), oral sex (female receveiving), thunderstorm, come eating, (let me know if I missed anything) | 18+ MINORS DNI

Read on AO3

I'll Keep You Warm

“Great… fucking great,” you mumbled to yourself while leaving the school, shouldering your backpack while running a hand through your hair. As if it wasn’t bad enough that you had to do this biology assignment at all, you had to do it with Eddie Munson of all people. Eddie Munson who skipped classes whenever he felt like it, who had been through all this before, and who had to be present today of all days. If he hadn’t been there, you would have been paired up with someone else. Your teacher had just shrugged her shoulders, because you’d been paired up by her drawing your names out of a hat. Ridiculous. If Eddie hadn’t been there, his name wouldn’t have been in that fucking hat.

“Y/N! For fuck’s sake, wait up!” Eddie called after you, rolling his eyes. He wasn’t exactly happy about this situation as well, but since you hadn’t been able to talk your teacher out of it, you were stuck with him. And he wasn’t going to be the one responsible for you failing this assignment because he bailed on you. Yes, you two didn’t really get along, but he didn’t want you to hate him even more.

“What?” you asked when he caught up with you, slowing down your pace to walk alongside him, but you didn’t stop.

“Where are you going?” Eddie kept his eyes on you while walking, trying to figure out what was going on in your head and shield himself from anything you might throw his way.

“To my car?” Wasn’t it obvious? “I want to get started with this assignment as quickly as possible so I won’t have to think about it anymore. You don’t need to do anything. Since we’re stuck on this together, I can do the work and we can both take credit for that.”

“No.” Eddie shook his head, pushed his hands into his pockets and started walking faster to keep up with you.“What do you mean ‘no’?” When you reached your car, you stopped, turning to look at him. You’d just given him an opportunity to back out of this whole situation, and he didn’t want that?

“Did you forget?” He held up the polaroid camera for you to see, because you had been told to take pictures of your progress and pictures of yourselves as memories. “Appreciate the easy way out, but we’re in this together. And I don’t want you telling everyone that I’m responsible for a bad grade, because I didn’t participate.” Eddie rounded your car and stopped at the passenger side, looking over at you. “So, you’re stuck with me for the afternoon. The sooner we get to work, the sooner we can both go our separate ways again.”

“Shit,” you mumbled to yourself. You’d completely forgotten about the photos, and while you could each take your own photos alone, you were sure that your teacher would find out in the end. It was just one afternoon. You’d sat through lessons with Eddie where he’d gnawed at your nerves before, so you were already prepared for the worst. “Fine… You take care of the camera, I’ll take notes and the samples.”

With that being established, Eddie and you climbed into your car and got on your way to Lover’s Lake. You felt Eddie’s eyes on you now and then, but didn’t acknowledge it. He didn’t bicker about your music, which was a good sign, but you were sure that you’d butt heads again in a matter of minutes. It had always been like this with the two of you, and you couldn’t even really say why or how it had started. When you said right, he said left, and sometimes it felt like it was just out of spite, to get on your nerves. But you did the same, when he had an opinion on something, you had a different one.

Once you’d parked your car along the lake, you gathered everything you’d need and got out. You had to gather samples from the water from around the lake, label them, and then do some tests to see if there were differences, depending on where you were around the lake. Ridiculous in your opinion, a waste of time, but… it hadn’t been your choice, you’d been assigned this stupid thing.

“We better hurry.” Eddie nodded towards the sky that was turning darker and darker. The weather forecast had talked about rain, wind, even a storm coming, but that wasn’t until tomorrow.

“You’re right…” One thing you could agree on at least. And so, you started in one direction along the lake, taking your samples, labelling them, marking on the map where which sample had been taken.

For half an hour you worked your way along the lake, made it nearly halfway around when you heard thunder crack through the silence. Your eyes met Eddie’s for a moment, but then you got back to work. It was probably still far enough away for you to make it back, right?

Eddie had already taken a couple of photos, most of them from you at work. When he took the next one, though, it was suddenly rather bright, and it wasn’t the flash from the camera. No, it was lightning, followed nearly immediately by thunder.

“Shit,” he mumbled to himself and put the camera in his backpack when the first drops of rain hit his head. He looked up before he looked over at you, more and more raindrops falling down, rippling through the water. Big droplets of water that soaked through your clothes immediately and cooled your body down.

“It wasn’t supposed to rain until later or tomorrow!” you complained, as if that would change anything about the situation at hand. You put everything back in your backpack and looked around. The trees gave you little shelter, but it was better than standing here by the water, even though you were already soaked to your skin, the first gust of wind sending a shiver down your spine.

“Come on!” Eddie took hold of your hand and started walking swiftly in one direction. You fought the first instinct to pull your hand out of his grasp, because you really didn’t want to stay alone right here.

“Where are we going?” you yelled over the sound of the pouring rain, blinking against the water on your eyes to stay focused on him, see where he was going.

“A friend’s house. At least it’s dry there,” Eddie called back, pulling you along, but making sure that you could keep up. The situation was bad enough as it was, so he really didn’t want you to bust your ankle or anything.

And like he’d said, there was the house at the lake, a place that promised warmth and at least a roof over your head so you could get out of the rain. Eddie positioned you in front of the door, before he rummaged through something next to the door. You didn’t know what and you didn’t care, because he came up with a key to unlock the front door and let both of you inside.

“Thank God,” you whispered, turning towards Eddie who was closing the door. “Your friend won’t mind?”

“Nah. He’s… indisposed.” Eddie chuckled to himself, pushing his wet hair back from his face.He turned on the lights and looked around. Rick never had a lot of things here, but at least some essentials.

“I won’t ask any more questions.” You shook your head, trying to hide your smile. You had a vague idea what he meant with that, but right now, you were just happy that you were in here, especially when you heard the wind outside rattling the windows and even the front door. It looked like the storm they’d been talking about had come early.

“Come on.” Eddie motioned for you to follow him when he walked up the stairs, and you did. A shiver ran through your body, the cold slowly seeping into your bones, so you were eager to find a way to warm up.

Eddie led you to Rick’s bedroom and he opened the wardrobe. Your first instinct was to walk over to the heater, but it was already turned on - but ice cold. Fuck… that was not gonna work, but that also meant that you probably didn’t have any warm water here. Maybe they’d turned it off due to Rick not being here.

“Take off your clothes,” Eddie said over his shoulder, pulling a blanket and a sweatshirt from the wardrobe. There wasn’t anything else in there, and it frustrated him. Then again, he was glad that there was actually something you could use.

“Excuse me?!” you squeaked, your eyes boring into the back of his head. Your cheeks started to burn because of his words.

“Relax!” Eddie turned around, rolling his eyes at you, while he took off his own jacket, let his shirt follow straight away. He tossed a towel your way, used the other one to dry off his hair and face as much as possible, which resulted in his hair sticking up in all kinds of directions. “You have to get out of the wet clothes or you’ll catch a cold. You’re already shivering, so… The sweater is yours if you want it. Rick doesn’t have a lot in here as it seems.”

You took the towel and did the same as him, tried to dry your hair and face. You knew that he was right, but you were still hesitant - and couldn’t stop yourself from ogling him while he took off his jeans as well, leaving him in nothing but his boxers.

“Like what you see?”

His words made you look up again, but despite the heat creeping up to your cheeks again, you felt a rush of confidence.

“Can’t blame a girl for looking.” You shrugged your shoulders before you dropped your backpack to the floor. Your jacket and sweater follow immediately, leaving you in your rad lace bra, your nipples poking against the material because of the cold. You could feel Eddie’s eyes on you, but you didn’t say anything. After all, you’d looked at him as well, it was only fair that he got to look as well, right?

You noticed that Eddie reached for one of the blankets and wrapped it around his shoulder, while you took off your jeans, laid your clothes out over the heater even though it wasn’t on, but that way they might still dry faster.

“Didn’t pick you for the lacey kinda girl,” Eddie commented, letting his eyes wander over your body. You felt your pulse quicken, being this exposed to him. “Always thought you were more white cotton granny panties type.”

“What made you think that?” You tried not to sound offended, but you were.

“You’re always so uptight, like you don’t want to let anyone in your life.” Eddie shrugged his shoulders, still enjoying the view.

“I just try to focus on school so I won’t have to repeat the year and can get away from here as soon as possible.” You hadn’t wanted to offend him with your words, but it had definitely sounded like that - and you could see it in his eyes. The rumours about him had never interested you, you only judged by what you experienced yourself. You had no idea why he had to repeat the year, and it was none of your business anyway. “I just… want to get out of this hellhole and away from my family.” This was more than you’d wanted to tell him, but the words had just slipped out. Your parents weren’t exactly bad people, but they weren’t really supportive of you, so it was better to get away and finally live your life the way you wanted to. “Anyway, why are you even thinking about my panties?” That was a more interesting topic anyway, and it diverted the attention from what you’d just said.

“Wouldn’t you like to know…” Eddie said with a wink, watching you put that sweater he’d thrown your way over your head. The sleeves were a little too long, but at least you were wearing something more than just your underwear in this cold house. “Come one, maybe, we can find something else to warm us up downstairs.”

He handed you the other blanket before he walked ahead of you down the stairs. With a sigh, you followed him, but the only thing you found in Rick’s kitchen was some booze and spoiled milk in the fridge. Eddie opened the bottle to take a drag, before he handed it to you. Right now, you’d probably do anything to get a little warmer, even if the liquid burned all the way down your throat.

You heard a loud crack from outside, before the lights flickered and went off. You couldn’t suppress the shriek that escaped your lips at the sound, because you hadn’t expected it.

“Shitshitshitshit,” you mumbled, wrapping the blanket tighter around you. You closed your eyes and counted to five before you felt Eddie’s hands on your arms.

“Stay right here!”

Wide-eyed, you looked at him, but nodded. You leaned your back against the kitchen counter, taking deep breaths to calm down. This was a fucking mess, and you couldn’t get out of this situation. Your car was at the other end of the lake, there was nobody you could call right now, so you were stuck here with Eddie Munson, freezing your ass off.

“It’s completely busted,” Eddie announced when he came back, shaking his head. “No heating, no electricity… Everything’s out.” It was frustrating, but there was nothing you could do about it.

“Great… fucking great.” You heaved a sigh, rubbing one hand over your face, pushing your still damp hair back. Your fingers were still shaking, and the blanket only did so much to keep you warm.

“Come here!” Eddie said, opening the blanket around his shoulders for you. You raised a questioning eyebrow at him, that made him chuckle. “For someone so smart, you’re sometimes really slow.”

“Hey!” you protested, gasping at him. “And here I’d thought for a minute that you weren’t that bad Munson. And you just crushed that thought again.” You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. What an asshole.

“Now, now!” he chided, taking a step towards you. “You do know what helps best when you’re freezing?” He waited for any answer that didn’t come. You knew it, but you didn’t want to say it out loud. “Bodyheat.” Eddie provided the answer, stopping right in front of you, his blanket still open for you. For a moment, you weighed your options, but he was right. It was the best and fastest way to get warm, so you stepped into his embrace.

“Just so we’re clear, this is just for warmth!” you said to him, looking into his eyes.

“Sure.” Eddie couldn’t suppress the smile when he tilted his head to the side. “But you do know that it won’t work if you keep your own body wrapped up like this, right?”

“Yeah yeah..” you mumbled and opened the blanket, but then you took a step back again to take off the sweater you’d put on upstairs. Then you stepped up to him again, your side touching his, the blankets now wrapped around both of you. You could feel the heat radiating off him, and you hated to admit that it was rather soothing.

“This goddamn assignment,” you said after a moment, shaking your head. Eddie’s gaze was on you again, taking in your profile, wondering why you were so goddamn hot when you got so aggravated. “I don’t understand why we even have to work in teams instead of doing this shit alone. I could have been finished way sooner or just… started whenever.”

“Ah, so it’s my fault that we’re stuck here?”

“Well…” You hadn’t exactly said that, but you’d thought it. “If you hadn’t been in class for once, we wouldn’t be here together.”

“No, you’d probably be here with someone else, and then you wouldn’t have ended up in this house and you’d still be out there in the rain. So, you’re welcome.” Eddie turned to face you, eyes going darker, arms crossed beneath the blankets around you.

When you turned towards him as well, his elbow brushed your breast and you had to inhale sharply, not expecting your own body to react like this, to suddenly make you aware of how little both of you were wearing, how close you really were. And you certainly didn’t expect to get aroused by that look he was levelling at you.

“Or I could have been finished already and been on my way home when that fucking storm started!” You went toe to toe with him, your eyes boring into his.

“You really think that?” Eddie asked, his eyes dropping to your lips for the fraction of a second before he looked back up. “You wouldn’t even have made it this far with someone else!”

“Oh, please, this is ridiculous.” You rolled your eyes, pressing your thighs together, irritated with yourself that you were getting turned on by him, by this banter between you - but you liked it as well. It was new, interesting, made you curious. “I could have gotten Natalie or even Walter, and we would have made it around the lake sooner.” It was a lie, and not even a good one at that, but by now, you were pushing his buttons on purpose. “I mean, this whole project is just stupid altogether, and we shouldn’t even have to be out here, but well… here we are, stuck with each other.”

“Jesus Christ, do you ever shut up?” Eddie growled, pinching the bridge of his nose, his patience faltering, but his ears perked up at your next words.

“You’ll have to make me shut up, Munson.”

“Oh, I know a way to shut you up, missy.” His lips were on yours in a matter of seconds, devouring you, making you moan into the kiss. You’d provoked this, you knew it, and you were not at all sorry about it. The way his tongue thrust into your mouth was a promise of what else he was capable of doing with it, making your knees buckle. Your hands found his shoulders, clung onto them, onto him, while his hands roamed your sides, found their home on your waist for a moment, his thumbs brushing over your stomach.

“You enjoyed this, didn’t you?” he whispered against your lips, grinning to himself, before he placed open mouthed kisses to the side of your neck, leaving a wet trail behind. “Getting me all irritated with your words.” He ran his tongue over your clavicle, before he pushed the blankets off you both and lifted you onto the kitchen counter.

“Maybe,” you admitted, your eyes fluttering shut, your laboured breathing filling the room. “Don’t tell me you didn’t…”

Eddie pulled you towards the edge of the counter, flush against him, and you gasped when you felt the outline of his hard cock against your clothed heat.

“Been hiding this behind the blanket ever since you took off your shirt and I got a glimpse at this...” He leaned his head down, pulling your erect nipple into his mouth through the fabric, eliciting the most sinful moan out of your throat. You could feel his dick twitch at that. Your right hand came up to brush his hair from his face, fingers tangling in his hair.

“You look way too hot in this.” Eddie raised his head again, pressed a kiss to your lips while he worked at opening your bra. “Still has to come off!” He scraped his teeth over your bottom lip, making you shiver with that move. When the cold air hit your naked breasts, you shivered, but Eddie quickly filled his hands with your tits, rolling your nipples beneath his thumbs.

“Fuck… That’s so good,” you mumbled, moaning when he rutted his hips into you. While you enjoyed his hands, his lips on your body, there was something else you wanted, and so you reached for it, pushed your hand into his boxers and pulled his cock out of its confinements. Eddie’s fingers dug into your skin. You ran your thumb over the head of his cock, collecting his precome, smearing it along his length so your fingers glided over him easier. Eddie thrust into your fist once, twice, but then he had to pull back.

“If you keep going like this, I’m gonna come all over your stomach straight away.”

You moaned at the thought of that, bit your lip when your eyes met his.

“Oh you’d like that?” Eddie tilted his head to the side, letting his eyes wander over your body. Your nod was barely visible, but Eddie still picked up on it. “Good to know.”

He captured your lips in another searing kiss, before he got down on his knees in front of you.

“What are you doing?” you asked breathlessly, nibbling on your bottom lip.

“I showed you how I could shut you up, and now I’m gonna show you how I can make you scream with my mouth.” Eddie had the audacity to wink at you as he lifted your leg onto his shoulder, pressing kisses to the inside of your thigh. Your eyes closed at the pleasure you were feeling already, at the anticipation of what was to come.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Eddie demanded, pressing his teeth against the tender flesh to get your attention. And you did, you opened your eyes and watched him as he placed his opened mouth on your clothed pussy, his tongue pressing against you, hot and wet.

“Oh God… fuck,” you cursed, eyes nearly drifting shut, but the way Eddie’s grip on your thigh tightened made you open them immediately again. You wanted to do as you were told, but it was so goddamn difficult with what he was doing to you.

Eddie pulled back only slightly to take off your panties as well.

“Spread your legs wider… let me see you.”

You swallowed hard, another wave of arousal hitting you out of nowhere, and you had to fight the urge to press your knees together and instead open your legs wider for him.

“So good for me,” Eddie cood, his palms rubbing up your thighs, eyes fixed on your pussy. “And so wet as well.” He slowly looked up at you, finding you looking back at him, and he hummed in appreciation. You were good at following orders, and he enjoyed it. For someone with such a big mouth, you were eager to please. It was the contrast he liked.

Without a warning, his mouth was on you again, his tongue lapping at your clit, eliciting moan after moan out of you, but you were still holding back.

“Louder… let me hear you, sweet thing,” Eddie encouraged you, and while your former lovers had always told you to be more quiet, Eddie allowed you to be as loud as you wanted. There was nobody here to hear you anyway, and so you let loose, your loud moans filling the dark kitchen as he thrust his tongue inside you, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing slow circles around it.

“Eddie… I’m… I’m gonna,” you breathed out and let your head fall back on a moan. That made Eddie pull back from you, though, leaving you gasping, aching for more, for that sweet release that didn’t come. “What…?”

“I told you to keep your eyes on me.” He looked up at you, your juices coating his lips and chin, a devilish smile on his lips. “If you don’t follow, you don’t get to come.”

“That’s mean!” you whined, but you wanted this, wanted him, and you wanted these orders. “I’ll listen! I won’t do it again.”

“You sure?”

“I’ll… do my best!”

“Alright, you get another chance.” Eddie pushed two fingers inside you without a warning, making you moan his name, but you kept your eyes on him now, already feeling that coil inside you tighten further and further, ready to snap any second now.

“Please… I need to… I,” you stammered, and when he curved his fingers to hit that sweet spot inside you, you cried out, knuckles turning white from how hard you were grabbing the edge of the counter.

“Ask for it!” Eddie looked up at you, eyes locked with yours as he sped up his fingers. “Ask or I’ll stop.”

“Please! Please, Eddie!” you started, knowing what he wanted to hear. “Please let me come!”

“Who am I to deny you that when you’re asking so nicely?” It didn’t take more than his approval now to make that coil finally snap, made your orgasm wrack your body, your cunt spasming around his fingers. But you kept your eyes on him, moaning his name over and over.

Slowly, Eddie pulled his fingers back, making you whimper slightly, your legs dangling off the counter. You were still catching your breath when he kissed you, making you taste yourself on his lips.

“You see how sweet you taste? God, that’s addictive.” He pulled you close, your sensitive pussy making contact with his hard cock.

“Eddie…” you whispered, hands darting down to his cock, to wrap your fingers around him again.

“Yes?” For a brief moment, he closed his eyes, hands on your hips to keep you in place.

“Please..”

“Use your words! Tell me what you need!”

“I need you inside me!” You peppered kisses along his jaw, his shoulder. “Need you to fuck me!”

“I don’t have a condom.” Even in this heated situation, he thought about this.

“I’m on the pill.”

Your words made him groan, made his fingers dig into your skin, because just the thought of taking you like this made him nearly combust.

“Are you sure? You can still say no!”

“Eddie…” You raised your head again to look into his eyes. “I know.” Despite all your differences, you knew that he would never do anything like that. You pulled him into a kiss while you guided his cock to your cunt, using your own slick to lube him up even more. Eddie groaned against your lips, pushing slowly forward, entering you.

“I don’t think-” Eddie started, but you stopped him with your fingers on his lips.

“Don’t hold back!” you told him, and he listened, pushed all the way inside you, leaving you both breathless for a moment. But then Eddie started moving, started thrusting into you again and again, each thrust getting a bit harder.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, gripping me so good.” Eddie’s fingers would leave bruises on your hips because he was holding you in place, and it was good this was. You would still feel him tomorrow, and the day after, thinking back on what was happening right now.

“Such a good girl… Doing so well.”

“Fuck, Eddie!” his words went right to your cunt, making it pulse around him. Eddie’s hips stuttered for a moment, before he picked up his pace again, snapping his hips into yours. When he pulled you a little more towards the edge, he hit that spot inside you again, his pubic bone brushing against your clit with every thrust he gave you.

“Eddie… I’m gonna… Please! Please let me come!” You felt your second high approaching, making your head all fuzzy, and you didn’t even control what was coming over your lips anymore.

“Go ahead… come all over my cock! I want to feel you, y/n. Want to feel your pretty pussy grip me tight.” He leaned his head down, looking down to see his cock push in and out, going a little slower now, but harder to push you over the edge. Your nails dug into his shoulders, as your second high ripped through you, making you see stars behind your closed eyes. Your loud moans filled the room as Eddie fucked you through your orgasm, drawing it out, but when he couldn’t hold it back anymore, he pulled out of your, spurting his come all over your stomach. Now, you were the one to watch in awe, trying to catch your breath, but you were transfixed by the picture in front of you that was accompanied by Eddie’s lewd moans mixed with grunt and your name here and there.

His head fell to your shoulder when he was done, his hands letting go of your hips, slowly stroking over your thighs to your knees and back up. You ran your fingertips up his arms, over his shoulders until you were able to cup his cheeks and lift his head. Your lips connected with his in a slow, sensual kiss that left you both breathless again.

“Not how I expected this afternoon to go,” you broke the silence with a chuckle.

“Me neither,” Eddie agreed, pulling back slightly to look you over. “Was this… okay?”

“Are you kidding?” you asked, gathering some of his come on your finger. “It was the best sex I ever had.” Curiosity got the better of you and you popped your finger into your mouth, licking his seed off, eyes still on him.

“That’s so fucking hot,” he mumbled, eyes on your lips for a moment, before he looked back up. “Jesus, just looking at you like this is gonna get me hard again.”

“So?” you shrugged your shoulders, a mischievous smile on your lips as you did so. “I don’t see a problem with that.”

“Well… keeps us warm at least.” Eddie chuckled, placing his palms flat on your thighs again.

“See? How else are we supposed to keep warm?”

“Yeah… looks like we don’t even have another choice, right?”

“Right…” You whispered before you kissed him again, forgetting about your surroundings and the situation in itself.

Tag-list: @violetpenguinkris @tellhound @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @spideyanakin-interacts @bellamy-barnes @beepisbeep @snapefiction @hardysbitch @give-em-hellfire @sadbitchfangirl @ravenclawkimmi @lacrymosa-24 @ruinedbythehobbit @samlealea @hacker-ghost @kirsteng42 @princesseddie @anaisweird

Let me know (send me a message) if you want to be on one of my tag-lists. I have one for the Promises Series, Eddie x Reader, Steddie and Steve x Reader 💚

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #staffi writes #eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n

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goblin-mask · 2 years

Text

Biology Is Hot (2012 Donnie x Fem Reader)

Anon Requested:

hey! I was wondering if you could do a 2012 Donatello x reader who love biology? (She/her but if you don’t wanna do that it’s ok!)

A/N: For some reason the gifs aren’t loading. Apologies

“This creature has an extra chromosome...” You say as you look through the microscope.

Donatello looks up at you from across his lab. You both have been on the project for forever. The Foot Clan have been testing out this new mutagen on other people. It started off with lab rats, guinea pigs, dogs, and cats. Donatello just happened to pass by and snagged one. Poor little guinea pig has glowing red eyes and extra arms on it’s back that oozed some sort of substance. You both made sure to sedate it before drawing it’s blood.

“Does it?” He asks walking over to you and standing behind you.

You tense up and feel yourself blush.

“Uh yeah... In my Biology Honors class we are learning about genetic mutations as well as what Chromosomes correspond with it.” You say turning to face him

Donatello is looking at you in a way you haven’t seen before. His mouth was hanging open slightly. You can see the cute little gap in his teeth and his pupils seem to be dilated.

“A-Anyway! The little guy as a disease that affected the change in his DNA. I think that is why he is oozing. His body is trying to reject it... The thing must be suffering...” You say frowning before turning around to write in your notes.

“Can I see?” Donnie asks and you nod.

You go to move out of the way but you find yourself caged between his arms as he leans over your shoulder to look the the microscope. You couldn’t tell if it was your heart pumping or if it was the bass from Raphaels music in your ears. Your face must be beet red.

“Great job Y/N! That’s my girl!” He exclaims as he pulls away from you and messes up your hair.

Your face couldn’t possibly burn any redder. “Y-You’re welcome Donnie!”

He pulls away and smiles a big smile.

***

“How is your Biology class going? You got boosted to honors huh?”

Donatello didn’t know how to feel about you. You were breathtakingly beautiful. You had a love for science, you were never bored or tired of his ramblings, and holy shell your mind seemed to be on par with his. He can hear you talk about your class now but all he can focus on was your lips and how you moved when you talk. He would kiss you, but who would want to be kissed by a turtle?

“Yeah! That’s great!” Donatello says trying to add to the conversation.

He finds it very hot that you like Biology and try to take the time to try and understand other types of sciences. He has been sending you cute little science puns but you haven’t been getting the hints, but he will keep trying. He likes you so he will spend the rest of his time with you trying to get you to realize his feels, even if he doesn’t outright say it.

“Well I have to go Donnie! See you tomorrow?” You ask and he nods trying to hide his face of disappointment.

He waits for your hug that you normally give him. You pointed out that he is a tucker, which means he tucks his head into your neck when he hugs back and he does just that.

“Hey uh... Maybe we can...” Donnie draws out jeez this is embarrassing.

“Yes?” You ask. You have this glint in your eyes, but it seems to diminish after he says this.

“How about we hang out and... I help you with you Algebra homework! You have been struggling right?”

Oh god. He is rambling and your face looks so dejected for a moment until you smile again.

“Sure! We can get pizza as well! Call it a date?” You ask hopefully.

Donnie’s face would be a crimson red out of both excitement and embarrassment. He wanted to be the one to ask you out, but this could work!

“Y-Yeah it’s a date!” He exclaims

You giggle before pressing a kiss to his cheek and dashing out of there.

Raphael just happens to be passing by so he pokes his head in.

“What’s up with her?” He asks

“I my friend have got a date! Now leave! I need to make the lab perfect!” He says before shoving Raph out of the room and locking it.

“I have to make this right...”

#tmnt #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt 2012 #donatello x reader #2012 donatello #x fem reader #fluff #raphael #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #x reader #tmnt x reader #tmnt requests

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casicroaks · 6 months

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Kelly is nervous about her school grades, since she couldn't manage to dissect a frog in science class. Luckily for her, Barbie, her tutor, has just the right tale to motivate her to try harder and pass her exams -and, who knows, maybe even learn a valuable lesson…

CHAPTER 1

[ here for CHAPTER 2 ]

“What’s wrong, Kelly?” she asked.

It was a dark, stormy night in the small coastal town. The raindrops, harmless by themselves, violently struck the windowpanes of young Kelly’s house. She was sitting at her kitchen table, next to the large bay windows, so she felt surrounded by the unceasing, rattling sound. Kelly chewed on the end of her pencil, gazing at all the pages of her biology textbooks, feeling deeply upset. Barbie, in her usual cheery disposition, smiled at her.

“Oh, Barbie… Mom will be so angry when she finds out how I did today in science class.”

“How so? What happened?”

“We were asked to dissect a frog… And I just couldn’t do it.”

“Why? Were you sorry for the little frog?”

“Oh, no, of course not; it was dead already. I was just… A bit disgusted by the whole thing.”

Kelly’s tutor laughed. “But there’s nothing disgusting about it! It’s only natural to be curious about the inner workings of the marvelous machine that is the organic body.”

“But, Barbie –I didn’t need to slice the frog open! I could just buy a diagram or something of the sort, the kind that appears in those science magazines –or I could search for a video of someone else doing it on the internet—”

“Kelly,” Barbie laughed again. “That cannot replace the real experience of witnessing the real components that make up a living being.”

“I still think it’s icky…”

Suddenly, a flash of lightning startled Kelly, as she saw the whole room –the tall doors, the cabinet filled with her parents’ souvenirs of fascinating voyages, the textbooks and their illustrations of the nervous system, and Barbie herself –bleached in a bright, burning white before the darkness returned, interrupted only by the few candles that lighted the space. And, just as Kelly wondered when the light would come back so she could turn on the living room lamps, a loud booming thunder spooked her, and she let out a brief shriek.

“Why, why must it make that noise!” Kelly cried.

“Well,” Barbie started explaining. “Thunder is caused by the lightning, which opens an air channel—”

“I know how thunder and lightning works –I’m just tired of the bright flashes and the terrible booming! I wish I could stop them altogether!”

To her surprise, Barbie didn’t laugh. She just smiled bitterly, almost disappointed. It was not a normal look for her, and Kelly was just a little unnerved by it.

“The teacher said that if I don’t finish the science project, he will fail me. But I can’t fail this class –my parents will be fuming at the mere thought of it,” Kelly protested, and huffed. “All this because I wouldn’t cut up a little smelly frog.”

Barbie looked at her student for a few minutes, while the rain continued to pour outside. The candle that lighted her smooth features flickered, casting changing shadows on her. Finally, Barbie moved her chair closer to Kelly’s.

“I just want to pass this science exam,” the young girl said. “I don’t know why it’s become so difficult for me.”

“I know,” said Barbie. “You just need to try a little harder, and find the courage to overcome your disgust, leave your repugnance behind and get it done.”

Kelly looked down at the half done, messy drawing she had made, an attempt to illustrate the organs of a leopard frog. Without the actual physical model, she knew, she wouldn’t be able to finish it.

“This reminds me…” Barbie said slowly. “Of something I’ve heard about, some time ago… About a girl who felt much like you once –conflicted, about what was the right thing to do.”

Kelly blinked, intrigued. A new lightning struck, and thunder clapped again, but Kelly barely gritted her teeth. Barbie quickly glanced at the grandfather clock on the corner of the room –her shift would be over in a bit less than an hour –but if the story could help her young student, she thought, it would be worth spending the rest of the class telling it.

“Alright; this happened not so long ago, not so far from here…”

…

Vivianna Frankenstein was the eldest daughter of Dr Frankenstein, a respected scientist in a quiet, mysterious European town in Switzerland. She lived with her father, her little sister Marianna, and their servant boy Elliot in a beautiful, grand timber-framed house in the woods. Vivianna had tragically lost her mother, but she still had his loving father and sister, and the faithful servitude of Elliot, so she didn’t feel too bad about it. After her passing, Dr Frankenstein had given Vivianna his lovely golden locket, where her mother’s sweet face was forever immortalized. Wearing it, Vivianna felt her mother was always with her, in a certain way, dangling from her neck just over her heart.

Living in such a lavish house in such a quiet town meant that Vivianna didn’t have many chances to make friends –in fact, she was rather quiet herself, and found herself to be quite awkward among new people, much to her own chagrin. Despite this, she had three true friends –four, perhaps, if one counts a little sister as a friend: Henrika, Willard, and Matt.

Henrika, whom she considered her bestest friend, looked very much like Vivianna: their biggest differences were that Henrika was a brunette, while Vivianna had blonde hair; beyond that, both had clear blue eyes and a youthful, oval face. Henrika had been Vivianna’s closest friend since early childhood, and neither could imagine living without the other. They frequently spent time together, at sleepovers and museum visits, at the park or simply in each other’s bedrooms, singing their favorite songs, chatting away the hours and dreaming of their futures.

Willard, on the other hand, was a rat. He was Vivianna’s pet rat, who often tried to communicate with her owner with little high pitched squeaks and squeals that most people besides Vivianna felt were pretty annoying. Willard was a chubby rat, mostly due to the privileged life at the Frankenstein’s home, but he was still very much nimble and quick on his tiny feet. Vivianna loved him dearly, almost as much as she loved Henrika: she fed him cashew and pecans, stroked his soft fur every now and then to show him her affection, and kept him safe in her dollhouse besides her bed when Dr Frankenstein wished to spend a peaceful evening.

Matthew, or Matt for short, finally, was a chap around Vivianna’s age, an orphan who Mrs Frankenstein had adopted once while she was travelling somewhere other than Europe. She had chosen Matt from several other boys –street urchins, living without food or shelter –when she realized he was the most likely of the bunch to grow to be a handsome young man, the cleanest one and the least sick and scarred. Matt lived with the Frankensteins for a while, as a surrogate brother to Vivianna. After Marianna’s birth, though, and especially after Mrs Frankenstein’s death, Matt was sent to live with his personal tutor in a cottage not far from the family’s house, paid by the Frankensteins, to complete his education without distractions. It was Dr Frankenstein’s plan, and one he had shared with his wife for quite some time, for Matt to marry Vivianna one day. Mrs Frankenstein often remarked what a lovely couple they would be; neither of the children were particularly interested in the other in a romantic sense, but they liked each other well enough, and had no problem playing together and spending play dates and evenings along with Henrika, going to the movies, having ice creams, hiking in the woods, performing little amateur productions of Greek myths, and the like.

Vivianna had grown into a gorgeous young woman by the time this story properly begins: and like all young women, she had a particular interest that concentrated all her time and attention: sewing. She was an extremely skilled seamstress, capable of reconstructing complex historical costumes and fixing almost every piece of clothing that ever appeared to have a tear, a hole or a ripped seam. But –and this she kept a secret –she had another interest –something unheard of: Vivianna was fascinated by science, the science her father dedicated his life to. Despite her evident passion for the textile arts, she read science books by candlelight, covered by the dark of night. Vivianna knew that people wouldn’t understand her love of science –nobody would believe a pretty, nice, blonde, gown-wearing lady would find herself riveted by beakers, pipettes, funnels and all that sort of stuff.

Vivianna was especially interested in her father’s greatest creation: an advanced piece of machinery, full of cogs and screws and gears, which could accurately predict the weather in no time. The townsfolk, confounded by his invention, called the machine the Rainmaker, and believed it to be magic. Vivianna felt the same way her father did –a sort of light amusement at the beliefs of the common people, of those who still insisted that the device was a scam and that it was Dr Frankenstein who summoned the clouds and the storms.

These people stopped saying so, when Dr Frankenstein died suddenly during a fine summer afternoon. He was taking a walk when he was surprised by a light drizzle –not even something that merited pulling up his collar –and he continued his promenade by the countryside when a lightning struck him and killed him instantly. Vivianna and Marianna found themselves orphaned, and they mourned their dear father for the appropriate amount of time, confining themselves to their home, to the sympathetic company of Henrika and Matt, to the service of the similarly grieving Elliot, who considered Dr Frankenstein the father he never had. Nothing much had truly changed, after a while, just the amount of rooms in the great house that were inhabited.

Vivianna considered the death of his father her call to adventure: she suddenly felt the uncontainable need to travel, to see the world, to leave her quiet town and seek excitement and new experiences. So, one sunny morning, Vivianna packed her bags, gave Marianna a hug and her golden locket, and left her known world to pursue a higher education. She promised Marianna, Henrika and Matt to write as often as she could, once she found a good place to settle for a while. Undeniably, Vivianna felt a pit in her stomach to think that she wouldn’t continue with her familiar routines, that she wouldn’t see her dear friend Henrika’s face for some time, but Willard her pet rat squeaked excitedly in her travel satchel, and so, even without her mother’s locket, Vivianna felt less alone.

…

While on her journey, stopping from time to time to darn a hole in a sock and to see the wonderful views her unnamed homeland had to offer her, Vivianna continued her reading and studying of the sciences: she annotated her ideas and thoughts in a little leather-bound notepad, which she could safely close so Willard wouldn’t nibble at the edges. During one of her stops at a charming little roadside hotel, by the light of a full moon, she thought of her father’s untimely death, her mother’s tragic demise, and wondered about the limits of science –that which the townfolk considered magic. Vivianna tossed and turned, thinking about doing the impossible –of deciding to do that which others would consider a miracle, that which would bring her the respect and admiration she so dearly desired. Unable to sleep, she scribbled her thoughts on her notepad, added a little P.S. to her latest letter to Henrika, and pulled Willard closer to her, feeling his little heart beating fast under his furry pelt, and went on dreaming wide awake, wondering and pondering. On her nightstand, written hastily on the open pages of her notepad, one could read “bring the dead to life?”

…

She was still quite lucky, despite all. Vivianna soon found herself in a bustling city known for its prestigious science academies, and overjoyed at finding what she was searching for so long, she immediately paid the extremely high tuition and attended all the classes she thought were instrumental to her learning all that was necessary to pursue and fulfill her dream of doing the impossible. As much as she wished to share it with all, Vivianna kept her project to herself, thinking that doing otherwise could be quite detrimental –as she felt her ideas would be shunned, her opinions mocked, and ultimately be left without the needed resources to complete her vision. And so, she kept her thoughts and her words to herself, barely speaking in class beyond answering science-related questions and providing excuses as to why she had a curious, high-pitched-sounding bulge on her satchel in which she had to drop several raisins every now and then.

Her refusal to socialize worked perfectly, and nobody ever bothered her with questions, or even with greetings. Vivianna Frankenstein, of course, was still seen as the beautiful, slender, well dressed blonde beauty everyone recognized by her famous surname and high social standing, but as the days went on she became a mysterious figure, silent and single-minded, writing the hours away, using her voice only to show off her quickly growing knowledge and to, as some said, chat quietly with her satchel when she thought nobody was looking. Not even the mean girls at the academy could bother her: she ignored their rumors, their jealous gossip, the slander they tried to spread across the students. Some said she had killed her own parents; some said she sewed her own clothes, like a pauper would; some said she was engaged in illegal activities, that she trafficked organs and that she laid with the dead; some said she could talk to rats. But her striking beauty –since as she grew older, her loveliness only grew as well –protected her from people truly believing the malicious comments said behind her back and to her face. No one, however, could deny that she was working on something, and the question was no more who was she, but whatever she was building in her dorm.

Vivianna, indeed, was building experiments –more complex versions of the simulacra done in the science classes. She tampered with several types of chemicals and alternated electricity and heat to produce a formula that could bring her the certainty she needed to conduct her ultimate experiment. Sometimes, very rarely, she interviewed and questioned the professors on different, difficult subjects, but never gave a straight answer when she herself was questioned. The letters to Henrika and to Matt and Marianna came out of her dorm every week, and every week their letters entered through the thin space between the door of her dorm and the floor. When one of the most jealous girls managed to steal one of these letters, she woke up the next morning with all her clothes nibbled, ripped and torn, with the bottom of her closet mysteriously sprinkled with what seemed to be rat feces. She attempted to denounce Vivianna as the one who vandalized her dorm, but to no avail. Vivianna was soon such an unstoppable force at the science academy that after that particular incident, by necessity, the rumors quieted down and her name because taboo during lunch breaks and spare time. Everyone became afraid of her. Vivianna, so absorbed by her work, could barely register this as a change in her new routine.

…

It was during a storm –however much stronger than that in which her father had died –that Vivianna felt prepared to go ahead with her ultimate experiment, having found what she believed were the essential elements to achieve her goal. Willard clawed at her shoulder, his little whiskers trembling with anticipation. It was past midnight on a weekday, and as such the other students were surely all fast asleep.

Vivianna tied her hair on a neat braid bun, put on her carefully sewn baby blue apron –made to fit her perfectly, made to avoid any suspicious stains on her regular clothes –and slipped her manicured fingers into the washable, custom-fitted gloves she had prepared for her more “hands-on” parts of her project. She left Willard by her side, next to the clock, with a little plate with plenty of nuts for him to snack when he saw fit. Vivianna hadn’t eaten in quite a few days. And, if the assembling of the parts of her project was going to be as arduous as she expected it to be, she figured there would be few chances to stop and feed her little friend.

The work started, and it indeed took her a lot of effort and several hours; but when the work was finished, and the experiment was ready to begin in earnest, she felt a pride Vivianna hadn’t felt in quite some time. She took a moment to breathe deeply, to smile and think of her achievements, of Henrika’s marveled expression, of Matt and Marianna’s admiration, of her triumph over death. And so, she brought the lighting and the fire into her darkened dorm room. The creature she had delicately laid upon the bed, wrapped with leftover strips of spare fabric, tied all together and perfectly measured to conform to Vivianna’s desires, was pierced by needles connected to wires, connected to batteries, loaded to their full capacities. Light flashed as the creature, the human-like figure which almost seemed to be sleeping in that stormy, violent dawn, was shocked into reaction. In conjunction with the prepared chemicals and the carefully applied heat, there was sizzling and buzzing, smoke and tears from Vivianna’s weary eyes, screeched from the terrified Willard, and the final, almost explosive roar of thunder, when the batteries and the needles and the tubes all burst with one last, dramatic shower of sparks.

All quieted down. Silence and darkness returned, and Vivianna, with trembling fingers, lit up a single candle. She picked up Willard and put him on her shoulder, and he quickly nested against her neck, seeking her comfort. Vivianna ignored him. She took her candle closer to her creation –and before even being able to take a proper look at it, she adverted how the chest expanded as it took its first deep breath –and how its eyes opened, suddenly, like curtains being swiftly pulled up.

“It’s alive,” she whispered to Willard, or perhaps to herself.

But Vivianna was not overjoyed. She was not proud. And she was not happy at all. As soon as she could see what she had done, what she had brought to life, she recoiled in disgust and withdrew the light from it, as if, in darkness, it would disappear like a child’s nightmare.

Vivianna had attempted to make her creature in her image: she sought, as she was brought up, only the most delicate and striking beauty. She saw no reason as to give life to a being devoid of pleasant features, of perfectly shaped limbs, of the most perfect pieces she could manage to get her hands on. And so, Vivianna had fished her parts from very select places: the most cared-for, elite parts of the cemetery, where models and actresses were buried as they left too soon, too young; the dumpsters of shopping malls and large stores, where the broken mannequins were disposed of, but which could still be of use. She had washed everything so meticulously, taking the grime and the blood from nails, from crevices, better than the most professional mortician. Vivianna had used her sewing skills to attach the disparate limbs, to select and put together those fingers she found the nimblest, the lips she found the fullest, the feet she found the daintiest. When good parts were not available, that’s when the mannequins came of aid. She used heat to melt the plastic of the mannequin parts into the flesh, to attach everything neatly, cleanly, perfectly. Perfectly. Vivianna had never worked on anything as much, with as much attention to detail, with so much effort and hope. In her mind, the creature –her very own doll –would be perfect.

Perfect! Her own creation, perfect! As the heat of life animated the body, the seams became evident, the lines between skin and plastic. The scars of the stitching, that which Vivianna had done by hand, had not healed as well as she had expected; a newly beating heart pounded blood into the veins, and that blood leaked and dripped slowly through the badly sealed holes of the doll’s body. And beyond the skin… Vivianna felt sick to her stomach. She had attempted, in her pursuit of perfection, to copy herself –but even better, even more beautiful, with all those features Vivianna wished would be enhanced. But in her pursuit, the body’s proportions were extreme and deeply uncanny. It was all about small, off measurements: the bust, slightly too big for any human; the waist, just a bit too small, small enough to be wasp-like; the length of the legs, leaning toward the monstrous. And the features –the huge, blue, glassy eyes, surrounded by long, full lashes; the full, reddened, vein-crossed lips, which the doll could barely open in a forced pout; the tiny, thin nose, through which the doll tried its best to breathe; and the full head of blonde hair which, in the process had burned in places, or had become dirty and frizzy and greasy and stringy. Perhaps, Vivianna managed to think, it was what the magic of animation did to her creature: as a still figure, much like a mannequin, it could be slightly unsettling but, all things considered, a thing of beauty; but in the flesh, moving like –or how it imagined like –a person would move –something was so terribly off in how it moved, in how the body reacted to the movement, in how everything was placed and tried to place itself in the space.

The doll tried to sit on the bed –tried to arch its back and lean forward properly, slowly, and bend its long legs; but something went wrong in its calculations, and it fell to the floor. Vivianna gasped and retreated, feeling Willard’s claws sinking deeper into her shoulder. Then the doll managed to open its plump mouth and let out a noise –a hoarse, painful sound –and Vivianna could not take it any further. She flung open her dorm room door, ran through the hall, got out of the building, reached the street, and continued running, despite the rain, despite the thunder, despite the lightning, despite the heaviness that the water gave her as it soaked her baby blue apron, her neatly tied hair, her puffy sleeved pink blouse, her full navy skirt, her lace-trimmed petticoat, and as the mud slowed her patent-leather kitten heel shoes. Vivianna felt the weight on her, felt her damp hair covering the tiny, warm, trembling body of Willard still fixed upon her shoulder, she felt how she was slowed down, but she did not stop running.

…

Vivianna woke up in her underdress, lying on mint green silk sheets, her feet clean from mud and her face no longer cold and wet. She blinked, trying to recognize her surroundings. There was the crackling of fire, and a warm, cozy feeling, and smell of fresh bread. She wondered if she had died and this was heaven. Then she managed to focus her eyes, and saw the fireplace in the bedroom where she was in, with the rich velvet curtains drawn, the mahogany furniture neatly set against the white walls, and on the nightstand next to her, Willard, all puffed and dried and clean, too, nibbling on an assortment of nuts set aside in a small glass bowl for him.

Vivianna sat in the bed, trying to remember what happened. She remembered the rain, the fear clouding her mind, the ghastly feeling of air not entering her lungs. Then she recalled the darkness of her dorm room, and the sparks and the flashes of white light, and the flickering of a candle flame as it revealed such a horrible vision…

The door opened and Vivianna jumped and tensed. To her surprise, Henrika, of all people, entered the bedroom with a large smile and carrying a silver tray loaded with a full breakfast. Vivianna sighed in relief, and relaxed her shoulders. Henrika looked even more beautiful than ever, in the golden light of the hearth, in a long, silky white nightdress. Vivianna returned her smile. Henrika still tied up her hair like before, almost well enough, but with thin strands of hair lying everywhere, framing her face in such a lovely way.

“Good morning,” said Henrika. “Or actually, good afternoon. Did you manage to rest?”

“What happened? Where am I?”

“I was going to pay you a visit, but then I found you halfway there,” Henrika smiled, carefully setting the silver tray on Vivianna’s lap. “You were so exhausted you could barely walk, you could barely open your eyes. I caught you before you fell to the ground. So I took you here, to my home in the city –you know I know how to take care of you.”

Willard squeaked happily. Henrika laughed. “Yes, and I know how to take care of you too.”

“I didn’t know you had a home in the city…” said Vivianna, wanting to have her breakfast, but still not willing to let Henrika out of her sight, still wanting to hear her dearly missed voice.

“I told you about it in my last letter –you haven’t been answering them, lately,” said Henrika. “Neither Marianna’s letters, nor Matt’s –I still keep in touch with them, my beloved childhood friends; we meet every week, and we talk about how you have grown apart. We all missed you so much, Vivianna. It’s not the same without you.”

“Oh, Henrika…” moaned Vivianna, sinking her head in the pillow. “I’ve been absorbed with such a useless project… I have wasted so much time to something so awful…”

“No, no, Vivianna, don’t concern yourself with that,” said Henrika, sitting beside her on the bed. “You look so tired, so distressed… Please, for your own sake, rest. Have something good to eat. Talk to me, have someone to talk to… Besides Willard, I mean –I won’t argue he’s a great companion, but…”

Willard gave Henrika’s hand a playful bite. Vivianna smiled.

“Thank you so, so much for giving us shelter during this storm, Henrika… We… I have missed you too, so much, so often.”

Henrika smiled back at her. She leaned in and kissed her cheek.

“Now you’re home. You don’t have to worry anymore.��

Henrika stood up and turned around to leave. Vivianna almost called her back, not wanting her to leave just yet –somehow afraid that she had imagined Henrika, this whole scene, this whole situation that, after such horrors, seemed too good to be true. Henrika then turned backward, and smiled once more, her bright beautiful smile.

“Now eat! You look positively emaciated.”

Vivianna smiled. She turned her attention down to the tray –there was golden-brown toasted bread, apple juice, cookies and tea with milk, honey and sugar all at her disposition. Vivianna felt as if she was back at her home in her little quiet town, back in her childhood, and wondered why she ever wished to leave all that which she loved.

…

Vivianna rested on Henrika’s bed for a few days, but soon, as long as she wasn’t asked anything about the night of the storm, she regained her cheerful disposition. Henrika’s home became her home too, where she ate and slept and spent most of the time, as it was a rainy season indeed, and the mere sound of the raindrops sputtering against the windows during strong winds could set Vivianna on edge, make her tremble, and made Henrika fear strongly for her friend.

“Please, my dear –what is it that hurts you so much? Why the rain, why these sounds, that used to be so natural in the past, have become such a source of terror to you?” asked Henrika, when she couldn’t keep quiet about it any longer. “Please, Vivianna, my dearest friend, my love –just tell me!”

“I can’t –please, please, I can’t!” cried Vivianna in response, and Henrika knew that there was no use. All she could do, then, she concluded, was to help her friend get through these painful moments, and be there to comfort her.

Some days she would find Vivianna locked up in the room, with Willard resting on her neck, covered in the green sheets, deep in thought, with her eyes lost somewhere far away. Those days Henrika would leave her be, and spent these hours on the verge of tears, wondering what had happened to her friend that had changed her so dramatically. Other days Vivianna would be perfectly happy but absolutely nervous, her eyes darting to each window, each door, as if expecting some kind of ghost to materialize and assault her. At least, Henrika thought, these days Vivianna would talk, and they would sew together, and chat and everything would be like before again. But the bad days outnumbered the bad, and finally, one sleepless night, Vivianna’s cries were more than what Henrika could bear. She entered the dark bedroom where Vivianna was, curled against a fidgety Willard. At first Vivianna tensed and held her breath, but when she recognized her friend in the dim moonlight, she sighed, once more, and laid her head down.

“I’m sorry… Did I wake you up?” asked Vivianna.

“No, it’s alright… I just wanted to know how you’re doing.”

Henrika kneeled next to the bed. Willard climbed out of the bed and onto her shoulder, and Henrika petted her for a while. Vivianna smiled.

“Here I am. Better than before… I hope worse than tomorrow.”

Henrika returned the smile. “You’ll get better. I know it. After your father died, I was really amazed… When my own mother died, when I was a child, I was a bit like you now… I didn’t want to leave my bed.”

“Really?” asked Vivianna. “How did you manage to leave, then?”

“I had you,” answered Henrika. “And Marianna. And Matt, and Elliot… I had all of you to help me get through.”

“I miss Marianna, and Matt, and… Yes, Elliot. I miss them all,” said Vivianna. “I miss when we were children, and we would all play together, and things seemed to be so easy and simple…”

“I know,” said Henrika, and she held Vivianna’s hand. “But this is our life, now. There’s no going back, so… I guess we should get used to this new situation.”

Vivianna nodded. Henrika held Willard and set him on the nightstand, on a little pillow left there for him to sleep –both Henrika and Vivianna knew that Willard did love his owner, but was not a plush toy to always keep by her side.

“Could you… Stay, please?” asked Vivianna. “Here, with me? Tonight?”

“Of course. That’s what I came for.”

“Thank you.”

Henrika rested her head against Vivianna’s bed, still holding her hand. After a few seconds, Vivianna squeezed her friend’s hand.

“Wouldn’t you rather…?”

Henrika smiled, and climbed into bed with her. Vivianna closed her eyes and let Henrika embrace her and rest her head next to her neck. It was much different than the little warmth that Willard was able to give her. There was something special in the pressure of Henrika’s arms around her, in the soft breathing on her nape, and the feeling of her, just her, near her. It brought memories of sleepovers, of secrets whispered under sheets, of stories shared as they began to yawn and try to stay awake a few minutes more. It made Vivianna so happy that, for a moment, she managed to erase the stormy night from her mind and focus on the love she felt.

…

After that night, Vivianna tried her best to get better. She went along Henrika on her morning strolls, they ate together and spent their time doing more or less the same things they did as children: they staged their favorite plays in the drawing room, they sang and drew and painted and played pirates and, even if they didn’t have Marianne and Matt as their playmates to complete the group, they found themselves truly enjoying playing by themselves. Henrika showed Vivianna her talents at the piano, while Vivianna sang by her friend’s side, and sometimes, suddenly interrupting their strolls, they ran races on the streets, often just because Henrika knew how Vivianna liked competitions and also because Vivianna knew that Henrika wanted her to recover her strength, and even if she often felt tired, she also wanted Henrika to be proud of her, to make her happy. So day by day, night by night, they recovered the time they had lost since Vivianna left her hometown, and Vivianna recovered her enthusiasm and her health.

As autumn neared, Henrika invited Vivianna to her father’s winter retreat –a little cabin in the country, where Henrika used to spend many holidays. Vivianna, of course, accepted. She felt truly glad, despite all her improvement, to get away from the city. The changing color of the leaves made her realize how time truly passed, and how much she had changed, compared to the naïve girl she used to be. Having gone through so much, and still come out on the other side, have her hope for the future.

“You seem to be you again,” said Henrika, one afternoon during their evening walk.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I see you smiling a lot more often. You laugh more. You have a warmer color on your cheeks, your hair is brighter… All of you, is brighter. I don’t know if that makes sense…” Henrika chuckled.

“I understand. I do feel…” And Vivianna laughed, too. “Brighter, I guess.”

They continued walking, silently. Sometimes silence felt right, curiously. Vivianne felt these silences differently than the ones she devoutly maintained at the science academy: it felt peaceful, as if some thoughts were better kept and developed by oneself, until it felt right to voice them. It became a way to be alone and at peace, in each other company.

Out of the blue, Vivianna smiled and sprinted, running through the field. She heard Henrika laughing behind her, and her quick steps on the drying grass. And as she kept running, feeling free without the crowds and noise of the city streets, she heard a soft rumble –a drop on her nose –and rain began to pour down, and Vivianna, almost instantly, slowed down and grinded to a halt.

“Viv?” asked Henrika, a few meters behind.

Vivianna breathed deeply, trying to focus on the field and the trees and the horizon, instead of the sound of the rain, the weight of the water as it pulled her down into the mud, and when the lightning lit up the sky, Henrika crashed against Vivianna in a firm embrace.

“Viv, my dear, please, it’s alright,” said Henrika, quietly, into her ear. “It’s alright.”

Vivianna looked up to the sky. The rain kept falling, getting into her eyes, and nothing else happened, and she felt her clothes getting heavier, and finding it difficult to breathe, but still, nothing else happened. She looked around. There was no one else in the field, besides her and Henrika. Vivianna turned around and looked at her friend’s face. Her dark hair had become undone, and her face was soaking wet, and her face had slightly reddened after the effort of the run. Vivianna moved aside the strands of hair that stuck to her neck and temples. They gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment, as they tried to see if the other was crying, which of them needed reassurance. And, at last, Vivianna embraced Henrika and kissed her, just as another flash of lightning struck, and somewhere, in the fields behind them, a tree caught on fire.

…

As Vivianna’s health seemed to be restored, they received a letter from Matt, their old childhood friend. Both her and Henrika were overjoyed to hear from him again, and swiftly answered his letter with an invitation to visit them. Vivianna smiled, stroking Willard’s fur, thinking of the three of them being together again, after so long.

Matt arrived one fine crisp morning, along with a clear blue sky. During the years they had been apart, Matt had become quite the handsome young man, just like Vivianna’s mother had expected. He had become tall, even taller than her, and his fair curls framed his boyish face as if it was of a statue of a cherub in a church. Vivianna had always felt Matt was somehow angelic, whether in his gesture or his attitude: he had an infinite patience, an elegance perfected by years of fine schooling, and being alongside him made one feel either deeply at peace, knowing someone so gentle, or a powerful guilt, knowing one would never be as virtuous as him. He inspired a profound trust in anyone who met him, and ever since they were children and Matt became sort of a surrogate brother, Vivianna saw him unable of committing a single crime of mischief. At their age, after all she had been through, Vivianna couldn’t help but feel even less deserving of his friendship, of his smiles; she knew something awful, and despite his kindness, nothing promised her that he would ever understand the reasons she did what she did.

Much like in the old days, Matt greeted her friends with a tight hug. Smiling wide, Matt looked at Vivianna up and down.

“My, Vivianna, how you’ve changed in these few years,” said Matt. “Where have you been hiding for so long?”

“I’ve been studying,” said Vivianna, lifting her chin. “What have you been doing?”

“I’ve been studying, too. It’s only our dear Henrika who has been living the bohemian way.”

“At least I’ve had fun,” she replied playfully. “You both seemed to have been through the wringer of years of scheduled learning.”

“I know you surely found other ways to keep you entertained,” said Matt. “Well, what are we waiting for? Aren't you ready to go back home, Vivianna?”

“What do you mean?”

Matt frowned. “I mean back to your sister, Marianna. She has grown so much since you last saw her… I still frequent the house, where Elliot is caring for Marianna, for the home, for –well, everything. But…” he said, as he reached and held Vivianna’s hand. “She’s so anxious for you to come home. You are the eldest of the Frankensteins, you are all the family she’s got.”

“Oh, she’s got Elliot to keep her company,” said Vivianna, avoiding his gaze.

“Viv, you know Marianna loves you deeply. And I daresay, I think you once loved her too. But it’s been so long I don’t think you remember that you do.”

“I’ve got my own issues to resolve. I cannot take care of a child now, not when I still have to finish my studies, when I—”

“I haven’t come to nag you into returning,” interrupted Matt, softly. “Please don’t take this the wrong way. I just wanted you to know that I’ve been at the Frankenstein’s home, I’ve been talking with Elliot, and with Marianna, and that you should know what’s happening back there beyond what the letters say.”

“If Marianna wanted me back, she would have simply told me,” said Vivianna, hiding the fact that her younger sister had effectively asked her to come home, several times, in almost every single letter. But the idea of returning home and having to care for her –having to play the role of the mother, now that both their parents were gone –made her terrified. As much as she missed the old times, she did not feel able to set a foot back in her house.

“Let’s not talk about unpleasant things,” said Henrika. “Autumn is already here. It’s time to spend time together, eat hearty meals, and enjoy the life that nature is clinging on to. Later, during the winter, we can go on and face whatever is that troubles us. Right now, life is for living it.”

Vivianna smiled, glad that Henrika had covered for her. Matt, not wanting to argue with her old friends, sighed quietly and nodded.

The three of them spent many wonderful weeks together, waking up to the smell of freshly baked bread, enjoying the gentle crunching of the golden fallen leaves during their walks in the woods, and having nightly concertos in the drawing room, where Henrika played her piano, Matt played his violin, and Vivianna sang in a clear, merry voice. And when they left for bed, around midnight, Vivianna looked into the tired but blissful faces of her friends, and hoped these moments lasted forever, and that winter never came.

…

During the first snowy morning, Matt said his goodbyes, kissed each of his friends on the cheek and left to return to his home and his studies. Before parting ways, Vivianna, still guilty by the words he had said to her, had promised Matt that he, Henrika and herself would return, together, to the Frankenstein house for the holidays, as a surprise to young Marianna. Matt had smiled widely and agreed that it was a wonderful idea, and so the plan was made, and a date was set. Hearing this, Henrika, proud of her, had kissed her sweetly and squeezed her hand. She knew that it was a big decision for Vivianna, and she knew that she had nothing but support from Henrika.

As the winter settled in the woods, covering everything with its white and silver mantle, the regular walks became less regular, and soon Vivianna and Henrika spent more time at home, cuddling together under warm blankets, drinking hot tea and chocolate, and singing during the cold, dark nights. The cold and the foggy windows made Vivianna feel like the little cabin in the woods had become still in time, frozen like if inside a little snow globe. She made an active effort to avoid looking at the calendar, avoid counting the days to return. Letters from Marianna became less frequent, until one came, not in her usual small powder blue envelopes –but in a rough beige paper, with the address coarsely scribbled on.

Vivianna frowned when she saw it, wondering who had written it. As she tore it open, while Henrika lounged and read on the chaise-longue, she realized it was Elliot’s. His handwriting was somewhat lacking, but still, it was not too difficult to understand. She began to read it rather uninterestedly, expecting there to be a petition for more money or the like; but as Vivianna continued reading, the words became messy, the paragraphs less neat, and soon the sentences seemed to spill out of the page, leaning downwards, the ink blotting and speckling the last inches of the coarse paper. She left the letter on her lap. Henrika raised her eyes from the book and asked her what had happened. Vivianna was unable to answer. Henrika left her book and walked to her, insisting, nervous. Vivianna then raised her own watery eyes to her. Henrika took the letter. She read it quickly, and dropped it in shock, and covered her mouth to stifle a cry.

Marianna was dead. She had been strangled and killed, while walking on the woods near the Frankenstein home. Marianna knew these woods perfectly well, and used to spend her lonely afternoons searching for butterflies, beetles and other fascinating bugs to add to the collection that had been spreading to the rest of the large and many rooms that were empty after her family had left her. Elliot said that he had called her to dinner, but when she did not come, he set out to look for her; he had found the golden locket Marianna never parted with, and became afraid for her; he followed the path marked by her small footprints on the mud, and found her body lying next to a tree, eyes wide awake, with the killer’s blue-hued hand markings on her neck. He had cried and screamed, embracing the child, wetting her golden locks with his tears. Elliot then called the authorities, back from the house, having left Marianna’s corpse where it was, unwilling to touch it again –as the body had slowly become colder and stiffer.

Elliot asked Vivianna to return, to pay her respects at the funeral, and to help with the legal proceedings. Vivianna felt once again unable to do so; she could not bear to see her younger sister's face, still forever, the colors of life taken so soon from her. But Henrika told her she would be by her side, and that she would support her, no matter what. As soon as he heard, Matt sent them a letter promising to be at the funeral, to pay his respects and help say goodbye to the poor child.

Vivianna and Henrika arrived to the Frankenstein house during a steely-sky morning, where the cold winds were so strong it nipped at their lips and noses. Vivianna, still in shock, could not find in her the tears to shed. Willard, nestled in her black coat pocket, wrapped itself on to her hand, warming her as only he could. Henrika held her other hand, squeezing it tightly, a bit for comfort and a bit to keep her present. Henrika could not possibly imagine what it was like, to lose everyone in her family. She kissed Vivianna’s temple to give her strength, and both entered the grand doors back to the imposing house.

The funeral was a quiet, solemn affair. Very few people attended –Marianna did not know many people, as she mostly stayed at home –and Matt and Henrika did not know how to talk to Vivianna, such a state she was in. After the lawyers, the governesses and the reporters left, Matt offered to prepare some tea. Henrika and Matt had a light meal on the main drawing room. Vivianna could not take a bite of anything. She walked up the stairs and wandered the rooms of her house, as the light faded in the twilight and the whole place sank into soft violets and blues. Vivianna didn’t turn on a single light; to her surprise, she knew exactly where everything was, even in the dark. She had forgotten nothing.

Vivianna entered her old bedroom. Her bed was made, her desk exactly as she left it, everything neatly set in its place and carefully dusted and cleaned. There was her sewing machine, her rolls of fabric, the round tin box where she kept all her bobbins and threads. The sight of the dollhouse next to her nightstand, which used to be Willard’s little home, made her little friend quite happy, and she smiled, glad that at least someone was happy to be back. Vivianna then entered the family library, the place where she used to spend so much time as a child. All the books were there, some even on the large tables, the books on entomology Marianna used to devour deep into the night. She entered her late sister’s room. The walls were all covered with framed butterflies, moths, beetles, bees and dragonflies, all neatly named and organized and pinned and set under glass. Vivianna stepped in, gazed at the desk where she organized her insects, her pins and needles and magnifying glasses. She then continued to the other rooms, the ones that didn’t truly had a purpose. They had all become wallpapered by the frames of hundreds of insects, so many that as the last rays of sunlight streamed through the windows, the glass on the frames shone so bright like a flash of lightning. So many rooms, filled only with these framed bugs.

Vivianna walked down the stairs, back into the light of the lit hearth, into the warmth of the company of her friends. They both gazed at her sympathetically, though Vivianna had the feeling that both were wondering why she hadn’t shed a single tear yet.

“Where’s… Where’s Elliot?” asked Vivianna, coming out of her daze.

Henrika stared at her, confused. Matt grinded his teeth.

“He has been taken by the authorities, Viv,” said Henrika. “They told you so. He’s being investigated for being the only one in the house, the only suspect.”

Vivianna looked back at her friends. Matt covered his mouth, his knees trembling. He was on the verge of tears.

“Elliot?”

“I can’t possibly imagine him being the killer,” said Henrika. “He never held anything but affection and care for young Marianna.”

“Elliot would have no reason to kill her.”

“I told the authorities so, but they say that that does not change the fact that… For so long, he was the only one in the house with her. There are no other suspects. What else can they assume?”

Vivianna looked at Matt. He was awfully quiet. She knew Matt had been close to Elliot –the one of them three who had kept contact with him. Since Henrika had been caring for Vivianna, she hadn’t had the chance to stop by Marianna and Elliot’s, and so Matt had often been the only one to pay them any visits.

“Elliot didn’t do it,” said Matt, suddenly, taking the hand off his mouth. “He couldn’t…”

Henrika and Vivianna kept silent, in agreement. Vivianna approached the foggy window and wiped it, as she tried to see the woods surrounding them. It was completely dark outside, only so often lit dimly when the clouds pulled away to reveal the light of the full moon. When it did so, however, the snowy grounds sparkled delicately, as if covered in diamonds. Willard climbed to her shoulder and pressed his head into her neck, asking for comfort. Vivianna petted him absentmindedly. She kept gazing through the window, breathing softly, trying not to fog the window with her breath. She could not bear to look at her friends right then. She didn’t want them to see her grieve.

Suddenly she saw movement among the trees. The clouds had returned, there was nothing but the soft reflection of the sole warm window light on the nearby trees, but this was enough to reveal movement in the bushes, in the empty branches, and it didn’t appear to be the wind. Vivianna held her breath and leaned forward, her nose almost touching the cold glass. The moonlight returned –casting its brilliant white light on the woods –and Vivianna distinguished the distinct silhouette of it, her monster, her creation, the misshapen being she had brought to life and had tried oh so hard to erase from her memory, as if, forgetting it, she could make it disappear.

And, to her horror, the silhouette turned and looked back at her.

Vivianna’s heart skipped a beat. She let out a soft gasp, and tensed, but did not react any further. Her face was stone cold. Vivianna only stared, a flurry of questions and fears spinning in her mind, at her creation, the monstrous doll she had constructed. An idea started to form, as she thought and saw the doll moving forward, deep into the forest, away from the light. It had been there. It had not been only Elliot and Marianna in the house; there had been a monster in the woods, waiting to hunt its first prey. The realization sunk Vivianna into a deep sense of guilt. She had made the monster; because of her creation, her little sister was now dead. As much as she had hoped to, she could not make her creation vanish, like a nightmare when one wakes up: it was as real as the air she breathed, as the fear she felt gripping her heart, as the sweat dripping down her back.

“They will release Elliot, won’t they? They’ll see that he’s innocent,” said Vivianna.

“Of course. They surely will,” said Henrika.

Silence fell over the room. None of them were sure of that.

…

The verdict found Elliot guilty of the murder of Marianna Wilhelmina Frankenstein, and sentenced to the same destiny he had allegedly subjected his victim too. The electric chair was prepared for him, and he was allowed one visit before his execution.

He called for Vivianna. She wished he could refuse, but knew her friends would see her as callous if she did so; and besides, perhaps –just perhaps –she could try to change the authorities’ minds. She knew of Elliot’s innocence since she knew of her creation’s guilt –and even though she felt unable to share the precise information with those in charge, perhaps, she could save Elliot.

She first talked to the detectives. She told them of the figure she had seen in the forest the night of the funeral, but, unable to give more details, they attributed it to a figment of her grieving imagination. Vivianna tried to insist. There was nothing else she could say –not to disclose the identity of her suspected killer, nor its origin, nor its possible motive to kill her sister. Vivianna only had the certainty that Elliot was innocent, and that she had seen a mysterious figure outside her window, in the dark, cast by shadows, unable to recognize or to track. The snowfall of the funeral night had erased all possible footprints the suspicious figure could have cast. For all the detectives knew, it could have been a ghost of Vivianna’s past.

Accepting her attempts would be fruitless, Vivianna accepted to Elliot’s last wish, to speak to her. She knew not what she could possibly say to him in such a situation, but even if she was not sure of her capacity to do so, she would try to console him and promise him, as best as she could, that she did not held him at all accountable for Marianna’s death.

Elliot was waiting for her, sitting on a chair in a small jail in the opposite end of the hall that lead to the execution room. Another chair was left for her, facing the jail. Vivianna sat down, wishing she had brought Willard to keep her company, to comfort her; but then forced her to remember she was there to comfort Elliot. He had the face of a hopeless desperate: his usually neatly combed hair was messy, his eyes were marked by bags that spoke of a sleepless night, and his hands trembled, not only because of the cold of these stone walls. Elliot did not look at Vivianna straight away. He seemed to be somewhere far away, deep in his thoughts, perhaps wondering if, against his better judgement and his own memory, he had, somehow, without knowing so, committed the impossible crime.

“Elliot…” said Vivianna, unable to keep silent anymore. “I know you didn’t do it.”

He looked up at her. Vivianna tried her best to keep a serious face.

“What?”

“I know you did not commit the crime.”

“You know who did?” he asked.

Vivianna kept silent. And Elliot, who knew her since she was barely more than a baby, opened his eyes widely. “You know. You know who did it.”

Elliot smiled wide, as his eyes lit up and his whole being seemed to be brought back to life.

“I do not know who did it. I only know you are innocent,” said Vivianna.

“No, you know. You do know.”

“I don’t.”

“Please, please, tell the judges. Tell anyone. Tell someone, please, or they’ll hang me… They all think me the culprit. You know I’m not a killer. Please, tell them…”

Vivianna looked down at her gloved hands. She couldn’t say what she knew. She would be seen as mad, or worse, a dangerous criminal. She would be held accountable for her creation. She would have to pay the price for the damage caused. Vivianne kept her head low, and her lips quivered. Elliot’s joy slowly faded.

“You’ll tell them… Won’t you? Please, Vivianna, you know I’m… I’ve served your family for so long, I’m basically a part of the family, too… Please, Vivianna, help me, you can��t not help me, please, my life is at stake…”

“I do not know who did it. I will insist upon your innocent every chance I get… But I do not know who did it.”

Elliot sunk on his chair in confusion. “Why can’t you say it? What’s stopping you?”

Vivianna stayed silent. She had made up her mind. Elliot would not understand. She had to keep quiet. Her life could be on the line. She stayed silent.

Elliot understood he would not get any more help from her. His face darkened into a frown, as he leaned forward towards her, pressing his forehead on the jail bars.

“Listen to me, Vivianna. Listen. I have cared for your family since I was a boy. I cooked for you, I cleaned for you, I watched over you as you slept, and took care of you while your parents were away. And when Mrs Frankenstein died, I –and I swear to you, only I –took care of things. Your father, as you must know well, was unable to do any type of work in the house. I had to manage your growing little sister, your own temper tantrums, your father’s outbursts –and yet, despite it all, I managed. And then he died. And then you left,” said Elliot, his voice trembling with fury. “Marianna was left alone. Did you ever think about that? How you left your little sister, barely a teenager yet, to deal with the absence of her parents and her older sister? Did you ever feel remorse, at leaving her as you did? With barely a word of encouragement, barely a goodbye? I consoled her, when she cried. I sang her to sleep, I told her stories, I tried my best to help and distract her and protect her… I dedicated my entire being to her. Matt helped, I won’t say I did it absolutely all by myself, but… Matt was not always available. I was. I had to be.”

Vivianna looked deep into Elliot’s eyes. She saw nothing but complete scorn at her. It felt improper, she thought, for him to stare back like that. It felt wrong.

“Where were you, Vivianna, when your sister screamed for help?”

Vivianna stood up and walked away. Elliot pounded on the bars of his jail.

“Who killed her, Vivianna!? Who did it!?”

Vivianna walked at a brisker pace, shutting her eyes tight, as if she could stop his words this way.

“You know I’m innocent! You know! You know who’s responsible!”

…

Elliot was executed that same day. A small funeral, even smaller than Marianna’s, was held in his honor. Only Henrika, Matt, and Vivianna attended it. They all sat in front of the only portrait of him, a grainy image cut out from an old Frankenstein family portrait. It depicted Elliot not too long after he started to work in the house: he must have been only ten or eleven years old. He was staring at the camera, serious, grave. Vivianna felt his eyes piercing through her, and his last words ringed in her ears.

“I can’t believe this,” muttered Matt. “I can’t believe this…”

“The detectives are right, though,” said Henrika. “He was the only one in the house, in the grounds, anywhere near her. There are no other suspects. And he had the locket on him… I don’t know. I wish I could say that Elliot was innocent, but… If he wasn’t…”

“Don’t you dare say that,” snapped Matt. “You know he… He wouldn’t…”

“I know, but –you know, I didn’t know him as well as you and Vivianna did. Perhaps he thought there was something to gain, with—”

Matt stood up and stormed off the small white room. As he slammed the door, the small portrait trembled and fell. Henrika stood up and put it neatly back on the table. Vivianna, still unable to speak, kept her eyes occupied with her hands.

“I’m sorry,” said Henrika. “I didn’t mean to speak of Elliot this way, Viv…”

Vivianna said nothing. Henrika sat next to her, and took her hand.

“But if it wasn’t him… The true killer is out there. I think that’s even more scary a thought. Who knows who will be his next victim…?”

Vivianna took a short breath, trying to stay quiet. She could not possibly tell Henrika, as much as she wished to take the weight of the guilt off her. Henrika would be furious. She would be terrified. She would hate her, and never want to be her friend again. During those few months Vivianna realized how important Henrika was to her, how she wouldn’t have been able to go on without her help. She couldn’t let Henrika slip away again.

“I… I sort of wish Elliot was the killer,” muttered Henrika.

Vivianna turned to her in surprise. Henrika bit her lips, ashamed.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t want Matt to hear me say so. But if Elliot was the killer, and now he is dead… Then I think justice was made. If he killed poor, sweet Marianna… He got what he deserved.”

Henrika sighed, and covered her eyes with her hand.

“My gosh… Imagine if he had been planning her death. If he had been waiting for her to wander off the woods, to be somewhere he wouldn’t leave any evidence…”

“He wouldn’t,” said Vivianna. “Elliot didn’t do it.”

“I think… I think he did. Who else, then?” said Henrika. “One can never know who’s a killer and who’s not. You trust someone for so long, you end up with such an affection for them… And then they reveal their true selves.”

Vivianna began trembling. Henrika sighed once more, and embraced her friend lovingly.

…

Vivianna did not return to Henrika’s cabin. She decided to stay in the empty house for a while, with the excuse to settle a few legal matters. Henrika understood, of course. She told Vivianna that, whatever happened, she would be there for her, and that if the aching of solitude started to gnaw at her, she would always answer her call. They kissed one last time, they embraced for as long as they could, shed a few tears and parted ways. Vivianna watched her leave through the pathway to the house, as she disappeared in the snowy landscape.

But Vivianna would not be occupied with legal matters. As soon as Henrika left, she packed her bags once more, adapted an old coat that used to belong to her mother, prepared food for several days of hiking, knitted Willard a small red coat with which he would never be cold or lost in the woods, and, wrapping her pink silk scarf on her neck and buttoning her grey fur and leather winter coat, left the house again and went into the woods.

Birds barely sung in the now bare branches of the dark-barked trees. The only sound was that of Willard’s shivers, Vivianna’s heavy breathing and her steps on the snow. The wind sometimes blew her way, but her handmade coat was strong enough to protect her from the worst conditions. She walked for several days, trying to identify footprints in the snow that didn’t belong to her, tracking the creature that, as she wandered deeper into the forest, should have been taken care of by the deadly freezing cold of the night. Soon food became scarce, and Vivianna, who had expected to find her target quite a few days sooner, started to panic, wondering how she would survive, whether she should try to return home or go on with her mission, going further into the woods, getting more lost but perhaps closer to exacting her revenge.

After almost a month of hiking, Vivianna began to think her mission was going nowhere. Willard, despite practically living in the inside pocket of her coat, had become ill and she feared he had not much long to live if she continued down her path. She held him closer to her heart, hoping to give him the heat he needed, taking deep breaths and trying to keep her temperature stable. The cold had started to get to her, at last.

One morning she rested next to the large roots of a tall, majestic tree, where she would be sheltered from the snowfalls. There, she resolved, Vivianna had to make her decision. While she was thinking, surrounded by the blinding white of the freshly fallen snow, Vivianna suddenly heard footsteps approaching. She stood up, startled, brandishing her father’s paperknife. Willard fell off her pocket and sank headfirst into the snow; Vivianna didn’t notice, panicked as she was, expecting to see that which she had been so desperately hunting. She turned and jerked her head, glancing at the trees, trying to distinguish any sort of shape hiding behind one of them.

The figure wasn’t hiding. When it decided to make itself visible, it approached Vivianna with confidence, walking through the snow with no difficulty whatsoever. Vivianna gasped. The creature looked just as she had left it: the only visible difference was that it was wearing a thick black wool blanket as a makeshift dress, tied with a rope around its tiny waist. Apart from that, the full white light of the midday sun and its reflection on the snow shining on the creature exposed all its disturbing features, at least those which were uncovered. The mismatched, thin fingers with long broken nails, the bare feet, impossibly small and almost certainly completely plastic, and the head –goodness’ sake, the head –with its long, stringy blond strands, shaken and messed by the winds; the full lips, which slowly parted to reveal pearly white milk teeth and a terrible red mouth; the thin nose, cracked at the bridge, and the little nostrils opening and closing desperately; and the huge, unsettling, ice-blue eyes, surrounded by many thick, black, irregular lashes. Displayed in its full glory, it was a terrifying sight, an uncanny representation of the human body, deformed in such a way that it seemed more like a child’s attempt of drawing a person.

“You killed my sister,” muttered Vivianna, still not completely over her dread. “You killed her, you monster…”

“I did,” the creature said simply. “I found her in the woods, and it was an opportunity I didn’t want to pass on.”

Vivianna’s eyes, after all that time, finally began to water with tears. “She was a child! How could you? What could you possibly gain from such an awful crime?”

The monstrous doll just stared at Vivianna. It leaned forward, to see her better. Vivianna saw herself reflected on the creature’s glassy eyes.

“You look different from when I first saw you –you, the first thing I saw. You looked neater, then. You looked pristine. Now you are still as beautiful as then, but now, you seem to be a wilder, more desperate thing.”

Vivianna kept her mouth shut. The doll smiled with puckered lips.

“I am glad. I wanted you to become desperate,” said the creature. “I wanted you to look for me. And finally you’ve found me.”

“And I am glad I did,” said Vivianna, and with that she jumped toward the doll and, remembering where her flesh parts and her plastic parts were, stabbed her right on the upper chest, just under the collarbone, where she knew there was a soft spot. The paperknife sank into the thick blanket and into the doll’s skin, but it didn’t move any further. Vivianna moved back. The doll looked down and pulled the paperknife out. It had barely left a mark on the creature.

“It was not a smart move of you,” it said. “Now I have your knife.”

Vivianna closed her fists, but knew she would not be able to run fast enough, or to successfully fight to get her knife back. She sat on the snow, knowing herself to be the creature’s prisoner. No matter, Vivianna thought. There had to be another way.

“I know you want to kill me for what I have done,” it said, cutting a hole in her wool blanket and dangling the paperknife in it. “But I’d rather you listened to me. I have many things to tell you, if you’d lend me your ear.”

Vivianna quickly took a hand to her ear and covered it. “I won’t do nothing for you. You’re the most despicable thing I have ever had to witness, and I won’t believe anything you try to tell me.”

“I have done some awful things, I admit, but I do not lie. I make my best to never lie. I believe it is no use to deceive with words, when with the truth alone you can still obscure your intent, and make people bend to your will.”

Vivianna frowned. The creature made an effort to sit in front of her.

“See? I look at you, eye to eye. As equals. Can you please indulge me, and listen to what I want to tell you?”

Vivianna gulped. “I don’t have much option, now, do I?”

“You have all the options. What you fear are the consequences. If you fear them enough, you feel trapped.”

“I do feel trapped,” muttered Vivianna.

“That is what I wanted. May I begin?”

…

“I woke up in the dark, and the only thing I managed to see was the golden light of a fire that you held in your hand, you, my creator, my mother, perfectly dressed in white and blue and pink, barely stained by the birth. By the light of the fire I saw your face, how perfectly symmetrical it was, how fair your features were, how soft and lovely it seemed, how pleasant it felt to see it. But your features were altered soon by the expression of profound pain, of the deepest fear and loathing. It scared me, that such beauty could become so terrible. I tried to sit, to see more, to move, and when I failed at this you retreated into the shadows, and the light in your hand trembled so that I feared I would go back to the darkness of the void. I tried to talk, to say anything, for you to respond to, but I still didn’t have the words. And at the sound I managed to produce, you dropped the light, and you ran away. I was left alone once more, in the dark, with one small golden light. I managed to move myself to it, and to pick it up. It was warm, and it made me immensely happy. I tried to touch it, and it burned me, and it gave me a pang of pain. I was happy too, then, to discover such a feeling. I was able to feel, I thought, though not with those words. I was not a still thing, not anymore. I was a being. I was someone.

I got out of the room where you had left me. Outside, there was a bit more light. It was not so cold anymore. I was happy, then, too. I took the fire with me, my new favorite pet, as I tried to walk though halls that seemed like that of a labyrinth. Slowly, I got the hang of it, of moving my legs, of stepping, of balancing my weight and moving ahead. I approached a door. Someone saw me, and let out a painful scream. My ears hurt, but this time I did not feel happy. I just knew that, just as you in your horror, I had to run. And so I run, I left the building, I went out into the blinding light of the morning and discovered a whole sprawling world in front of me, filled with sounds, smells, textures, light and color. I was overwhelmed. I heard more screams, and I kept running. I tried very hard not to drop the fire. I only stopped when I reached a place full of trees, when the sun was already setting, where there was no one else. The light had gone out, after all the time I ran. I cried for it, because it was the first thing that was mine, and I had lost it. Then night fell, and there were no lights nearby; my little fire finally died, and I was left, once more, in the dark. I managed to curl up against a tree, where at least I could feel some support by my side, however rough it was. I spent that first night alone, crying. The tears slipped into my nose, my mouth, and I felt I would drown.

I didn’t. Next morning, I was awaken by the early sunbeams, as the sky turned all sorts of beautiful colors. I was delighted. Its changing colors and warm hues reminded me of your face, and as it stabilized itself into a bright blue, I thought of your eyes, and wondered what more beauty awaited for me to discover, in this painful, astonishing world.

You see, despite being found terrifying and having to escape the company of other beings, I still felt a strong love of life. I knew that I had much to learn, and I thought that the reason others reacted in such a way to me was because I was seen as ill-equipped. If I only could learn how to be like others, I would be accepted. That idea kept me going. I managed to rip the white pieces of cloth off me, and find clothes thrown on the ground, apparently with no owner, for me to cover myself with. But you see, none fit. As I found more pieces of clothes, inside boxes alongside pieces of broken things and half eaten food, all things with no owner, I grew more desperate. All people wore clothes. Why couldn’t I? Why did none of them fit me? I felt terrible. And so, one day I found a fountain, decorated with stone copies of plump babies and seashells and other things I thought pleasant to look at. I dipped my hand in the water when I realized it felt nice to do so, and tasted it and found it fresh and good to the tongue, but also saw, in the trembling waters near the edge of the fountain, my own reflection. It was then that I understood. I was not like the others. I was special, in an appalling way. I did not look like anyone else, and that, not my lack of knowledge, that horrified people. Putting clothes on wouldn’t change things. I ran again, when I heard doors creaking and opening, the chatter and conversation, footsteps approaching. I learned to run from such noises. That is what people produce, these sounds of being busy, working, interacting, laughing, flirting, crying, things I could not do with anyone else. I learned to properly avoid people. I found pieces of fabric I could use to cover myself, not for the comfort of others but for my own; as pleasant as it was to have my skin touched by sun and rain, after seeing other people I simply felt I could not leave myself exposed. And, besides, nights could get cold. I found I did not like the cold, and so I decided to cover myself. Realizing that coverage meant that I became less visible, it also brought the promise of being able to infiltrate the towns and pass unnoticed. I had once thought this useful to learn, as like in my original plan, to be a person, like everyone else. But by then I thought it was a blessing to pass unnoticed, since while I did like the woods and the fields and the peaceful solitude they gave me, I also had no means to make fire, to warm myself properly, and I saw no lights besides that of the blinding sun or the faraway stars. I wanted to touch the light again, and I wanted to listen to the strange, wonderful sounds of people talking. I loved seeing people, going about their days and routines, like the ants and bees I carefully observed during my days in the wild. I began to frequent these spaces, public squares and parks, where I had my share of nature and shelter –and yet was still able to observe gorgeously dressed ladies, sharply dressed men, adorable children and all sorts of curious little animals that they treated like decorations and dear possessions, like me and my little firelight. I heard their talking and slowly discovered the meaning of some of their words and expressions and, in the cover of night, I repeated these sounds until I managed to pronounce them just as I had heard them. I saw a lady sing, once, in a park with flowers in full bloom; that night, by myself, I tried to sing. I found out I was good at it, and practiced every time I could, and singing became my favorite thing to do. Sometimes I even thought that perhaps I should try to become a bird, not a person. But singing calls attention, and I only could do so quietly, where nobody could hear me. I often wished I could sing to someone, like that lady did, and make someone else happy, like that lady made me.

Excuse me. I’m getting off track.

I truly learnt to talk when I found myself in the countryside, and I came upon a small rural school. The windows were large and I soon discovered the perfect spot where to make myself comfortable and, keeping a close ear to the glass, observe the classes as another student. The young children there learnt things like counting, reading, and writing. When I found a piece of chalk outside, besides the hopscotch, it was like I was given a precious gift from above. I practiced my handwriting, learnt to apply the perfect amount of pressure, and how my wrist had to move to spell the letters so fundamental in the creation of words. I was mesmerized by my capacity to learn. I improved quite faster than the rest of the children, and so I had to move and find other places to witness, in seclusion and secrecy, the classes of other students. I learnt to read, too, and I also learnt to pick the locks of the school so as to steal books. I read everything I could get my hands on. Many fairy tales, since these were the easiest; but later I read longer books, novels, they called them, with the older children. I learnt many things from these books, even more than from the classes themselves: I learnt how the world worked, how people truly interacted, how people thought. I learnt people were not truly as nice and as pleasant as they acted; that dark and cruel thoughts could occupy their minds, and that life has heroes and villains. I watched the children interact and unraveled the narratives going on inside the classroom: I properly identified the heroes, those children with friends and who were seen as the kindest and most helpful ones; and the villains, the children who had few or no friends, behaved aggressively towards others, and acted out during class. This, to my surprise, did not mean that the roles were completely fixated. As time went on, I saw children switch sides, leave their friends in favor of others, restructuring the whole social system. I was marveled by their complexity. During the night I pictured myself acting the roles of the children, performing their characters in their social situations, taking decisions and imagining the outcomes. It was a bitter reminder though, as morning approached, that it was all just pretend. I had taught myself, first of all, to disguise and hide. I would never interact with others, and this, along with the pain of the loneliness that I got, so often, as I empathized with the friendless children, led me to cry myself to sleep. I repeated to myself, like a prayer, some of the phrases I had heard the villain children yell at others in the recess: that I would never have friends; I would never be loved; everyone would always despise me. I would never be truly happy.

There was a child, I noticed, who was not one of those I could categorize as either heroes or villains. It was a young boy, who played all by himself. He barely talked to the others, seemed to have no friends, but neither did he seem to behave badly towards others. He became a mystery to me. I watched him, trying to understand him, why he seemed to be alright with being alone.

One afternoon, while the children were in recess and I read my borrowed books, hidden by a shadow on the southern wall of the school, behind the big boxes of garbage, I heard a small ball rolling on the floor. It was a marble, so it was called by the teacher, I think. The young lonely boy came to pick it up, and somehow, despite the shadows, he saw me.

“Who are you?” he asked me, still by the light, not daring to get closer yet.

I kept quiet. I realized, for the first time, my lack of a name.

“I’m Ryan. Well, that’s my surname. But I don’t think we know each other enough to be on first-name basis,” said the boy, cradling the marble in his cupped hand.

I said nothing to this. I was barely aware of what a surname was.

“Can you speak?” he insisted.

I huffed. The child would not leave me be.

“Yes, I can,” I said in my hoarse voice, knowing that it would unsettle him, just as it did unsettle you. But he wasn’t. Ryan walked nearer, and I heard the sound of more marbles tinkling in his pocket. “And I don’t think you should talk to me.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“You wouldn’t like me,” I answered.

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re not mean,” he said, and he came a little too close. I moved back, and he stopped walking. “I think you seem a little afraid, that’s all.”

“Why are you alone?” I finally asked him. I wanted to know the truth –how it came that a completely normal boy was so withdrawn from the rest, for no apparent reason.

“I don’t know,” said Ryan. “Why are you alone?”

I blinked. I think that is when he saw my eyes, my features, and I noticed the surprise in his expression.

“You better leave, now. I told you you wouldn’t like me,” I said, turning my back to him.

“I’m ambivalent toward you.”

“Ambivalent?”

“I neither like nor dislike you,” he said. “My mother taught me that word.”

I closed my eyes. I wondered who my mother was. I thought of you, but you never taught me any words, nothing besides how to run.

“You are not a student, are you?” he asked me. “Or are you a teacher?”

“I think I’m a student, but not like you are.”

“I’ve never seen you in the school.”

“I never am.”

“So then why are you here?”

“I’m here to learn.”

Ryan cocked his head, confused. “Then come inside. Why be outside when you could be learning inside? It gets cold outside sometimes, and sometimes it also rains. Why aren’t you inside?”

“Why are you alone?” I insisted.

Ryan sighed. “The other children don’t play what I play, they don’t like what I like, and they don’t think like I do.”

I didn’t understand. The children played many different games. What was it about marbles that repulsed them?

“You shouldn’t be alone,” I said, repeating something I had heard a teacher tell him once. “You are too young to be alone.”

“I prefer it that way. I don’t want to behave differently, to pretend to like other things, just to comply with what the others want to do,” said Ryan. “I want to do what I want to do.”

I thought about this thing he said. I still think often about it.

“That’s alright, I guess,” I said. “You should do what makes you happy. Even if other people say that isn’t right.”

Ryan smiled. “I think I like you.”

I laughed. It was the first time I did so, and I think I didn’t do it too well, judging by Ryan’s expression, but then he laughed too.

“I like you too, I think. But I don’t think you should be here with me,” I said. “I wish we could, but I think we cannot be friends.”

“Why? Are you a criminal?” he asked me.

“No…” I started answering, but wondered whether that was true. People ran away from me. I had to live in hiding, taking things to survive –things without owner, but I didn’t own them, either. Was I a thief? Was I a runaway? I did behave exactly like criminals did.

“Then why are you hiding here?” he asked. “Why won’t you come to the light?”

I was about to answer –I don’t remember what, precisely –but just then, a teacher appeared walking towards Ryan.

“What are you doing here? What have you found?” she asked him; then she looked at what he was looking, and noticed me. She gasped and immediately grabbed Ryan’s arm, pulling him behind her. “Who are you?” she asked me, less kindly than how Ryan had asked me. “What are you doing here?”

“I mean no harm,” I said, just as a criminal would.

“Are you lost? Are you homeless?” she continued asking. “You can’t talk to our students like that –you can’t be alone with them –what were you two talking about?”

“We weren’t doing anything wrong…” Ryan said.

I tried to move and get away from the situation; but somehow, as I stood up, the teacher got a better look at me –she gasped in horror, as everyone does –and cried out.

“Help! Someone help! There’s an intruder in the school!” she shouted.

That was my cue to begin running. I did not let the book go, though. I was a thief, after all, I thought.

Unfortunately for me, there were more than one teacher: they soon circled me, ran towards me and tried to grab me, pulling my blanket covering, pushing me around, until I finally had enough and pushed back. I became aware of the strength I had, enough to shove away several people. I think it was around that moment when my face became completely exposed. I took advantage of their surprise and disgust to finally make my escape, and, fortunately, they did not continue chasing me.

When I believed I was safe and away from anyone, I stopped to rest. It was already beginning to get dark. I sat down, with the book still in my grip. I was sad once more, with my eyes filling with tears; but also there was something more, a strong feeling born in my gut and rising through my throat in a muffled scream. I didn’t want to steal the book; I didn’t want to bother these teachers. That hadn’t changed a thing. I was despised and punished for things I had only done out of necessity. It had been by no true fault of my own. It had all been terribly unfair.

I wondered then if I was a hero or a villain, at that moment. People did not like me, that was a certainty. I had shoved them and stolen a book. I had been nice to a boy, but it didn’t seem like anyone but he had noticed. Only loneliness was unconditionally kind to me, but I had felt the sweetness of company, even if for a few precious moments. I craved more of it, and my desperation to be normal, to be lovable, to be made happy by others and make others happy as well became so strong, that in my impotence I let out a long, furious, anguished cry. I covered my face with my hands, and pressed my eyelids, my lips, my cheeks, wishing to remake myself, redo the mess you have created. I considered taking my own life.

But I was not a murderer, I told myself, at least not yet. I felt the powerful need for destruction, but I dared not act on my impulse. I wished to exact revenge on those who hurt me; ideas of arson crossed my mind, but again, I became afraid of my own thoughts, and forced them to be quiet. Instead, I made an effort to try to come up with some sort of plan to gain, once more, that so-desired moment of friendship. By the time the sun had completely set and the moon was shining above my head, I had come up with nothing.

Against my better judgements, I continued walking and returned to the towns and the settlements. I continued observing the behavior of the people, giving me hope that someday, perhaps, if I could manage to imitate them well enough, I could integrate myself into their society. I peeled my eyes open, from my hiding places, and dedicated all my waking hours to attentive watching. I reread my book over and over, I read it out loud, and I sang when I could, when I knew I would not be bothered; I made my best to train my voice into the sweetest sound I could manage to create. I watched the women, especially, the group to which, based on my brief moment of self-observation, I guessed I should belong to. Just as the teachers were older than the children, there were more, even older people –those with their skin scratched by wrinkles, hoarse voices, and difficulty of movement. These people, even in their lack of beauty, were loved and respected by others; despite their physical differences they were still a part of these societies, they were allowed inside the homes, they were cared for. This time, I spent some time observing a family of three –an older woman, a woman who seemed around the age of the teacher who had screamed at me, and a young girl, around the age of the school students. There was a curious beauty to their bond: the young girl depended on the mother for most activities, yet the mother depended on the older woman; and the older woman, that who rarely if ever left the house, depended on the young girl as a source of comfort and company. I witnessed kindness and familial love as I had never done, except in the stories and books I had read. I watched, from my hiding spot, the goodnight kisses the mother bestowed on her child’s forehead, and the embraces the child gave to her grandmother, and I teared up, wondering what they felt like, how sweet it should be, by the delighted expressions of their recipients. I dreamt and fantasized that they adopted me, and that they loved me and I loved them. They would cook me meals, hot meals that steamed and smelled heavenly and were presented in beautiful pieces of pottery and china; I would sleep in one of their beds, surrounded by pillows and thick blankets; they would sing to me, and I would sing to them, and I would read to the child just like the mother did, and I would embrace the grandmother just like the child did, and I would advise the mother just like the grandmother did. The perfect circle of loving mesmerized me. Sleepless nights were spent deep in thought, wondering where my family was.

You were the one who forgot to give me that, Frankenstein. It is because of you that I lack a family, just as it is because of you that I exist in such a pitiful way.

Hoping to get a second chance at acceptance, one dark night I entered the house and approached the old woman, who was knitting something, surely for her beloved granddaughter. She heard my footsteps; she asked me whether I was her daughter. I said no. She asked then if I was a thief. I said yes. I heard her swallow with difficulty, and she said that alright then, and said that she would not make a noise if I promised to spare her. I told her I meant no harm. So far, so good, yet I felt I was repeating the same things I had done before. I thought that, when the mother and the daughter came back home, I would be once again pushed and yelled at, and so I hurried to make my time with the old woman as useful as possible.

“I have been a thief, but I am not here to take anything away from you,” I said. “Nothing except a few minutes of your time. You see, I’d hoped I may perhaps be able to have you as a conversation partner.”

“Oh,” sighed the woman, gratefully. “Oh, then what a relief. It’s alright. I know what it feels like, to want to talk and having no one around.”

“You do?”

“Oh, yes. I haven’t lived my whole life here, you know. I’ve lived with my husband for several years; after his passing, I was not able to keep paying the rent of our house. And so, I came here. But I did spend some few years, in that old house, trying to make ends meet.”

“Trying to make ends meet,” I repeated. That expression seemed familiar.

“What about you, miss? Or are you a misses?”

“Excuse me?” I asked, trying my best not to sound too confused. “I’m afraid I do not understand.”

“I mean, are you married, my dear?”

I thought about it. The answer was simple, a brief ‘no’, yet it hadn’t crossed my mind that this gentle old woman must have surely have been married once, in order to produce her daughter; and that her daughter, the mother of the child, must have surely been married once, too; and so, the child one day would go on to marry someone else. I looked at the walls: the small framed pictures of unknown men now made sense.

“Did you love your husband?” I asked her.

“Yes, I did,” she smiled. “He was a darling. I miss him very much, but I’m blessed to still have my family for me to look after and for them to look after me.”

“And does your daughter have a husband?” I asked. Outside the window, the one which I used to spy on these kind folk, the sky had begun to darken. I didn’t have much time left. “If she does, does she love him?”

The old woman frowned. “How did you know I have a daughter?”

I kept quiet and still. The old woman sighed, but in the end she answered my question: “She did love him, but I knew from the beginning that would not be enough. He was a cruel man, you see. The worst type of cruelty, the one that appears as sweetness at first. But I have had my fair share of experiences, and I can smell a cruel man a mile away. My daughter didn’t heed me, of course. She married him, and had a lovely child together. And, just as I predicted, he revealed himself not too long after the honeymoon. He yelled, he threatened, he hurt… And now he’s left this family for good,” she said. I did not understand if this was meant as in the cruel man had died, or that he had literally left the family and was living somewhere new. I hoped, at the mere thought of a cruel man hurting the kind, sweet granddaughter of my hostess, that it had been the first. “It’s harder now, in a sense. We have to make do with what we can. We still live hand to mouth. But at least the child can go to school, and my daughter has a stable job. I do what I can around the house to help with the chores, yet you see, my legs and my eyes are not what they used to be.”

“Can you see me?”

The old woman turned around to me and squinted. “Oh, barely so. I can see you have many scars,” she said softly. “I hope they do not give you much pain anymore.”

“I am in pain,” I said. “But it used to be worse.”

The old woman smiled. “And hopefully it will be better. All wounds eventually close. And you are a courageous one, albeit a bit cheeky, I must say. I do not know how old you are, but I think no one, regardless of age, should walk into a stranger’s house uninvited.”

“I am sorry,” I said. Footsteps were approaching the door. “But I was truly desperate for some conversation.”

“I understand. Do not apologize. Manners can always be learnt.”

“I had nobody to teach me manners,” I said quickly. “I have nobody.”

The door creaked. As I saw the old woman furrow her brow again, I reached out to her, and grabbed her hands. She let out a brief surprised gasp. “I am sorry –my dear woman –but please –you, who have had a fair share of experiences –please tell me –in these few moments of pleasant talk –could you please –tell me, please –do you believe I can be lov—?”

The door opened. The woman and the child were there, standing still, watching me, and I still had the hands of the old woman in my hands. The child opened her eyes very wide, then her mouth, and then she brought her own hands to her face and let out a piercing scream.

“Mother!”

The woman grabbed a nearby broom and beat me with it. Dust fell upon me, and I still didn’t let go of the old woman’s hands.

“Please –miss –do help me –I have done nothing—!” I cried.

The old woman, shocked and confused, said nothing. I squeezed her hands tighter, but she suddenly pulled them out of my grasp, and, in my distraction, the woman succeeded at hitting me hard with the broomstick on my head. I felt a short pang of pain. There was a cracking sound, and then I saw the pieces of the broken broomstick on the floor, and heard the heavy breathing of the scared woman. I stood up, then. I looked at the woman in the eye. She covered her mouth, just like her daughter, stifling a scream. I looked back at the old woman. She was perfectly still, quiet, as if she were a statue in the middle of the room. There was no use.

The woman, then, grabbed another thing –a long piece of metal, which I did not have the time to identify properly. This one was harder –the pangs were stronger –and finally she managed to push me away from the house. I ran away, unsurprisingly. I insulted myself. Why did I think this time would be any different? What reason would the old woman have to defend me, a stranger, from the judgement of her family?

As I cried, my eyes burning inside their sockets, my thoughts wandered away from the small village, from the house and the three women. You came back into my mind. You, as the only mother I could speak of having. If someone in this world could ever love me, I assumed, that should be you. As the bird takes care of its chicks, and the cat feeds her litter, a mother would be where I would surely find something akin to pity and compassion. I wondered where my father was, and whether he was also a cruel man for having left me.

Luckily for me, I pride myself in having an excellent memory. I knew the places I had been through, despite the anguish that had conducted my steps. Taking care of being properly sheltered from the hateful eyes of the crows, I went back to the rural school, and from then, it was not very difficult to return to the place of my birth. I found the building, but you weren’t there. I decided I wouldn’t abandon my mission, and kept looking for you. I even tried to ask people of your whereabouts –of course, properly covered and disguised –and yet I still was seen with scorn and, more than once, identified as a monster and then beaten into the ground. Slowly, day by day, I became angrier –in my pain I found the fuel to go on with my search, less a desperate desire for sympathy and more a furious determination to have answers. Your face hardly ever left my memory, and I looked for it in every person I came across. The shining beauty of your visage became poisoned as time passed. It became a mockery, a treasure I would never inherit. The last few weeks, despite my weariness and my misery, I walked faster, heavier, as the first snow fell, and the conditions of the climate became even more ruthless.

I stopped to rest briefly in a forest I had not been in before. It reminded me of that one in which I had also made a stop after my birth, but the trees were different, the air smelled different. This place seemed familiar yet strange, as a half-remembered dream…

It was then when I saw the child. A young girl, taller than the granddaughter but with a youthful face, that in its fair beauty reminded me strikingly of you. This girl was sitting beside a large tree, with a book in her hands, a magnifying glass on her lap and two glass containers, which held large insects whose names escaped me. The girl watched her bugs with profound interest. She wrote notes on the book, and later took out a piece of paper and began sketching one of these bugs. I watched her in silence, mesmerized by her artistic talent. I knew insects –during these weeks I had barely anything else at my disposal for nourishment –but I had never dared to see them as a thing of beauty. By her skilled hand, these strange creatures became objects of fascination and perfect proportions. I wondered, foolishly, if perhaps this girl –this time –it would be different.

I approached her quietly, yet making sure my footsteps would be heard –so as not to startle her. It took a few seconds, but she finally raised her eyes from her bugs and pages and set them on me. I stopped and allowed her to examine me. The woolen blanket still covered me, but I had exposed my head so as to be as upfront about my appearance as possible. She did take her time to gaze at me, but then, to my surprise, she returned her attention to her work.

“You’re lost, if you’re searching the town,” she said as she closed one of the books. “And besides, what’s worse, you’re in private property.”

“Private…?”

“This is part of my family’s grounds. There –you see?” And she pointed with her pencil to the blue gables of a large house in the distance, peeking from up the top of the bare trees. “That’s my family’s home, and these are our woods.”

“Oh.”

“But don’t worry; we don’t do anything to trespassers. My mother always said that nature should be to everyone’s disposal.”

So the child had a mother. The past tense in ‘said’ made me wonder whether her mother was still around.

“What are you doing?” I asked her. So far, the child had not screamed or ran away in horror. I believed things were working out well.

“I draw them –I draw them all the time, and I also capture some, and if they’re rare and pretty, I pin them to a piece of cardboard, write their name in Latin and hung them by the walls of my house.”

“Oh. You’re very talented.”

“Thank you. People often say that, but I don’t think they think very highly of my hobby. And being talented at something people don’t think highly of isn’t much to write home about,” she sighed, and put her papers away in a leather bag. As she leaned into the bag, a small golden twinkle caught my eye. A necklace dangled from her neck, with a piece of gold so shiny and beautiful that it somehow made the child’s beauty seem even brighter, even more unattainable. “My father did not like it very much, but at least he humored me. Now, I think even I have started to stop liking it.”

“Your hobby?”

“It has become a bore,” she said, as she glanced at me. It marveled me, how she didn’t seem afraid at all. And then she smiled, and I thought, if I only had a fraction of the beauty this child has, then I wouldn’t have a care in the world. Things would have been very different, then. “Have you come to visit my parents?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“Well, if you should like to, the house is always open. I’ve been starving for company, lately. And if you feel especially hungry, we always have tea at five. You can come over, if you’d like.”

“Are your parents alright with you inviting people over to tea?”

The girl lowered her eyes. “Both my parents are dead, now,” she said in a grave voice.

“I am very sorry.”

“It’s alright. I still have my sister,” she smiled rather bitterly. “Even if she’s barely there at all. And I have a servant, Elliot, who’s very kind to me. And friends, the best one could ever wish for, and yet… They’re not always around. And loneliness has a way to seep through everyday actions, and to dampen every moment of solitude into a deep melancholic blue.”

Even her voice was angelic. She noticed me glancing again at the shiny necklace, so she scooted closer to me and made a gesture for me to get closer. I recognized it from seeing it done by others, but nobody had done the gesture to me. I immediately kneeled beside her.

“This was my mother,” she said, opening the necklace to reveal the small picture of the most beautiful creature I had laid eyes upon. No wonder she was the child’s mother. And again, she reminded me of you, in a way I explained as being the reason all beautiful people looked alike. “I barely remember her, but I do remember some things –she used to read me fairytales, and sing me lullabies, and stroke my hair as I fell asleep.”

“That sounds beautiful,” I said, close to tears.

She smiled again, and slipped the necklace under the collar of her blouse.

“What is your name?” the girl asked me, the question I dreaded to answer.

“I don’t have one,” I replied in shame. “At least not yet.”

“What? Why is that? Have you no parents, nobody to name you?”

I kept quiet. I kept thinking of the beautiful woman trapped in the golden necklace, of how blesses I would have been to have her as a mother.

“Who are you?”

I looked back into her blue eyes. She did remind me a lot of you, I thought.

“Never mind that,” I said, trying to smile. She did not. “What is your name?”

“… Marianna. Marianna Frankenstein.”

The surname made everything click into place. Of course, I thought. And then, so, you must be in the house, I deduced. I had reached to my destination –I had come home. And, even better, I would ingratiate myself to you through your little sister; you would surely listen to her and she would speak nice words of me, she, Marianna, who held no grudge against me and who did not see me as a monster.

“I’d like to have tea with you, Marianna,” I said, unable to hide my joy.

Marianna frowned. This was never a good sign. “Are you here to see my sister?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I am.”

“Do you know her? Do you know what she’s doing, that takes up so much of her time?”

“I do not know her, but I have seen her, and I am connected to her,” I said, unsure of how to word the strange relationship that binds us together, “I need to see her again.”

Marianna’s face was still furrowed with doubt. I began to panic. “She isn’t home yet. She’s to come for the holidays, but she won’t be home –surely for another month or so.”

“It’s alright,” I hurried to say, standing up, towering over her. “I can wait.”

“What do you want with her?” she asked, holding onto her bag.

“I need to talk to her –”

“What for?” she insisted.

“She’s… she’s very important to me. And I’ve come from afar just to see her.”

Marianna didn’t believe me. I could see it clearly in her grimace.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know you. I don’t think you should wait with me for her. I think you should desist, and try not to think about her anymore. My sister isn’t a very… faithful person,” she said, unsure of her choice of words. “With this I mean, she is as changing as the moon.”

“No matter, I will wait.”

“What do you want with her?” she insisted once more, and my patience was wearing thin.

“It is none of your business, child,” I said. I raised my eyes to the roof of your house, imagining its great halls, the large window and the sunlight streaming in, and the comfortable, warm rooms that your parents have left behind. I pictured a large table set with plenty of hot food, and a cozy hearth where to forget ever feeling cold. This was your home, and so, it was mine too. “Now, please, take me to your house.”

“No,” she said. Her voice quivered, and for the first time during our encounter, I saw fear in her eyes. “I am sorry, but I cannot.”

Marianna was afraid of me. Far from being disappointed, this awakened a volcano of rage inside me. People were truly changing, just like you, just as Marianna said of you. One moment friendly and understanding, the next doubtful and hostile. And it terrified me, to think that, being this close to you, to home, this child –and her childish fears –were everything keeping us apart. Marianna was no longer fair and beautiful: in her fear, the worry had shaped her features in a horrified gesture.

“You will take me there,” I said firmly. “I have a right to talk to your sister –I need to do so. She owes me that.”

“I won’t. She won’t. I will not –you –I cannot trust you,” said Marianna, standing up, with her back to me, and starting to walk briskly.

I grabbed her bag by its straps. She turned around with her eyes wide open in fear. She reminded me of the granddaughter, and I immediately covered her mouth with my hand, expecting her inevitable scream.

“You will take me there,” I repeated. “Or you’re not going there at all.”

Marianna stared at me with her piercing blue eyes. She was still, and tense, but it did not look like she would start screaming. I took my hand off her mouth. I took a deep breath.

Marianna began running for her life.

I ran behind her, pursuing her, just like when I hunted for prey when the trees did not give me their fruits. I grabbed her by her shoulders and, just as a shriek escaped her throat, I gripped her neck and stifled the scream in its infancy.

“Don’t scream –don’t you dare scream –don’t you even dare…”

Marianna’s eyes kept staring at me, as her whole body trembled –convulsed in jerking movements –and finally, as I gripped tighter to keep her still, she stopped moving at all. A few seconds passed. I opened my hand –and Marianna fell to the ground. Her eyes were still wide open, but there was no screams, no sound of breathing, no racing heartbeat. Marianna was dead –and I had killed her.

Fear washed over me –the thought of having taken the life of something as beautiful and pure as this child –but soon pride followed, and I grinned, glad to have taken revenge on you –on the child who was surely going to try and call other to her aid, to attack me. I had managed to defend myself, and in my new power I found strength and elation. I walked around the corpse of the child, admiring my work, how quickly it had all happened, how effective my hands had become for murder.

I had been a thief before I had become a killer, and I had no qualms when considering looting the body. The bag seemed practical, and yet my attention came, first and foremost, to the golden necklace and the enchanted image within it. I took the necklace from the girl’s neck and, now afraid it would reveal me as the killer, I tried to hide it in the folds of my blanket.

Later, I found out that it had fell to the ground, not far from Marianna’s body. A young man had picked it, one by the name of Elliot –the servant, I assumed. I carefully watched the events unfold –the consequences of my crime befalling onto the young man, and the subsequent grief and pain it brought you, and your close friends –those I would never have. And so I resolved –I knew I would not appeal to your sympathies with words; what good were they for me, when I tried to befriend others? What good were they when I was beaten, hurt, and insulted? My hands –these, these that you gifted me with –became my greatest aid. And with these hands, that you yourself sewed to my body, I would kill everyone you hold dear –I would not stop until you became as lonesome as I have, until you felt the sting of knowing everyone else has the fortune of having a loving family –while you do not.

But then I thought, there was no need to be so ghastly. I certainly want you to suffer –it was this desire that kept me going through these last few days of hiding and silent watching –yet I want to have a companion even more. If you spare me an eternity of loneliness, then I can spare you of the same fate. If you want to preserve your happy life, then you must ensure I can be happy, too.

Vivianna Frankenstein, I, your child, am alone and miserable. I have told you only some of the encounters that I have attempted to have with the rest of your people, those who consider themselves normal, the ones who are deserving of happiness. So, I do not expect these people to ever love me as I wish they did. You –only you –have the capacity, then, to create someone like me –someone I could love, and who could love me back.

[ here for CHAPTER 2 ]

#barbie #frankenstein #frankenstein or the modern prometheus #fanfiction

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