Author's Note: This piece is based on nothing else but Mary Shelley's brilliant Frankenstein and my own imagination. (Reviews are always welcome.)
The Final Hour
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"I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other."
(Mary Shelley: Frankenstein)
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It was with trepidation and shallow breaths that Elizabeth Frankenstein, née Lavenza, entered her husband's bedchamber, which would, from that day forth, serve as their marital chamber.
Everything about the room was familiar, for she had spent many idle hours inside the walls, playing with Victor in her infancy or, when she grew older and matured, engaging in deep philosophical conversations that he usually dominated. She dutifully read the books he recommended her, and on occasion, she indulged herself in literature that interested her the most; not his favourite scientific debates and articles and compendiums; but fiction that spoke of passion, and despair, and redemption. But Victor preferred science to poetry and the newly popular novels, and what Elizabeth herself preferred was to listen to him and watch him lose himself in his fervent speeches.
His mind was brilliant and there was so much he wanted to achieve. She liked to believe that, although she was not particularly talented in the fields that held all of his interests captive, she could help him on the path towards his daring goals by offering a sympathetic, interested ear. It seemed that he begot the best of his ideas when he spoke to her, gesturing with his hands and his whole arms, swirling around the room, drawing circles and lines into the air with long, nimble fingers, trying very hard to paint for her the images that presided in his wonderful mind, quoting Paracelsus, or teaching her the occult knowledge of Cornelius Agrippa and Albertus Magnus. Sometimes, she would complain that she was not at all certain that his following their arcane teachings was entirely good and safe, but he could be so convincing, assuring her that the future was in science, obsessing over the memory of a tree that he saw being hit by lightning.
So Elizabeth would often sit in the window alcove of his bedchamber, clutching one of her books to her chest, hoping that he might wish to discuss its merits with her, but in the end, Victor always coaxed her into his world of alchemy and mad ideas that were brilliant in their madness, and she never failed to let him claim her mind with his, for she loved him. Elizabeth had loved Victor since the day she became a charge in the household of his dear parents and he accepted her as his cousin with a smile and a bow; and from that day forth, Elizabeth had known she would one day be joined with him in matrimony. Her heart, and her soul, had always belonged to Victor Frankenstein.
On occasion, when he was particularly inspired and inventive, he would grab at her hands, dragging her from the window alcove, and dance with her about the room, humming a joyful melody, making her laugh and blush. Luckily, no one ever witnessed their scandalous behaviour, but Victor had always been a perfect gentleman and her honour had never once been jeopardised. Until the day of his proposal, they had behaved as close cousins towards each other, and afterwards as coy lovers, respectful of each other and never sharing a kiss – the exceptions standing in the form of stolen pecks on the cheeks and palms – until this day when Elizabeth became Victor Frankenstein's bride at long last.
Despite the recent tragedies that wounded her heart with deep incisions and promised to leave painful scars on its tender surface for the rest of her life, Elizabeth had gotten what she had always wanted. And yet, she was not happy, nor optimistic. As she stepped into the marital chamber, her heart had not yet been lifted from its sunken state and she leaned her back against the door with a tearful, shuddering sigh. Remembering Victor's warning, the memory of his words ringing in her ears, she quickly locked the door, turning the key in the lock twice for good measure, then pressed her ear against the wood, listening intently. She could hear nothing, but she was frightened and severely disappointed, for she had never imagined that she would be forced to spend her wedding night fearing for her husband's life, and possibly for her own.
She pushed herself away from the door gently and began to weep, biting her lower lip to remain silent, she knew not why. Perhaps, she thought, shocking herself, to keep away the equally silent thought, an accusation that was worming its way through her mind, causing her to suffer from a physical headache.
Victor, what have you done...
It was disbelief, and disappointment, and shock, that combined themselves into the most horrible emotion: Elizabeth found that she feared her husband; feared his abilities that, not so long ago, inspired her with pride; the darkness in him that compelled him to break the laws of God; the unholy creation of his monstrous experiments that was, she believed, an extension of him, for although he had spoken of the creature with hatred and disdain, she could discern from his words how much alike the creator and the creation were. She did not wish to believe it, but it would be useless to blind herself to the truth. She loved Victor, worshipped him, even, and he was deeply aware of her feelings for her, welcoming them, and her, with open, loving arms. But what he had done, in the name of science, the damned science that nearly killed him and took him away from her all too soon – it was much more than Elizabeth could hope to bear.
All the while, as he was away in England and Scotland, and Elizabeth was praying on her knees for his safety, for his mind to give him answers and make him a famous scientist, he was planning to outwit God and death, committing grave sacrilege, going against everything he had been taught to respect and love, against every common sense and morality prescribed by religion and society, so that one might endeavour to be pure of heart and achieve a place in Heaven. He spawned a demon from limbs and flesh that was disturbed in its eternal sleep and Elizabeth was aware of the monumental nature of his success, as much as she was aware of the sin that accompanied it; a sin so black that it was unwashable. A sin that would never die, for the sin was a man: not truly a man, but with the appearance of a man, cursed and distorted, ugly from the outside and from within; a true, veritable monster; her husband's unholy child that desired to end them all.
Elizabeth strode to the bed and collapsed upon the soft duvet, burying her face into it, her fingers entwined in prayer. She prayed for Victor to slay the demon, for Victor to return to her, surrendering to her arms, so that her love may cure him and bring back the man that she knew before his madness. She would always love him, no matter what, but she wished for the return of the man he was before he allowed the madness of science to claim him.
Despite her dedication to sorrow and tears, Elizabeth did not fail to hear a creaking sound coming from somewhere inside the room. Her body froze and she ceased her soft sighs and sniffing, slowly raising her head from the duvet to look at the wardrobe on the other side of the bedchamber, her eyes greeted with the sight of the wardrobe door opening with slow determination. She jumped from the bed, but her legs folded below her, reason succumbing to shock.
The wardrobe spewed out a man, a thing that looked like man, much larger than her or any man, its head, adorned with long, messy, raven hair, nearly touching the ceiling, its crude clothes enveloping its unnaturally protruding limbs too tightly. Its skin was both gray and jaundiced, stretched thinly over its bones and muscles, with patches of strange smoothness and long lines of deep wrinkles covering its sickly landscape. The face was a moving horror of deep-set black eyes, glowing with life like the flames of Hell, that promised to devour her and spit out her bones through wolfish, curiously white teeth, uncovered by thin, black lips that were curled into a snarl. It was a monster and Elizabeth knew, too perfectly well, that she was staring into the eyes of the very demon that Victor himself had created.
Her first instinct was to scream as loud as she could, but her lungs refused to expand enough to allow her that relief. Her throat had grown strangely dry and constricted, and her fingers grabbed at the duvet as if the fabric could help her in any way. Her breathing was becoming hysterical and she began to push her frame towards the wall behind her, crawling backwards in a daze, her frenzied eyes exuding a plea for mercy.
The demon began to approach her with long, deliberate steps, its booted feet making no sound against the carpeted floor. Elizabeth could see the barely disguised arteries and muscles underneath the skin, twitching as the creature moved, propelling her to cover her face with trembling palms, gasping for the scream that had been waiting at the pit of her quivering chest.
With horror, she realised that the door was locked and that Victor was outside the manor, searching for his diabolical creation. She was entirely alone, trapped in her marital bedchamber with the demon that most probably wanted to murder her, with only minutes, if not seconds, left to live, for she could not hope to survive the encounter with the monster. Elizabeth now felt the demon hovering above her. She could hear its ragged breathing; smell the odour of death waft off him in waves that rushed across her body. The ugly, unholy thing extended an arm towards her and it was then that Elizabeth finally found her voice.
She let out a violent, high-pitched shriek, so incredible in its vehemence that the monster wavered and took a step back, allowing Elizabeth to shoot to her feet, still screaming. She made for the door, but in the next second, she was proven to be a great fool, for she could never hope to escape. The moment she turned away from the monster, it caught her by an arm, so severely that pain exploded in her shoulder and Elizabeth yelped, tripping to her knees. She did not stay on the floor for more than a brief moment, for the monster immediately pulled her to her feet and shoved her face against its chest, pushing hard.
Elizabeth could not breathe anymore, nor see, and she clawed at the unnatural flesh, bizarrely warm and pulsating with strong heartbeats. Elizabeth scratched at it, begging to be released and allowed to fill her lungs with air once more.
"Do not struggle," the unholy thing spoke with a raspy, yet gentle voice, "and do not scream. Only then shall I release you."
Desperate for air, Elizabeth obeyed immediately and the monster kept its word, loosening its grip on Elizabeth's fragile frame.
Elizabeth gulped in the air, her lungs welcoming it with a sharp twang of pain, and she emitted a few strangled coughs, momentarily forgetting that she was leaning against the frame of an animated corpse that held her in its arms like a broken porcelain doll.
Her head tilting forward slightly, for Elizabeth was still not fully recovered from the shock, she observed large fingers wrapped around her wrists, the sharp, gray nails cutting into her skin, drawing blood from it. She nearly screamed again, but she remembered just in time the monster's threat, for a threat it had been. If she would scream and resist, she would die. She wanted to live and a sensation of nausea washed over her as she realised that, to have her simple wish granted, she might have to do the demon's bidding, obeying it.
Elizabeth made herself to look upward, into the face of the thing holding her with awkward tenderness now, and she thought bitterly that Hell was not empty, but it most certainly was missing a devil. She whimpered and tears began to crawl down her cheeks without shame. She had to swallow a scream when the thing picked her up in its arms and took her to the bed, setting her on the duvet. Once she was seated, it knelt, by her side, its aberrant eyes boring into her.
"Please," she whispered, and she did not manage to say more.
"I have come with a purpose," the monster replied and Elizabeth was surprised by how perfectly shaped its manner of speech was; how soft the words despite the roughness of its voice; how sorrowful and pathetic the melody that shaped them. She had been expecting the ferocious, incoherent growling of a wild beast; she was welcomed by the speech of a man.
Her fingers were abusing the fabric of her gown, expressing the state of her frantic mind. Elizabeth sought to find the courage to speak again and her voice, when it came, was thin, but it struggled past the barriers of fear that were constricting her throat.
"It...it does not have to end like this..."
"But end it must and he knows it," the demon replied. "However, I find that I would speak to you first, you who love the man who is hardly better than the creature before you, yet none the worse for it. I am worthy, of friendship and love, of acceptance and happiness, and perhaps you can see it, and show me that it is so. You," said the creature, pointing a terribly long finger at her, "with your loving, accepting heart, may alleviate the yawning hole inside me that he has created."
The creature at her feet sighed sorrowfully. "You may convince my creator to change his mind and gift me with my only desire, and then, I shall be gone, as I have once promised him. Should he undo the wrongs he has committed against me, I will not take my revenge. I am going to offer him the final chance."
Elizabeth's lips were trembling, yet she found the strength to speak. "I do not understand..."
The monstrous creature nodded in understanding. "He has not told you everything, therefore you cannot understand."
What Elizabeth understood was that the thing before her, the hideous, pitiful creature that was the result of her husband's greatest and most terrible experiment, was, in fact, despite any preconception, an educated being, eloquent in speech and quite capable of thought. It surprised her and, God forgive her, intrigued her. For the first time since its assault, she relaxed for a fragment and regarded it with curiosity.
"You speak," she stated, her voice still strained, but her lips had calmed. "Victor left you to fend for yourself and yet you speak, clearly and far from commonly. How is this possible?"
The creature laughed bitterly. "You have been expecting a monster and my appearance is sadly monstrous, but I am not a monster, nor a beast. Not in here," it said, touching his temple, "and not in here," it added, placing its wide palm upon the place where, Elizabeth supposed, it had a heart.
The creature frowned bitterly, pouting its lips like a dissatisfied infant. "My creator abandoned me. My father abandoned his child, but the child has learned to survive, to speak like a gentleman and behave with proper decorum, for there was a man, a good man, blind to the ugly appearance of my body and visage."
Elizabeth shivered, feeling compelled to ask, "Did you harm him?"
The creature looked at her resentfully. "He was my friend, the only living man who has shown me kindness, who treated me like a man and who taught me everything that I know. I could have been happy, had it not been for his family that shunned me like a beast."
It did not say anything more and Elizabeth decided, to her own immense surprise, that the creature was not guilty of any crime regarding that man it spoke of. Its words pierced her, stirring the first waves of compassion inside her.
"You are a living man," she spoke tentatively, always fearing its next reaction, but she was growing curious and amazed.
"Yes," the creature replied passionately, "I am a man. I breathe, I eat, I dream and I speak. I read and I understand. I can hope and can love and I can hate. I am a man and I am not unholy, only wretched, and for that, my creator bears the blame."
It grabbed her hands and Elizabeth yelped as it – no, he, for the creature was truly a man – pressed them against his heaving chest, the skin warm and alive under her fingers. It was grotesque and almost wrong to think of it as a he, to accept the creature as a man, but a man he was.
"I am a man," he repeated and released her.
Elizabeth knew by now that, if she treated the creature kindly, she could save herself. He was not a wild, feral beast. He had a developed mind and passionate feelings, and such a creature – such a man – could be reasoned with. She would try and she would live, or so she could only hope.
She did not recoil from the touch. Her hands remained splayed against the creature's chest, feeling the strong, even heartbeat beneath. It was difficult for her to keep down the sickness, for his skin was translucent and she could see the veins pumping blood through his bare neck. He heaved a sigh and she flinched, hardly believing that the creature was once a corpse, or parts of several dead men, by the look of him, but Victor brought it to life with the secrets of alchemy that only he knew. The creature was more than an animated corpse. He was a person and her discovery startled her.
She removed her hands from his chest and folded them in her lap, trying to portray calmness, attempting to accept the peculiar situation that she believed to still be dangerous for her. She would remain cautious, but kind, for was kindness not what this sad creature yearned for?
"How did my husband create you?" she asked, genuinely curious.
"I know not. He has not said, for fear that I might make use of his knowledge."
Elizabeth was horrified by the implication. "To create another one such as yourself?"
The creature was looking at her intently and she knew that she hit the mark, as well as surprised him with her quick deduction.
"A female companion," he asserted and let out a fleeting snarl that made Elizabeth wince. "How would you feel, Elizabeth, if I fulfilled my promise and killed my creator, your husband?"
Elizabeth's heart began to pound at a swiftly accelerating pace. Without much thought, she spoke, "I would be devastated. I would die inside. My heart would be broken and it would never heal again."
The creature wanted to be loved, and clearly he wanted to love in return. If he knew how much she loved Victor, he would not take him from her, would he?
Quickly, she continued, "You loved your friend, did you not? You said he taught you everything you know. He was kind to you, and I dare say he felt fond of you as well." At that, the creature bowed his head, overcome by sentiment, and Elizabeth knew she must continue the conversation in this vein. "He was taken from you and you have still not recovered from the loss. My husband, your creator, means everything to me. I love him more dearly than I love any other person in this world. You know the true meaning of loss. Would you take him from me, then, knowing how that would affect me? Would you afford the same suffering to another being?"
The creature looked at her with watery eyes and the expression of deep hurt in them struck Elizabeth, compelling her to bravely place her hand into one large palm that was resting on his knee.
"I can sense that you have suffered terribly much, you poor man, and I am very sorry for it."
She recognised him as a man and called him a man, and she could see how the creature was touched by the acknowledgement. She was certain that she had won him over and the truth of the matter was that she had meant every word. Elizabeth was not playing a game, for she was being absolutely sincere and began to feel sorry for the wretched being kneeling by her feet.
"You have a heart. I have felt its strong beating. I can teach you to forgive."
At that, the creature shoved away her hand and stood up, scaring Elizabeth into emitting a yelp. She stood as well, taking a step away from him, embracing herself defensively, frightened that she was losing him.
"I have offended you," she said, "and I am sorry."
She hoped fervently that her apology would placate him. The creature was staring at her angrily, the hurt and softness from before gone from his eyes. Even at a distance of a few paces, he seemed to be towering above her, taller than any man she had ever seen, a magnificent titan filled with primal rage.
"The world has shown me nothing but repulsion and hatred," he spoke. "I have been abandoned, shunned, beaten and cursed, all for the sake of my wretched appearance. My own creator has wished me dead, completely obliterated from all existence, and while I have only ever asked him for one thing – not to love me, or to accept me, or to befriend me – but to end my solitude, he took away from me even that one thing that I have desired. Ruined it, murdered it, desecrated it, as he would have dealt with my own body, had I not escaped from him after the first few breaths I took, and he from me."
The creature walked over to Elizabeth and, petrified, she could not move, allowing him to descend his wide palms upon her shoulders and shake them hard.
"You would teach me to forgive? Teach the world, rather, and teach him to see beyond my exterior and my origins. Teach them to see me as the man that I am, a living, breathing, thinking man, and teach them to let me live. I wish to live and I wish to share my lonely existence with a female companion, away from all civilisation, so that you may rest assured that we shan't ever threaten you or intrude upon your lives with our simple existence."
The creature choked out a sob and released Elizabeth. She stumbled against the wall behind her, tears flowing down her cheeks.
"He made her for me," the creature continued barely above a whisper, "the female of my kind, and she was almost mine, so close to completion, so painfully close." He ground his teeth, the venom of hatred boiling behind their sharp whiteness. "But he murdered her and that I cannot forgive. He tore her apart, for being an abomination, he said, and to show me how little I have meant, how wrong my existence has been. Remember your answer to me and imagine how broken-hearted I was."
He shook his head. "I am a mistake. I did not ask to be born, yet to this world I came and tell me, Elizabeth, tell me, am I not worthy of life?"
Elizabeth was bewildered by how much she had begun to care for the creature's plight. She sympathised with his pain and she wished to see him content, not only for the sake of him begetting what he had been yearning for and see him leave, but for the sake of his hapless soul, for he had a soul, and a heart, and a clever mind. Inadvertently, Victor condemned the poor wretch's existence, as well as his own, to hardship and torment. Yet she had to determine inside her soul whether it would be acceptable to give the creature his female, who would be another perversion of nature, although containing every possibility of growing into a civilised, eloquent being such as her male predecessor. No, she could not do that. She would never consent to it, for the very notion was entirely against everything she cherished and believed in, against God and nature, but the male being before her, created at the hands of science, was in existence and there had to be a way to appease his appetite for worthiness and companionship.
It was a stunning discovery, but the creature deserved to be a man, only not at the cost of another sin.
"Yes," she replied shakily and took a brave step forward, wiping the tears from her face. "You are worthy of life. Not merely of existing, but of truly living. You are worthy."
Elizabeth smiled gently, warily, so as not to startle him. "Please, tell me your name, so that I might call you by it, like a true man."
For the second time since the beginning of their meeting, the creature laughed his devastated, frightening laugh. "I have not the blessing of a name. Oh, how wonderful it would be to have a name, to be called by something familiar and recognisable, but I do not possess the luxury of bearing a name. My creator is too repulsed by me to afford me anything that is good and comforting."
Elizabeth afforded him a gaze of pure sympathy and for the first time that evening, she felt anger that was directed towards Victor. Oh, what a terrible thought, disloyal and disgusting! She banished it from her mind and focused on the creature before her.
"If you named yourself, what name would you choose? Yes, choose a name and let me be the first one to call you by it. Would you not like that? You can name yourself."
Briefly, she smiled at him, reassuring him as much as she was herself.
The creature looked past her shoulder and sighed. "I am the Adam of my creator's labours, for he is my maker, yet I am not one of God's good creatures. I am the fallen angel, my creator's own devil and his torment, therefore Lucifer would be equally fitting." His black lips wrinkled in a sad smile and he spoke, distractedly, "Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay to mould me Man, did I solicit thee –"
"- from darkness to promote me?" Elizabeth interrupted, finishing the quote, staring at him incredulously, and the creature regarded her back in the same manner.
"You know Paradise Lost," the creature stated with interest and she marvelled at his knowledge of fine literature just as much.
"I can quote at least half of it, for it is one of my favourite works. The mind in its own place," she began, "and in itself –"
" – can make a heav'n of hell, a hell of heav'n," the creature finished, hints of a pleased smile curling the corners of his mouth.
"You can quote Milton," she said, eyes wide with excitement, which she tried to hold back.
"I am very fond of Milton, Elizabeth," he replied, nodding.
"The line we have just recited... 'Tis my favourite line," Elizabeth explained calmly. "I try to remember it often, and you might try to do the same...Adam."
He sighed heavily, confused, yet full of yearning.
"Might I call you Adam?" Elizabeth repeated with anticipation and he turned away as if overcome by emotion.
The creature that was a man, albeit a peculiar one, strode to the window and peered through it.
Despite their civil conversation, in spite of a few moments of friendly intimacy they had shared, which had given Elizabeth the hope that all would be well, she had not forgotten that she was trapped in her marital bedchamber with an enormous creature who could snap her in half with his very fingers like a dry reed. The man had come to the manor with a purpose and she understood, now, that despite his mellowing down and confiding in her, he would not leave calmly unless he was given that for which he had come, and neither she, nor Victor, could give it – or rather, her – to the hapless creature that demanded such a gift.
Victor would never consent to building a female for the living man he had created, for Victor had come to realise his mistakes and had vowed not to commit them again, which was at least one thing that filled Elizabeth with relief. Victor's creation, however, would not bow down, she knew, and Elizabeth grasped the full meaning of her thoughts. There was no way on this world that either man could be pleased by the actions of the other and she understood that she must not stand in their way, for no amount of pleading or reasoning would help her. She was, for all intents and purposes, a damsel in distress, but she would have to save herself, for Victor was chasing the creature he called the monster around the estate, with only one intention: to kill him.
Elizabeth looked at the man creature, observing the broad expanse of his back that was turned to her and the slowly moving shoulders that would surely block the sun rays from piercing through the glass of the window, had it been daytime. She sympathised with the poor man and truly meant to give him the gift of his own name to make him more human, but she loved Victor, she loved God and she wished to continue her existence. Very carefully, as not to make a sound, she turned on her heels, but as if sensing her resolve to flee, the man by the window turned around swiftly, regarding her with acute anger in his black eyes, which now appeared horrifically bottomless to Elizabeth.
She gasped and bolted towards the door, one hand grabbing the knob, the other turning the key in the lock. She turned it once and just as she was about to turn it the second time, a long, substantial arm snaked around her waist and pulled her away from the one barrier between life and death. Elizabeth screamed, suspended in air, slapping the grotesque arms with all the force she could muster.
"Let me go!" she demanded, but despite the strength that her voice conveyed, she was terrified and tears were spilling from her eyes.
The man set her on her feet, but only long enough to turn her around, so that she might face him, his nails drilling into her aching shoulders. To Elizabeth, he was not the man she had accepted him to be anymore, nor the wretched creature she had seen for the majority of their encounter thus far. He was again the monster that had stepped out of the closet, the demon that would pull out her soul and shove it in his pockets to keep. She opened her mouth again to scream out her dread, but he silenced her by pressing one large palm against it, almost covering her entire face.
"You have told me nothing but lies," he accused her, its voice an ugly, growling melody, "only to manipulate me. You pretended to understand, venturing so far as to give me a...aname, as false as yourself!"
Elizabeth shook her head no with vehemence, both to reassure him that he was wrong, as well as to attempt to free her face from his grasp, for his palm was splayed against her nose, incapacitating her breathing entirely. She could not inhale the air that she so desperately required, but he could not see it, or perhaps, it was his intention to suffocate her. She wriggled and wriggled, panicked and desperate, but the creature – no, monster – paid her no heed.
"I do not have a name," it continued, "I do not have companions, nor friends, and I shall roam this earth alone, in forced exile, shunned and bathing in the hatred of your cold, superficial hearts."
It squeezed her face hard and Elizabeth would yelp, had she the energy to do so, but a burning sensation had started to sear its way through her chest and her vision was growing distorted, black spots appearing before her eyes.
When she thought there was no hope left, she heard a commotion stir below in the manor, the sounds of running and yelling coming to her in waves as if from very far away. The monster's hand slipped from her face and she wheezed in the air, the onslaught of exuberant oxygen exploding in her lungs, making her cough and breathe in loudly in turns.
"Elizabeth!" she heard her name being shouted in Victor's voice. "Elizabeth!" he called again and he was closer. She would be saved. She would be saved! She smiled weakly, battling a fainting fit with every fibre of her being.
Now, Victor was banging on the door with his fists, devising a plan to bear it down.
"I know you are in there with my wife, fiend!" Elizabeth heard Victor saying and, coming to her senses a little, she confirmed his assumption loudly, which earned her another punishing descent of the monster's palm upon her face.
"If you but scratch her, I will tear you apart like I did the abomination you had asked me to make for you! As God is my witness, I will end you!" Victor threatened and Elizabeth immediately understood that her husband's words were a grave mistake.
A glint of mischief sparkled in the monster's unholy eyes as it looked into hers and she trembled violently, her eyes pleading.
"I must do to him," it spoke softly, as if to calm her, "what he did to me. I must avenge myself and punish him. Do you understand now?"
Elizabeth whimpered and her life was ended as the monster turned her neck with a resounding crack.
She fell dead by its long legs, as graceful and innocent in death as a swan, a bride for less than a day, an unfortunate victim of things that never should have come to pass.
FIN