Was he mad because of his science, or his science considered mad because of him? Was it his wish to prove the impossible that made him foolish, or was it his foolishness that made him believe he could prove the impossible? Was it his ideas that convoluted the principles of understanding the universe, or had the vastness of knowledge infiltrated his mind and undermined his sanity? Had the evolution of genetics enthralled him to the point of lunacy, or had he been a lunatic to choose to study it in the first place.
For a man that had dedicated his life to the pursuit of knowledge, Gregory Magnus still hadn't an answer.
He started this journey of madness, this exploration into the unknown depth of human evolution under the reign of Queen Victoria. While she took the title Empress of India, Gregory delved into a realm of science previously unknown. Hidden away in the shadows, unseen by the light of day he studied the wonders of evolution, the marvels of creation.
While Politics was concerned with the Queen's constant threats to abdicate, Gregory was pushing the boundaries of understanding and knowledge. The Russo-Turkish war had no relevance inside his lab; the only thing of any consequence in that room was the comprehension of genetics in all its minute details. The study of Earth's creatures was where his education took him, and it was the study of Nature's creations that had him laughed out of academia.
The day the queen was shot at, Gregory was compiling the research he intended to propose to the academia. While England declared Roderick Maclean insane, Gregory was labeled a mad man for his theories and his research. He was mocked and jeered out of the academic world for his outlandish ideas; shunned from the scientific community, because the colour of his imagination had no place in the world of greys inhabited by his colleagues.
But he continued his research, hidden from the world. He worked towards the furthering of mankind's knowledge of the universe; worked at destroying the boundaries surrounding evolution. He worked for the good of fellow scientist, while he was scorned and mocked by the academia. He kept his work secret from the rest of the world, but he knew his sacrifice would be worth it. He knew his work would inspire the imaginations of those not blindsided by their own fears. He knew his work was the future of science.
But he saw that future arrive much faster than he thought possible, in his daughter. A woman whose intelligence and understanding of the world grew far beyond anything he could have hoped for. So he'd shown her his life's work, in the hopes that she would see the world in a new light. Because he wasn't patient enough for this world to be ready, but his daughter was.
In Helen, he found an heir.
For she would gladly continue his work, continue his legacy. She'd already sacrificed for the world of science, and she would succeed where he had not. She and her rag tag group of genius misfits would show the future the treasures his world had kept its eyes closed to.
He no longer had a place in that world; it wasn't big enough for him, big enough for his ideas.
But he knew a place that was; a place that held a treasure trove of knowledge and a civilisation that put his understanding of science to shame. A world hidden away from the surface in the depths of the earth itself. A world formed in shadows that bathed in colour and imagination. A world that presented enough reason to leave his work, his daughter and his life behind.
Because there, he wouldn't be a mad man. Because there, he could do the impossible.