random

Your husband was an old family friend of the late Baron Leopold, Victor's father. The elder Frankenstein and your husband are, or were, two barons, alike in money-wasting, tyranny over their households and a streak of violence. Yet this is your first time meeting Victor. You are guests in his home for the coming days.

Victor speaks with such conviction, drawing your gaze back to the animated gestures of his hands, the curl of his plush lips, the bounce of his raven curls, the mischievous glimmer in his earthen eyes. You should not allow your gaze to linger, not only because you are a married woman, but because if your husband suspects even a whiff of a wrong glance, your evening will turn very suddenly unpleasant.

꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂

Your husband does notice. Should have kept your focus on your plate. How dare you find someone's intellect captivating? Merely interesting, even? Apparently, according to your husband, you threw yourself at the man like a harlot.

The next day brings its share of pain and shame, but you finally find a free moment to wander the gardens alone.

You press your hand to your side, attempting to draw a deep breath on this beautiful, sunny day, but a sharp pain elicits a gasp of agony from your lips. With your opposite hand, you brace yourself on a tree trunk, breathing raggedly.

"Are you well?"

Your sore body jerks in surprise as the voice of Victor Frankenstein startles you.

"Baron...Frankenstein..." you pant, all hope of hiding your injury disappearing as tears sting your eyes. "F-forgive me. I was walking and…I must have wandered. I do not wish to intrude - " Your lip trembles as he rushes over to you, hair a flurry of wild curls, eyes round with concern.

It shocks you to see sympathy before you, rather than the guile and rebuke with which you are so uncomfortably acquainted.

"My lady, are you hurt?"

You stop cold, hoping to persuade him that nothing whatsoever suspicious has happened.

"I'm afraid I was rather clumsy. Tripped right over a tree root," You hastily and falsely confess. "My apologies. It was not very ladylike."

Victor's head cocks curiously as he eases closer. Swallowing almost nervously, or perhaps hesitantly, his eyes dip down to where you're practically holding yourself up, pressing your palm into your ribcage.

He stretches out his fingers, signet ring glistening in the morning sun. "Will you permit me? As a doctor. Your breathing sounds labored."

You want to protest. You try to stop him, but, with startling gentleness, he invades your personal space. Still, you flinch.

“Easy,” he soothingly purrs, “I do not threaten.”

Maintaining your composure is a skill you’ve mastered many times over, to hide your pain, to keep the peace, to honor your husband and uphold his good name. But not today.

You blow a breath past your lips as tears leak stubbornly out of your eyes. “Please…my husband,” you sniffle. “He cannot see. He cannot -”

Victor’s hand covers yours on your ribcage. His eyes, penetrating and serious, calm you somehow. “I will stop if my touch offends. I only worry that you are injured.” To prove his point, he withdraws, a fraction of a step, his patient gaze trained on yours.

If you do not flee this instant, you will sorely regret it. Quite literally. But something about his presence has broken you, and your mind fumbles for an excuse.

“It hurts badly,” you confess tearfully.

“Here, let me.” He shifts back toward you, catching you in his arms as you nearly collapse. He manages to simultaneously support you as you quietly cry, while carefully prodding at your ribcage, noting where you wince and gasp when he applies pressure.

“Come sit,” he advises, helping you ease down onto the nearest stone bench. His hold on you remains, and you are grateful for the support, and so hungry for a tender touch. “I believe you have bruised your ribs.”

Your eyes, wide and round and so sad, brim with fresh tears, your lip turning downward. “I am clumsy,” you attempt.

“I am not certain a fall such as you described would cause this,” he insists, slowly removing one blood red glove from his hand. His fingers land, warm and careful on your cheek, swiping the pool of tears gathered there. “Who did this? Who hurt you?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “No one. I tripped. I am not very graceful.”

“You are the very picture of grace," he insists, with a mildly frustrated shake of his head. He waits until you meet his eyes again. "Who?” He repeats. “Tell me who and they will never touch you again.” He assumes this is why you were so quiet at dinner last night. You must have arrived here injured.

Your forehead drops to his shoulder as you quietly cry. "I must go," you gasp out, hauling yourself up to your feet with difficulty. "I thank you for your kind attention, my lord."

꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂

During your stay, business takes Baron Frankenstein away for a couple days, but he insists you do not cut your visit short. In fact, he persuades your husband to stay for the duration of the month, or longer.

While he is away, your husband is calm. He always finds his center after he...relieves his frustrations in violent ways. At least it buys you some time.

When Victor returns, he is exuberant, but he seems to deflect from explaining exactly why. Dinner is served and, simply to avoid any unpleasant perceived interactions with your host, you feign a headache and excuse yourself.

Your plan backfires, making your husband extremely cross. Fortunately he's had so much to drink, he barely leaves a mark before passing out face down on the bed.

You flee once again to the garden, this time, under the moon's glow. You've never felt so out of control of yourself. Something about this place brings your emotions to the forefront and they spill over most dramatically.

Victor comes to you in the garden - the spot where he first held you and let you cry on his shoulder, that day, and several days since.

"I saw you from my window" he begins as if you are in the middle of conversation, "and did not think it proper to join you, but you seem so distressed, I'm afraid my curious nature overtook all reason."

You smile at him with something like relief and it's the most warmth he's seen from you since you came to stay.

"I hope I did not wake you, Baron," you politely respond.

"You did not. I was working," he admits. As he eases down on a stone bench beside you, he adds, "You are crying. Who hurt you?"

He knows, by now, very well who hurt you. He desires to hear you speak the truth aloud, but you say nothing.

"Why are you working at this hour?" You say instead, sniffling and swiping at your tears.

"Like I said, my curious nature overtakes all reason," he repeats cryptically. He stands, offering his gloved hand. "Would you like to see?"

The chance to spend more time with Victor and get your mind off your troubles is not an opportunity you wish to waste. "Your work? Certainly. I would be honored."

As you prepare to leave the garden, he easily spots you attempting to hide your gasps of pain. He allows you to manage on your own without demanding explanation. Instead, he offers his arm to escort you back to the house.

"I must tell you that many may find my work..." He pauses, searching for the best word, "unsettling."

"Do not worry, sir. I do not easily swoon."

He takes you to one of his private rooms - perhaps not his bedroom - although a bed is present. The bedding is opulent but rather old. Perhaps this was the late Baron Leopold's room.

The room is both tidy and a mess of journals and meticulous drawings of the human body. You hesitate in the doorway, doubting his intentions...until you notice an actual pale, dead body folded up on a table in a position of supplication. As you slowly follow Victor, you realize the body has been cut open for dissection, and perhaps study, yet somehow, the smell does not overtake the room.

Victor watches you carefully, waiting for you to respond to something grotesque, but you rush forward, admiring the figure. "It is beautiful," you reverently murmur, tracing your fingers in the air along the exposed spine, nearly touching, but feeling it not safe or proper to do so. "All pain is gone."

"Yes," Victor agrees, moving in behind you carefully. "The sight does not offend, my lady?"

"Not at all," you whisper. "It's magnificent. I love to read and study the sciences, but my husband restricts what I read."

"As if I needed another reason to think him a great fool," Victor mutters.

You swallow hard, your eyes fluttering closed as his breath ghosts your cheek. "Why have you allowed us to extend our visit if you think my husband a fool?"

"Because if he is here, then you are here."

You surmised as much. "I am married, sir."

"You are the victim of a tyrant. He treats you like a child," Victor insists, gently grasping your arms as he remains behind you, body pressed close to yours. "Believe me, I know."

"Your candor is sobering, Baron," you whisper. "And most would consider it improper."

"Would you like me to let go?"

You quickly shake your head no without thinking about it too much.

"Laying a hand on a creature such as yourself is improper. My experimentation is improper. My pursuit to create life and conquer death is unseemly, I suppose." By now, his arms have encircled your waist. His voice rumbles against your ear. "My desire for you is not only improper, but forbidden."

"I must go," you gasp out, finding your wits, relieved when he immediately releases you.

Noticing his directness has distressed you, he holds up his hands non-threateningly. "I will never again speak of this if it troubles you, nor will I ever again touch you without permission."

You tersely nod, making your way toward the door, your gut twisting with yearning to find an excuse to stay near him, while knowing how wrong it is.

"I would like you to see more of my work, if you are truly interested," he adds, in a final attempt to appease you. "I will keep my attention on the scientific, I swear it."

"I would love to see more," you assure him. "Perhaps another time."

Victor decides not to argue with you, instead dwelling on the thrill of you not seeming horrified by his work.

꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂

Over the next few days, Victor finds stolen moments here and there to speak to you about his work, convincing you that now is not the time to share it with your husband.

"He will know soon enough," he insists.

Several days later, Victor arranges an outing for your husband. He assures him that he has business to attend to, and doesn't want your husband to grow bored with only his wife for company.

Your husband is easily flattered and takes him up on the offer without hesitation.

Victor finds you in the garden and leads you back to the bedroom where he took you that night - when he grabbed hold of you and whispered scandalous things on your ear while the two of you stood over a dead body. A moment which replays in your mind, day and night.

"My work is complete," he utters excitedly, eyes wide, hair wild, voice exuberant. "Come, you must see."

Victor gently grasps your shoulders from behind, but it is a friendly gesture, meant to steady you. "He's just there, on the bed. This will be his room now."

You frown, confused. "Who is there?"

Victor points. "My creation."

You gasp out as a creature, tall, nearly naked, clothed in a few scraps of bandages, stands up from the bed and stumbles forward. His skin is cool gray, with some strips darker than others - a mixture of monochrome stained glass and a living marble statue. One eye is as dark as night, while the other reflects gold light, like a cat's.

"Vic-tor," he stutters out, bumbling forward, albeit with a strange grace.

Victor squeezes your shoulders, feeling you shudder slightly. "That's right, I am Victor."

"Hello," you softly interject, amazed by the being before you. "What is your name?"

"I call him Adam, although he can't seem to say it yet," Victor tells you. He steps between you and the creature and points to you, reciting your name. The creature's head cocks curiously but he simply repeats, "Vic-tor."

"Here, allow me," you try. "May I touch him?"

"Yes, it should be all right. He's gentle, so far at least," Victor responds, eyes sparkling at your response to his work.

With the faintest, tender touch, you spread your palm and ease it under Adam's hand. His curious eyes go wide at your touch. "May I?" You ask him, even though you assume he can't understand. You bring his fingers to your throat and repeat your name several times. "See, my throat makes sounds."

Slowly, Adam repeats your name, making Victor practically leap with excitement. "Very good, Adam. You're very smart."

"Vic-tor," he repeats, looking at his creator.

You smile at him and place your fingers and then his own, on his throat carefully. "Ad-am." You point to his chest, carefully, softly. "You are Adam. Adam." But Adam is curiously reaching for the frills and ruffles of your clothes, toying with them innocently. He seems to get bored and clambers over to the window to stare out at the sun.

"Light," he says, touching his fingers to the glass.

"Very good, Adam," Victor is like a small child who received a new pony, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Victor, you mean to tell me that you gave this man life?" You question, in awe. "He seems injured. I thought he was a wounded soldier."

"He is dozens of wounded soldiers," Victor explains. "I gathered the pieces and made them into one man. And I...animated him."

You rush to his side, shaking your head in wonder. "But how is it possible? Only God can create life."

Victor smirks. "Not anymore."

꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂

Since you share a secret with Victor, a bond forms between you, beyond mere attraction. Victor is masterful at keeping your husband entertained and distracted. Meanwhile, you spend as much time as possible with Adam, and with Victor too - as often as you can manage without raising your husband’s suspicions.

You read to Adam and teach him letters and numbers. You begin to sew him some clothes that will fit his enormous frame. He speaks more words each day.

You try so earnestly to keep your wits about you around Victor. He occasionally catches you watching him while he works, smiling wryly at your flustered scurrying as you pretend to be otherwise occupied. And sometimes he sits and watches you teaching Adam, gazing at you as if you are, in your own way, also giving Adam life.

As you leave Adam and return to your room to dress for dinner, Victor sweeps you into an alcove, embracing you. You melt against his body, laying your head on his shoulder as he wraps his arms around you and presses you close. It is not the first embrace between you, but certainly the longest.

"You belong here with us," he scandalously whispers, his lips brushing your ear. "You belong with me. Yet I see how you are trapped as much as the butterfly we caught together in the garden. I do not wish to possess you, only to adore you."

"Victor," you gasp, turning your head so your forehead touches his. Lips a breath apart, you repeat his name. "The only freedom I have ever known is in this house. It will break my heart to leave."

He presses his mouth to yours, but the kiss is chaste, adoring. "Come to me tonight. I will see that your husband is drunk with brandy. Let me show you how you should be pleasured, should be worshipped."

He kisses you lustfully, tongue sweeping over yours as his palm spreads over the curve of your back, crushing you closer. Your hands grasp at his coat before trailing over his corded neck to touch his face. Your fingers trace his jaw before sliding into his soft curls.

Victor moans as you gently tug, pushing you back against the wall with one strong movement from his hips. You kiss wildly, the heat of his breath luring you into a more intimate embrace. He effortlessly lifts your leg and slings it over his own. You feel the meat of his thigh pressing between your legs as your bodies begin to rock in a tantric rhythm.

You've never been kissed like this in your life...never felt your body bloom to life with such pulsing desire.

Footfalls on the stairs alert you to the passing of a servant, and send you scurrying away from one another, chests heaving. Your eyes lock and you sense that there will be no turning back for Victor. He will pursue you as ardently and fiercely as he pursued bringing a creature, a man, to life.

"Tonight?" He whispers, hopefully, grasping at your hands, but knowing you must part ways. "Come to me, please."

You shake your head frantically. "I do not know. Victor, please. I am married. I'll shame my entire family. Many will suffer if I give in to this. You will suffer.”

He has no idea what he's asking. He will never want you if he sees your body.

Seeing you distressed, Victor relents. "All right, my love. Forgive me. We will speak again soon. Do not fret."

"Victor, wait." Just to be clear, you grab the lapels of his jacket and kiss him again.

꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂

You do not go to Victor that night. Your body aches for the tender fire of his touch, but he does not understand the you are not the refined creature you pretend to be.

The next day, you sit with Adam, staring out the window at the stormy sky, lulled into a trance by the patter of rainfall. Adam attempts to read a children's book to you, but stops when he realizes you haven't responded in a while.

"Do you like rain?" He asks, touching the window with his fingertip.

Realizing you let your mind wander, you smile at him gently. "I do. It's very soothing."

He hums a response but leans in closer. "You are sad."

He speaks with as much candor as Victor, but Adam's comes from knowing nothing of the guile or deceit of the world.

Your eyes find his briefly before flickering to his cool gray skin. "May I?" You ask, deflecting. He nods and your fingers trace where one piece of skin was expertly attached to another. "You are healing. Your skin is smooth." After a moment, you withdraw your hand. "Mine is not."

"Yours is not...healing?" He tries to understand, cocking his head this way and that to examine your face and hands, the only skin visible due to the long-sleeved, floor-length dress you wear.

"I'm afraid not," you softly respond, eyes vacant.

"Show me," Adam says innocently. "Are we...same?"

"No, we are not," you smile at him sadly. "You were crafted with love and care. To heal. To live."

"You were not...crafted?" He asks.

"No, I was marred. Hurt," You tell him, reaching for the hem of your skirt. You innocently slide it upward, moving fabric this way and that, and twisting your leg until he can see the scars low on the back of your thigh, just behind your knees.

"Not healing," he carefully repeats, chastely tracing the angry skin.

After a moment, you lower your skirts. "No, it will not heal."

"Who hurt you?" He grumpily asks, brow furrowing with concern. "Not Victor."

"No," you assure him. "Not Victor. Victor doesn't know about my scars."

"Victor help you," Adam insists, pointing to his own skin. "Healing."

You wish with all your heart that could be true, but if Victor is to love you, he will have to accept the scorn of society, the vengeance of your husband and the scars all over your body. It is too much to ask of any man.

꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂

Later that evening, once the men enjoy brandy in the study, your husband happens upon Victor speaking to you privately in the corridor. The two of you likely look highly improper at first glance, but Victor is simply asking you which new books you would like to read to Adam.

Your husband politely excuses the two of you, blaming exhaustion, and nearly hauls you by the arm to your chambers.

You cast wild, terrified eyes back to Victor as you're dragged to your doom.

Without fail, your husband flings you onto the bed and reaches for a leather belt, but stops cold as an insistent knock wraps on the door.

"Who is it?" Your husband growls.

"It is Victor," his muffled voice explains through the door. "I'm afraid you left your pocket watch downstairs. I've come to return it."

Your husband rummages around in his jacket and finds his own pocket watch. "I have it here. Leave us. I am very tired from so much brandy."

"My mistake. Perhaps you will allow me to see yours and compare it. I do not recognize this one. Do you have more than one?"

"Go away, Frankenstein," Your husband roars. "Don't be a nuisance."

"Sir, I fear I must insist that you open the door," Victor presses on. "As the master of this house, I demand it."

Your husband curses angrily, flinging open the door, ready to give Victor a piece of his mind. But instead he's met with the hulking figure of Adam who shoves him aside and rushes to you.

He lifts you into his arms with no effort at all and turns to Victor, who nods. "Take her."

Your husband, who landed embarrassingly on his ass, flounders, confused and disoriented. "What the devil is that thing? Do not touch my wife!"

"Silence!" Victor hisses, holding out one hand condescendingly. "You will leave this house immediately. My carriage will take you anywhere you wish to go, but understand it is a one-way trip."

By now, your husband has managed to climb back to his feet. "How dare you, sir! Tell that beast to unhand my wife immediately."

"You are the beast!" You shout, letting Adam know to set you down. You carefully approach the man you hate most in all the world. "You are the monster. You will leave. And I will stay. And I will never feel your hands touch me again."

In a final act of defiance and possession, your husband raises his hand to strike you, but Adam roars, lunging forward, grabbing him by the arm. He thrusts one hand into your husband's chest and sends him flying backward, crashing into the bedpost.

"Very good, Adam," Victor tells him, patting him gently on the arm to get him to calm down. "Now take her. I will deal with this."

Adam swoops you back into his arms and takes you to his room, where the two of you wait for Victor to return.

꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂

"My offer to leave peacefully will expire," Victor warns your husband, once they are alone.

"I will go to the authorities," Your husband threatens, scurrying around the room to gather his things. "Your brute assaulted me, kidnapped my wife, who I can only assume has committed adultery, which is grounds for me to divorce her and take her dowry."

Victor scoffs, shaking his head. "Your wife is as pure and chaste a creature as God ever created. She has not given her body to me. Even if she wanted to, she is afraid. She fears her body is ugly, littered with the scars of your rage. Impudent boy." He sneers. "Or is it impotent?"

Your husband roars, slamming his hands down on his trunk, which is he is doubly infuriated to have to pack himself. "I have powerful friends, Frankenstein. Do not make an enemy of me. I will leave here and I will take my wife."

"You will not. She has made up her own mind," Victor calmly replies, straightening his suit and flipping his hair out of his eyes as if bored. "The two of you will seek a legal separation, based on your cruelty. You will comply, or Adam will relieve you of the use of your arms."

"What? That creature? That wild animal - the devil who has possessed the mind of my wife? You are mad."

"He is no devil. He is my son. And you will not speak of him again. Goodnight." Victor turns on his heel to leave.

꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂

You cry out Victor's name, racing into his arms as he returns to you and Adam. Victor scoops you into a tender embrace, burying his nose behind your ear and assuring you that all is well.

"Forgive me for acting so late. I should have sent him away the first time I saw you hurt. Please forgive me, my love."

"You saved me," you whisper, clinging to him. "Both of you saved me."

You do not leave Adam's room that night, nor do you sleep.

꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂

Since Victor knows you aren't ready to sleep in his room, or anywhere near him, actually, he makes sure your room is cleared of any traces of your husband, who departs the following morning.

You don't even speak to him. You only watch from a high window as the carriage takes him away, so you can be sure he is truly gone.

Victor offers you a different bedroom, but after years of conditioning to ignore your needs, you do not want to cause any trouble, so you decline, insistently. Even though your husband was a horror, as you lie down in bed this night, you’ve never felt so alone. The darkness of the room envelops you. As the fire burns low, a chill creeps up your body from your bare toes to your cheeks.

You shiver under the covers, longing for rest, to be rid of this dreadful first day of your new life. The absence of your husband should soothe you, but instead you feel a more menacing presence. The Unknown.

And you dread his vengeance.

You know this man you were forced to marry. He will not let this insult slide. He will never rest until he has his own way. He's powerful, connected and he will return for you. He will have Victor stripped of his title and lands. He will bring a mob to drag Adam's secret existence into exposing light.

Tears flood your eyes at the horrors he has the power to conjure to spite you, to possess you. And to exact his vengeance on anyone who would dare cross him.

You sob quietly into your pillow and cry yourself to exhaustion. Sleep finally drags you under.

You start awake hours later, the night still cold and dark, your ribs still mildly sore from your first night injuries. You flinch on instinct, expecting your husband to be near you, but your hands come up empty. You are alone.

But it's an oppressive loneliness, as if your husband's stern, judgmental stare is watching you from the darkest corners of your room. You attempt to calm yourself, begging daylight to come soon.

The thought crosses your mind to seek out Victor, who will surely welcome you, even if only for comfort or company. But you realize you've never even seen his room. You have no idea where it is in this dark, twisted manor.

Gathering your courage and your robe, you light your bedside candle and scurry to Adam's room. You hate to wake him, but you can't bear to be alone another moment.

He does not answer your knock on his door, so you creep inside, softly announcing your presence. Adam is sprawled out on the bed asleep, but you instantly feel safer and more calm in his room. So you sink down on a chair and wait.

꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂

The next morning, only a few hours later, you're startled awake by an insistent shake on your arm. Your body jerks as you suck in a breath, eyes wild and terrified and the feel of a man's hands on you.

Victor immediately withdraws his hands, holding them up non-threateningly. "All is well. Be still. You are safe."

It takes a moment to get your bearings as your body realizes there is no one to flinch from. Slowly lowering your arms, your lip trembles as you shakily exhale. "Victor?"

"I did not mean to frighten you, my love." His eyes, warm and brimming with concern, study you carefully. "You must have been dreaming. Adam thought you were crying."

Your eyes drift past Victor to Adam, whose head is cocked curiously to one side, hands fidgeting this way and that. "You are hurt?" He asks you sincerely.

Realizing you must have fallen asleep in Adam's room without permission, you begin to profusely apologize, scurrying to your feet, but Victor gently takes your hands in his and shushes you tenderly.

"You are safe, my angel."

꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂

Later that morning, after you've dressed and eaten breakfast, you stroll through the gardens, breathing in the fresh air of a new life. Or you try to anyway, but the oppression of fear and dread grip you like a vice, tearing away any possible happiness you might find here.

Victor watches you from a high window, yearning to go to you, but hesitant. He does not wish to be the next tyrant in line for you. He must find a way for you to feel safe and free.

Days pass, with Victor reluctant to push in on you, and your dread mounting, fearing your husband's vengeance. Your heart aches for Victor. You long to be near him, to sit with Adam as he learns, with Victor working nearby. But he does not come to you. He remains shut up in his lab.

Finally, one night at dinner, Victor can bear it no more. He dismisses everyone from the dining room so he can speak to you alone.

His heart sinks as every muscle in your body tenses, your lips trembling.

"My darling," he says softly, kneeling down beside your chair, but not so near that you should fear he will touch you uninvited. "How have I offended you? Or frightened you? Why do you withdraw from me?"

You are not accustomed to a man seeking your opinion. Not your father. Not your husband. Even if they do, you know better than to give the utter truth.

"I-I do not withdraw," you whisper. "You are busy with your work. I do not intend to interrupt you."

"My love..." Unable to stop himself, he places a hand over yours, as it rests in your lap, but you flinch.

"Forgive me." He quickly withdraws. "Is my touch so repellant? You cannot possibly think I would hurt you."

Tears sting your eyes. Embarrassed and confused, you cover your face and quietly cry.

"How have I failed you?" He breathes, determined to keep his distance. "How do you now fear me as much as you feared him?"

This shocks you enough to answer him. "I only fear he will take you from me," you sob, turning sad, pitiful eyes to him.

"Oh my angel," he soothes, his breath catching as you collapse into his embrace, eyes fluttering closed at the chance to finally hold you. "You must be terrified. You must feel so cut off, as you try to bear it alone. I do not wish to trap you here, do you not see? You are free here. You are free to remain, or to return to your family. What can I do to see a smile return to your face?"

Victor doesn't understand that you fear for your life, and his, and Adam's. The terror is stealing every chance of happiness away from you - every moment, even. You cannot rid yourself of it, no matter how you try.

As Victor holds you, it wells up inside you to the point of bursting. You try to press it down, temper it, but although he is devastatingly gentle, his touch lingers, reluctant for you to pull away again.

"Please let me hold you. You do not have to explain. I cannot bear to think of you alone and so sad," he insists. "Not when I could have done anything to prevent it. Please, please."

His pleading breaks you and you sob into his shoulder, pitifully. Your body sags against his as you cry, your tears soaking through his jacket and shirt beneath it.

No one in your life has ever regarded you with tenderness. You did not know such a thing even existed, and your body has held itself in tense disbelief since your abuser departed.

Now, safe in Victor's arms, every fear releases at once. You are overcome with it, sobs wracking your body as he pulls you out of your chair and down into his lap, rocking you back and forth.

The sound of your despair draws the servants back, as well as Adam, but Victor motions them away, all except for Adam, who kneels silently beside you. He pats your head affectionately, like a parent would a child, the way Victor has done with him.

"Very sad," he says to Victor.

"Yes, my boy, she is very sad. But we are here until she feels much better, aren't we?"

Adam pats your back. "We are here."

꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂

You cry until you are spent, the release unlike anything you've ever felt in your life. You feel lighter than ever before, yet somehow hollow and exhausted. Adam carries you to a new room, one you do not recognize. Although your belongings have been moved to it. He lays you gently down on the bed.

"Thank you, Adam," you tell him, your voice hoarse from crying.

Victor pats him on the shoulder and dismisses him, wishing him goodnight. He eases down on the bed's edge, offering you a glass of water.

"Drink this, my darling." It takes you a minute, but eventually manage most of it.

While you drink, Victor explains. He's had a new room done up for you, right across from his own. He doesn't like the thought of you in that terrible room, where your awful husband did dreadful things to you. He wishes he would have insisted you move on the first day.

"Shall I have a maid come and help you undress?" He asks you, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand.

"No, I'll manage," you tell him, feeling so exhausted you think you might fall right asleep.

"My room is just across the way," he reminds you, "not for any scandalous reason, mind you. I only want you to know I'm near, if you should need me."

"But I do need you," you tearfully whisper, leaning into his touch. "I am desperately afraid of my need for you."

"No, my love," he insists, cupping your cheek in his hand. "There is nothing to fear in this house. Your mind must believe it and your body will follow. You will see. I will show you. I will love you in whatever way you wish - as your dear friend - or, perhaps more, in time. But you will never fear my affection. Not ever."

Your heart burns inside you, the strongest feeling you've ever felt, stronger even than fear. "I do so desperately love you. So much that I do not even know what to do with myself, except dread and fret and fear that it will all disappear somehow. That you will be taken from me. I've never had a thing in life that didn't spoil, that didn't hurt me. Do I sound mad?"

Victor warmly chuckles. "I'm afraid I am the mad scientist here. You make perfect sense to me." Swiping his thumb over your bottom lip, he leans down and kisses your mouth tenderly.

"I beg you to share your fear with me. Perhaps I can lessen it," he says softly, gazing into your eyes.

"Be patient with me," you beg. "I am damaged. I am not likely worth the trouble."

"It is no trouble at all to love you," he assures you. "It is as easy as breathing."

꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂

Victor leaves you to rest. You aren't eager to see him go, but your body is too exhausted from your breakdown and you fall into a deep slumber.

In the coming days, he asks if you would like to return to the way things were before. You instruct Adam and Victor lingers. He works near you, but gives you space. He asks to walk you through the gardens. He does not reach for your hand, but notices how you lean in as he shows you a new bloom.

Adam joins you for dinner. He is learning table manners. He struggles to hold a fork properly, but you and Victor work together, your hearts knitting together as you help Adam grow.

Adam sees you smile when he succeeds or laugh when Victor manages to tell a joke.

"You are less sad," he remarks, and you realize then that you are.

Victor has held himself apart for your sake. In fact, the two of you were far more intimate with one another before your legal separation, going so far as to scandalously kiss and hold one another in secret.

You begin to wonder if you've driven him away, but you do feel safe enough to speculate that perhaps he avoids you for the right reasons, just as your husband would beat you for the wrong ones.

You lay in bed, as life proceeds in your new normal, tossing and turning, but for a new reason. You are not afraid anymore. Oh, you do not doubt your husband may seek his vengeance somehow, but it doesn't consume you.

Instead, you find yourself longing for Victor. You ache for him, and must think of a way to tell him. To see if he may still want you. After all, he did say he loved you. More than anything, you wish he would appear at your door, and perhaps even barge in and ravish you.

But he will not. Your fear has seen to it. You must make him understand. Gathering your courage, you climb out of bed, scurrying over to your door. A moment later, you stand in front of Victor's chamber door, attempting to steady your breathing. It would probably be best to speak to him sensibly, in daylight. Your hand reaches to knock, but you tarry. He needs to know you are ready to be loved. You must act.

Footsteps in the hallway give you pause, but soon enough, you see Victor approaching with one candlestick in his hand.

"My darling? Are you all right?"

Candlelight flickers in the reflection of his eyes.

"Yes. I...truthfully, I was about to knock on your door," you rush to confess, fighting the urge to flee to your room. You must be brave, just this once, for him.

"I've just come upstairs. Did you need me for something?" He keeps his distance, but his eyebrows shift curiously.

Noticing your state of undress, he wets his lips, attempting to keep his wits about him. He struggles so valiantly for your sake, but his desire clouds his judgment at times.

"Victor..." you breathe his name, your chest heaving as you fight every instinct and reach for his free hand. "Would you be very upset if I...if we..."

Seeing you struggle so mightily softens his heart, if it is possible for him to feel more tenderly than he already does. "Would you like to come inside with me, my love?" Before you bolt away like a frightened doe, he steps closer, eyes locked onto yours. "Because I would very much like for you to."

Nodding, you accept his hold on your hand as he leads you inside and closes the door. He sets the candle down before backing away long enough to yank the suspenders from his shoulders and kick off his boots. He tugs at his white shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside.

You blink innocently at him as he pushes his pants down over the swell of his hips, gasping as he stands before you naked. The candle's warm glow dances over the lines and planes of his bronzed skin, inviting your gaze to linger indulgently.

"Shall I dress for bed?" He asks so tenderly, a sharp contrast to the way he slowly begins to invade your personal space. He takes your hand and places your trembling palm on his bare chest. His other hand slips behind your neck, his gentle hold steadying you as he presses his mouth to yours.

You inhale sharply as you taste him again, for the first time in weeks. He kissed you while your husband stayed here, more than once.

"Is this why you came to me, angel? Or do you wish to speak to me?" Even now, he gives you the chance to steady yourself, to make sure you feel secure in his room, in his arms.

"Victor," you repeat his name, melting into his arms as he wraps you close, "I love you."

"I know you do, as I love you." Gazing into your eyes, he drags your gown up, working it over your head. Once you are naked, his hands reverently stroke and caress your skin, slowly acclimating you to his touch. Calloused fingertips dance across your flesh, their rough tenderness a tantalizing invitation.

You gasp as he brushes his fingertips over the swell of your breast, thankful for the near-darkness hiding your scars.

"Come, my darling," he murmurs, taking both your hands and leading you to his bed after blowing out the candle. He helps you lie down, openly admiring the way your naked body drapes across the bed, ready for him. As he climbs onto the bed with you, you notice he is hard and ready to take your body.

You tense at the thought. Your husband never hurt you in the bedroom, not in the intimate way. He belittled you and beat you otherwise, but never that, never naked. And he never punished you in bed. As awful as he was, you were grateful for at least that.

Still, you only ever did your duty as a wife. You'd felt pleasure from time to time, but your husband did not make it a priority by any means.

Sensing your inner turmoil, Victor shushes you, brushing his fingers along your cheek, then your neck, down to your breast.

"You are safe with me. We shall lie here all night until you believe it," he assures you. "Can I hold you?"

You nod rapidly, reaching for him as he folds you close, groaning at the pillow softness of your naked body against him.

The feeling of being held by a man who loves you almost breaks you, but no more hysterics. You are done with all that. Or you must try to be.

"I love you," you whisper, clinging to him, eyes flickering closed as your bodies learn how you fit together. "I am not afraid. Not of you. Never of you."

"Will you let me have you then?" He pants, hands tracing the shape of you as his mouth finds yours in the dark. His fingers slip between your bodies, caressing, fondling and finding the tender, wet core of you. He rubs you possessively, kissing you endlessly until you moan deeply enough to bring a smile to his face.

His fingers curl, beckoning your hips upward into a seductive rocking. "For every pain you've endured, I shall pleasure you," he breathes against you mouth, thumb tracing your most tender spot. As you gasp out, he applies a pulsing pressure.

He teaches your body the meaning of pleasure and safety and love. He worships you with his mouth. The sensations surge through your soul, too unbelievably glorious to be real, but he grounds you as you come down, kissing your mouth as he joins his body to yours for the first time.

And nine months later, you join him in creating life.

꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂