Page 96 of Her Creation

Chapter 26

Log entry

March, 1803

Recounting events 1773–1795 Location: Unknown

Victoria lifted the letter into the early morning light spilling across the dining room, light so thin and colorless it seemed drained of warmth before it ever reached the floor. The letters had outlived the man they were meant for. These were the last letters he would ever receive. Several bore the familiar handwriting of Dr. Thomas Paranthal. At the sight of his name, warmth drained from her face, leaving her hollowed and unsteady.

She had not thought of Dr. Paranthal. He would question the silence. He would wonder why his friend had failed to maintain their steady correspondence. This was a flaw in her deception, a weakness she had not foreseen.

Inno’s words from the night before surfaced, unbidden and merciless. They had lodged themselves deep within her, sharper than accusation, heavier than comfort. As she rolled the letter between her fingers, understanding arrived with unwelcome clarity. Avoidance had not softened the pain. Pretending her father was merely hidden away in the cellar had not dulled the memories. It had preserved them in a suspended state, neither alive nor allowed to rest. Avoiding the bond she shared with Inno had not weakened it. Denial had only sharpened it, given it teeth.

The argument with Inno had stripped away illusion and left her exposed to a truth she could no longer refuse. No one was coming to undo what had been done. In the oppressive quiet of the dining room, she made a vow. This week, she would move her father’s body to his grave. The certainty settled into her bones even as the details remained unclear. If it meant slipping into the night and working beneath a moon that refused to look away, if it required digging until her hands split and her strength failed, she would see it done before the week ended. A small, aching smile touched her mouth at the thought of her parents resting together at last, reunited at last.

She slipped her nail beneath the seal of Dr. Paranthal’s letter and her stomach dropped. He intended to visit. Troubled by the prolonged silence, he planned to come and see her father himself.

Panic rose swift and sharp. They had spoken openly with Dr. Paranthal about resurrection, had asked his opinions, his doubts, his theories. The truth lay coiled tightly around her, patient and unforgiving. There was no room left for hesitation. She checked the date on Dr. Paranthal’s letter, then rose at once, crossing the room to retrieve parchment and pen.

Her hand moved fast, ink scratching across the page as she composed her reply. She wrote that her father was well, though occupied. That his hands trembled too badly for correspondence just now, and that he had asked her to answer on his behalf to soothe his friend’s unnecessary worry.

It would work. He was one of the few who knew, even if only in vague terms, that her father suffered from nerve issues. Her father had always tried to hide it, but the knowledge existed, and she leaned on it now without mercy.

Still, she could not sustain this deception forever. The lies crowded her thoughts, followed her through the halls, waited for her even in sleep. She had no clear solution. Without money, there was no distance she could reasonably put between herself and this place. Nowhere she could flee to, especially not with a reanimated man tethered to her fate.

Inno’s words from the night before returned to her like a blow. The force of them had not diminished with time. There was only so much emotion two people could share before it spilled beyond containment, staining everything in reach. He had been right. She had created him. She had pulled him back from death only to abandon him, dragging him from place to place while she fought against feelings she refused to name. She could never give him what he wanted, what she herself wanted.

She had fallen asleep late, her body wrung dry by days of fractured rest. Eventually exhaustion had dragged her under, and she had dreamed of them waltzing together across the polished floor, her hand light in his, his movements precise and assured. She regretted not dancing with him more than she could bear. It would have become one of those memories she locked away and returned to endlessly, polished by longing.

The dream had ended abruptly when he spun her, and she rolled over in her sleep. Her eyes had flown open to find Inno standing at the foot of her bed, his expression grim, his presence solid and unmistakable. The sight had been so vivid that she had bolted upright, heart hammering, certain he had left the basement. But the room had been empty. He was gone. She had collapsed back onto the mattress, sleep reclaiming her before she could fully understand what she had seen.

She felt foolish. She had never meant for her fondness to reveal itself so plainly, never meant to offer him hope for something that could not exist. The fault was entirely her own. Boundaries were necessary, no matter how cruel they felt. The ball had proven what she already knew. She was only human, and her resolve had limits.

She lifted the heavy plate of breakfast she had prepared for him and carried it toward the basement door. At the threshold, she paused, then turned back to the dining room and set it carefully on a side seat at the table. It was a small offering, inadequate but sincere. She hoped he would recognize it as such.

Victoria grasped the railing as she descended the basement stairs, her knuckles whitening. The scent of decay rose thick and unmistakable, burning her eyes and turning her stomach. She stepped into the laboratory’s darkness and stopped short. No candle burned. No lamp glowed. The space lay in complete shadow.

“I made you breakfast,” she said softly. “If you would like to eat upstairs at the table, you may. There are things we should discuss. About last night.”

Silence answered her.

“Inno?”

Her legs struck the edge of the table, and she reached blindly across its surface, fingertips grazing wood and scattered tools until they closed around the familiar tin of tinder and steel. She pried it open with clumsy hands, pulled free the small twists of wool, and struck again and again until at last a spark caught. She fed it to the twisted paper spill and leaned close, lighting two nearby oil lamps. As the flames steadied, a sick, creeping unease burrowed deeper into her gut, sharpened by the silence that refused to break.

She lifted one of the lamps and carried it with her, the glow weak but steady as she swept it across the laboratory. She moved through the space quickly now, bending to peer beneath worktables as if he were a child and not a giant among men, glancing into corners she knew were too small to conceal him. Panic rose with each empty space. She opened her mouth to call for him again, the name already forming.

A low whistle of wind cut through the stillness.

Victoria froze. Her gaze locked onto the narrow crack of daylight cutting through the open back door. She stood rigid, unable to move as horror threaded its way through her veins.

He was gone—he had left her.

The strength drained from her legs, and panic clawed at her chest, but beneath it stirred something quieter and sharper. Hurt. She remained where she was, staring at the open door for long moments, as though he might step back through it if she waited long enough.

Where would he go? Would he disappear entirely? What if he hurt someone?

Her eyes squeezed shut as his words from the night before surged back with merciless clarity: You believe I am a monster. I will show you what a monster I can be.