Page 24 of Her Creation

Her head pounded as she waited silently, expecting to hear her father’s loud, angry tone ring out to defend her, but she heard only silence. Unable to keep herself in ignorance of what was taking place past the view of her plate, she looked up to see Dr. Paranthal’s back as he stood in front of the fire. Her father sat in his chair across the table from her in a mirrored position to hers, but with his head still hanging as he looked in his lap with a melancholy expression, the same blank look of sadness that eclipsed his face whenever Mary was mentioned. It rained grief for Victoria at her mention; it was a maelstrom for her father.

A loud knock tapped at the iron front door, the sound reverberating from the entrance all the way into the dining room. The space inside the castle was large and opulent, but Victoria and Alphonse used most of the rooms sparsely. It was far easier financially for the rooms to remain unused and covered with linens, most of the doors staying closed. They received the castle to live in, but they couldn’t readily afford its financial burden.

At the knock, Alphonse lifted his head and locked tired eyes with his daughter. He wasn’t expecting anyone.

After a few uneasy moments of silence, Rosamond, the maid, opened the tall black double doors and entered with a surprised look on her face. “Pardon me for the interruption, sir. A carriage has just arrived for Miss Frankenstein.”

“A carriage, for me?” Victoria repeated, pointing to her own chest suspiciously.

“And quite a nice carriage it is.” Dr. Paranthal cleared his throat. “Perhaps I should not have been so harsh in my assumptions of Miss Victoria being unliked by society. Once again, I’ve put things out of order…” He trailed off.

“Who is it, Rosamond?” Alphonse asked the waiting woman.

“No name was given, only a carriage for Victoria. The coachman said only that he had instructions to return her by midnight,” she replied with nervous eyes that never stayed on Alphonse for too long.

A heavy feeling of dread filled Victoria’s stomach.

“Wasn’t that Helena von Schiller woman you met threatening you with a party of sorts?” Alphonse perked up at the prospect of Victoria having been invited to a party with noble friends. The feeling tore softly at her insides.

Victoria swore she had said Friday. Today was only Thursday. Had she misunderstood?

She took in Rosamond, with her soiled apron, graying blond hair, and expectant face, before she glanced across the room to Dr. Paranthal with his look of surprised satisfaction as he walked away from the window and returned to the dining table. “Yes. I believe it’s from Mrs. von Schiller. I must have misunderstood the time.”

“Well then! What do you have to say about that?” Alphonse beamed at his friend. “Rosamond, are you by chance serving any crow for dessert? My friend would like two helpings, if you’d be so kind.”

“I…ugh…only streusel,” Rosamond stammered as she clutched her apron.

“Enjoy your evening, and do not listen to my ramblings, Victoria. I am a fool, and I shouldn’t have been so harsh. Will you be changing your outfit to something less…morbid?” he challenged with a smile.

Ignoring his provocation, Victoria bent down to kiss her father on the forehead. “Be mindful of the steps this evening if you go to the lab. Rosamond will send Greta up to help do your leg stretches, so you do not need to wait for me,” she whispered.

Alphonse swatted her away with an irritated glare overtop his spectacles. “Why don’t you go through your mother’s closet and pick something out, something more…festive to wear tonight?” Victoria held back a laugh at his retaliation.

“Tomorrow afternoon, Thomas and I will be deep in the throes of an experiment in the lab.” He looked to Thomas, who had gone back to the window to admire the carriage. “You will no doubt be busy with other endeavors, but we will be in the lab. In the lab about noon, we will be.” He winked at his daughter.

“Why are you shouting?” Dr. Paranthal asked from the window.

Victoria said her goodbyes and made her way to the front door. She paused at a mirror to smooth her hair back in place, setting her book on the small table in front of it. A thin and sallow face glared back from the other side. Her cheekbones were like apples that stuck out too far to be delicate. Eyes so dark they were nearly black with a sheen of warm red tones. Hollow and sad, not like Helena’s lively mossy-green-speckled eyes or Sophia’s bright, sky-blue orbs. Victoria’s eyes fell to her sharp collarbone that jutted out too far. Her hand absently touched her throat, gently pressing the sharp platysma muscle under her jaw that was too rigid and sharp. She noted the soft purple that sat under her skin in circles around her eyes and wondered if Greta had any powdered starch or carmine she could use.

She recalled the exact moment when she had gone from a healthy, lively, carefree child to a soulless puppet. Her mother had taken both of their souls when she left, though Victoria always assumed she would drop it back down for Victoria when the timing was right, when Victoria had suffered the correct amount, and there was no more sadness to be inflicted.

Perhaps it still hadn’t happened—her soul was yet to be dropped from the heavens and land back inside her body because she hadn’t been doing what her mother wanted.

“Here’s your coat, miss,” Rosamond said as she held out a black wool coat with mud splashes on the hem from daily walks.

Victoria looked at it for a long moment. “I’m going to change my dress; could you please help me? I need to be quick.”

Several minutes later, Victoria passed by the large mirror at the entrance. She wore a buttercup-yellow cotton robe à l’anglaise fitted gown with a bodice and skirt sewn together at the waist and ornate green detailing among the ruched skirt, as well as a matching hat of yellow covering a poof of black hair.

She paused before the looking glass and, for the briefest of moments, enjoyed what she saw, but the familiarity of her features settled in and she felt absurd in the cheery dress. It was the only dress of her mother’s that would fit her and that wasn’t grossly outdated. She doubted anyone would think the buttercup yellow loud, but to Victoria it screamed. She put on her muddied coat, grateful to have something that was familiar against her skin before she left the castle and hurried out to the waiting carriage.

Alone inside the coach, Victoria played with the stiff fabric of her skirt where they had not been able to remove a few small wrinkles. She pulled in a heavy breath and let it settle in her lungs, surprised that the scent of her mother’s dress wasn’t more appealing to her. She remembered her mother smelling like a windswept field of soft, sweet, airy flowers. The dress smelled musty and harsh. Forgotten.

After some time of jostling about in the silent carriage alone, it pulled into a broad gravel drive with linden trees lining a beautiful, grand manor that sat amid fields of farmland. The coachman helped Victoria down and directed her to the front door. Her head lifted to take in Helena’s beautiful home. Nervous moths fluttered wildly around inside her stomach. She found that she looked forward to seeing Helena again. Despite her general nervousness around people, Helena seemed kind and intelligent, someone Victoria could see actually forming a friendship with.

Movement in one window caught Victoria’s eye. A woman with pale blond hair looked down at her from the third floor. Even from the ground so far below, Victoria could see the hate that tinted the woman’s blue eyes. It was Sophia Morning. The pianist from the baron’s party and Wilhelm’s fiancée.

Victoria quickly stepped away and walked to the front door, embarrassed by her own lack of awareness. Of course, Sophia and the others would be at Helena’s party…which meant that so would—