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Disclaimer: I do not own Frankenstein or anything that I may have alluded to that was claimed by a credited creator.
The icy tundra wind bit harshly into the wretched skin of Frankenstein's creation as the Northern Lights shimmered overhead. However, this monstrous beast felt nothing as he trudged on into the white oblivion. His ice raft had long ago crashed into frozen land, and the abominable creature had no choice but to continue his journey on foot. While the elements did not bother him, the creature suffered an agony like no other as he thought about his now deceased creator. That cruel, selfish creator that had caused more pain to the thing than any other human could possibly have done. Why? Why hadn't his creator kept his promise? Why was his creation forced to endure a miserable and hated existence alone? These thoughts always made Frankenstein's monster bitter. The deformed horror had only wanted a companion like himself, one he could take shelter in when the world was cruel. He really was a benevolent soul, if given the chance. In his eyes, Victor Frankenstein was the true monster; he had allowed his friends and loved ones to perish because he refused to comply with the only request his desperate creation had asked of him. He believed himself as the savior of humanity, but had condemned at least four people to death because of his actions. In spite of that, the monster still mourned his master's death.
The giant had stood over his creator's lifeless corpse, feeling the pain of loss as keenly as he had when he murdered those young people. The sorrow was deep, but not incapacitating. The brute knew that Frankenstein had kept the majority of his research notes on his person. The thing knew for a fact that the plans of making his female were not destroyed in that island laboratory, but were hidden in the folds of his creator's jacket. Thinking of that, the monstrosity sifted through the corpse's clothes and finally found the papers. He had been prepared to leave the vessel that served as a tomb when a shaking voice called for him to stay. The fiend was bewildered. Never in his existence has any person voiced the desire for him to prolong his visit. When the creature turned around, he saw a frightened young man on the other side of the room. The man's eyes showed fear, but more than that, determination. Those wide orbs flitted between himself and the body of his maker. All at once, the vile being understood that this person was someone else that held his maker dear in their heart. This brought new waves of sorrow to the villain's heart, and he loudly lamented his part in his creator's demise. He also proclaimed that his own life shall also end by his hand, and then jumped out the vessel's window with Frankenstein's papers in hand.
At first, the behemoth planned to burn his master's notes along with himself, to destroy the hard work that the man had done in his lifetime. To see his mighty creator's work, his entire life, reduced to nothingness by the hand of his own creation was a form of revenge that sweetened the bitter disappointment of his death. However, the menace had not outlived his master by thinking rashly. In his hands he held the blueprints for creating someone just like him. It was a fact that the monster was not nearly as brilliant as his creator, but with time the demon could accumulate enough knowledge in order to perform the necessary measures for creating life. Despite the creator's wishes, there could be more of his kind born into the world. And although the monster mourned Frankenstein's death, he was in no way about to respect that man's wishes. Why should he extend that courtesy that had been denied to him? His creator had robbed him of a chance at happiness by not fulfilling his promise before he died. So, the monster thought that it was time to take matters into his own hands. He, however difficult it may be, would create his own bride to comfort him in tough times.
It was many days before the monster escaped that snowy wasteland. Once he returned to civilization, he immediately commenced his plans. He procured a small home that had been abandoned for many years. He revisited the place where Frankenstein had kept his chemical equipment and smuggled the instruments into his house. From that point on he worked at deciphering his dead creator's notes. Many times, he was able to shroud himself in a long cloak and entice the neighboring farm boy to run some errands. These errands usually consisted of gathering food and chopping firewood for the winter. Meanwhile, the monster closed himself up in his new laboratory, reading textbooks and trying to understand that thrice cursed creator of his. Finally, after many lonely years, the devil was able to thoroughly comprehend the meticulous notes that he was decoding. Taking action for the first time in a long while, he donned his cloak and fled in the midst of night to the charnel-houses, where he would find a frame for his future wife. He selected the bones of a rather petite woman, but then also took the leg bones of some males, which were significantly longer than the female's. He then took all the flesh and organs that he could from various slaughterhouses and anatomy laboratories. After many more moons of labor, the monster was finally able to complete his task. With a triumphant glee that he did not know he possessed, he brought to life the first female of his species. She was as repulsive as the original, with the same sallow skin and long dark hair. However, the male abomination had been a bit considerate, and had added one long silver streak to her hair to give her a small portion of the beauty of the moon that he had loved at first sight. The female remained still, groaning indistinguishable sounds as she tried to get a hold on her surroundings. The male, understanding her plight, did not advance toward her until her dead eyes fell upon him. She flinched, but he was not offended. He, after all, had also cringed at her unsightliness. However, be believed himself a benevolent soul, and there was one more thing he needed to do.
"You, my dear," said the creature to his companion. He knew that she could not yet understand what he saying, but time would change that. He continued, "you were created by me, and are now a thing with life. I shall give you everything I have desired, yet never received. I shall comfort you when you are sad, sooth you when you are angry, and give you love when you are despised. You shall never be lonely, for we shall be at each other's side forever and more. Those are my vows to you, my bride. I only ask that you will return them when you are able. For now, I will give you a wedding present as a token of good faith. I will give you something that will forever be denied to me, because the only being with the right to bestow it upon me is long dead. I, as your creator, shall give you a name."
The magnitude of those words were lost to the female, but the beast did not care. In time, she would learn how good he was being to her, how precious of a gift she was receiving. A name was something he would never have, for a name was something that a creator granted to his creation in the most significant and intimate way of validating its existence. Because his creator loathed his existence, the monster would never take a name. His existence was not valid to his creator, so it would not be valid to the world. However, his lovely bride will have a name. She will have a valid existence, and be very important in the life of her creator. With a name, she will be given true life.
"Thus," said Frankenstein's monster, "your name will be...Aurora."