Page 9 of Her Creation

“I also found this,” she said as she held up my small logbook.

The only item in my possession that I cared about. “My logbook,” I muttered.

“It seems they’ve sent you to scout the land?” Her mouth tightened into a harsh line. “You are a woman; this is no doubt a tremendous opportunity for you.”

“Yes, it is—was,” I stuttered. She had no idea how important this had been to me.

“For that then, I cannot express how truly sorry I am for what I will ask of you.” She nodded slowly. “It’s imperative that no one else comes to this land—that they understand it is not for them to take or own. No one must come here, ever. I understand what this means for you, and I understand that despite the death of your entire crew, they will only send out more to scout this land.”

Were it not for the pain in my body, I would have believed I was in a nightmare. Every hair on my body prickled and rose as I waited for what she would say next. She had proven she was not above hurting me, and that she defended and adored such an absolute monster let me know I couldn’t trust her.

Her face and all her composure fell as her brows lowered, giving me a painfully understanding look. “This is rare, extremely rare for a woman. You are eager then to make history?” she asked.

I nodded apprehensively. “Yes, and I-I will. They—we deserve it as much as any man.” Even in near delirium, I was prepared to defend women in men’s fields, as unwise as it might have been. It was alarming the number of women who were against it as well.

Her eyes flickered closed for a long moment. “Yes, believe me, I understand the position you are in, probably better than most.” Her chest rose with a deep inhale as her face saddened. “However, I cannot allow you to return with the contents of this logbook. No one can know we are here. They must never, ever look at this place again, not on paper or in person.”

I couldn’t lose my logbook. It had turned into a friend somewhere along the months at sea and now held the last memories of my adventure—of the many moments with Mick that I’d been unable to see for what they really were. It was more than just a logbook; it was my story. “Please, I won’t tell them you are here, I promise. I will not tell a soul, but I must keep my logbook. It has become my friend. I can keep them away from this area—I’ll say we never made it here, anything—just please don’t take my logbook,” I stammered. “Do not take this from me when you’ve taken everything else.”

A devastated look crossed her face. “They would find some weakness in you and coerce you; they are men, they would not take your word for it. And you, girl, are hungry. I can see it in your eyes, for I have had the same hunger in my bones. It’s why Inno brought you here—the part of me he recognized in you.” She looked as if she were about to cry, and no words could express how unnerving it was.

“I will avoid them, the British Admiralty, all of them—my family.” My throat tightened uncomfortably. “Even my mother—I promise. I will go somewhere else, so they will think I’m dead as well. Please.” A heavy sadness pulled on my heart thinking about never seeing my family again, but after the failure of this expedition, I wasn’t sure my father or grandfather would see me again, anyway.

She straightened her posture, but the look of sadness remained. “Unfortunately, I need you to return. I have no choice but to ask for your help in saving the lives of the many who will try to come here. I need you to encourage them to abandon all thoughts of ever inhabiting this place, or they will all die. Innominatus will make sure of it. They can come after we’ve gone.”

I nodded quickly, but my heart sank. She was going to destroy my logbook. “You’re going to destroy it, aren’t you? My logbook.”

She looked down at the leather-bound book in her lap. “I hope you can forgive me, but while you slept, I read it, intending to destroy it after.” She stood with the book in hand and drifted to the bed and, with resistance painting her face, she set it on my chest.

I tried to grab it hastily, but my fingers refused to squeeze in the way I commanded them to. “You’re not going to destroy it,” I whispered, unable to understand what was happening.

Her bony fingers touched my forearm and squeezed gently. “Consider it a symbol of trust. I need to tell you a story, and it is my hope that in telling you this story, you will agree to help us.”

The man appeared suddenly, and his eyes latched on to the woman as he settled against the doorframe, tucking his hands in his pants pockets. Admiration overflowed from his intense amber stare, never looking away from her.

She took a deep breath. “My name is Victoria Rose Frankenstein…”

Chapter 5

Exact date uncertain, 1803 Log entry

Location: Unknown

I have recorded their exact location as though my life depends upon it, which it very well might.Their position is fixed beyond dispute.Coordinates verified and entered in full with sketches of land patterns.Victoria found she had slept in, lying in bed well past nine in the morning—a rarity for her.. When they came—which had been often, especially before the tinctures of laudanum—she could not return to slumber. Instead, she waited anxiously for the next sound to echo across the old castle, waiting for whatever nightmare might unfold next.I have recorded enough to condemn them completely.With this information, their concealment is ended. Despite what may happen to me, once this record is seen, it will not matter how well they have buried themselves in the cold. They will be found.

Chapter 6

Log entry

March 1803

Recounting events 1773–1795 Location: Unknown

Victoria Rose Frankenstein was a child cursed with curiosities far greater than any answers the world could offer her.

The only child of Mary and Alphonse Frankenstein, she was cherished in a way only the luckiest children were, wrapped in a cocoon of love and protection. Yet her unquenchable hunger for knowledge marked her as different. It likely stemmed from her father, who had studied at the University of Ingolstadt in Bavaria, emerging as a surgeon of unprecedented skill, with a mind uncommonly sharp, and a hand abnormally precise. Alphonse’s brilliance, he often said, sprang from his obsession with experimentation, natural philosophy, and chemistry—and this same obsession took root in his daughter.

As Victoria grew, her curiosity was almost alarming in its intensity. Surgery, the human body, the care of living tissue—these were trivial amusements that Alphonse spoke about. It was the mysteries of the world Victoria craved: how salamanders regrew their tails, the invisible threads that bound life to decay. Her parents, aware these were unseemly pursuits for a young lady, held cautious hope that time would temper her fascination.