A/N: I do not own Frankenstein. I have never owned Frankenstein. Undoubtedly, I never will own Frankenstein.

I have a one day break between assignments, and I've been thinking about this for a while, so here you go. New chapter. Only took a couple of months, right?

A week and a half ago, I was dead. I had accepted this as the truth. It was bizarre, though, to think about death in that manner. Death was an absolute, unconquerable, the tyrant lord of man and beast alike. Yet, death's reign was challenged by the doctor. Frankenstein's brilliance allowed him to wage a war against nature, itself. I was simply the first battle. Death's adamantine crown displays cracks in my mind now. If death was the lord of all men, though, what would that make his supplanter?

Regardless of what his eventual title would be, he was right beside me, undoing the restraints for the first time. The contrast of his cadaverous hands to my previously lifeless ones was stark, to say the least. Not that I was particularly large - immobility had defeated my muscles over the long months of dead - but he was so... thin. A wisp, neither here nor not. The thought flashed through my mind that he was not quite human, and indeed, how could he be? Death was not an obstacle to be surmounted by mortals.

As the last leather strap ceased its restriction of my right arm, I gently lifted it. It screamed at me that it was not ready. My brain urged it to believe it was. It rose, slow as a ghost ship through a midnight fog, and I brought it in front of my eyes. It was still wrapped carefully in bandages to prevent infection, as I had to be stitched up in a couple spots to prevent my skin from splitting any further when my body was bloating after its death. I flexed my fingers, again gently. They curled, prompting a strained smile from me.

I was now unstrapped enough to sit up, probably, but I would need assistance for that. While I waited, I decided to inspect my other arm similarly. It did not move, and my shoulder protested in pain instead of soreness. I had forgotten that it wasn't the original arm for this body, and it would need time to heal. I would have shrugged if both shoulders would agree to move at the same time.

Frankenstein's hand was on my shoulder, "Are you ready, dear friend?"

A nod was all the prompting he needed. We jointly elevated my fragile shell upwards until I was sitting on the edge of the table. It was taller than it perhaps should have been, but maybe that was necessary for the apparatus. I glanced around me. Most of the machines had been moved against the wall, no longer necessary. As Frankenstein stopped supporting me, my core took on the full weight of my torso. It did not appreciate the additional strain, but it held.

My eyes welled up with liquid joy, overflowing its bounty down my cheeks. I had no words for this. I could move. I was stable. I was certifiably alive. I looked at Frankenstein and saw that he was in a similar state. For a few minutes, I reveled in this moment, and there was nothing else. It helped that I only had a week and a half's worth of memories, and I had slept more than two thirds of that time. Eventually, though, a new ambition grasped my heart.

"May I shtand?"

Frankenstein's forehead creased as he considered, but it didn't take long for him to say, "Of course, dear friend, allow me to support you."

With his help, I gingerly lowered myself to the ground. The stone floor was cold to my feet, but I only barely felt it. Partially because my sense of touch was still spotty and partially because I was standing.

I doubt there are many men who remember the first time they sat, or stood. Their parents do, most assuredly, but they themselves? For all intents and purposes, this was that time for me. Frankenstein, I suppose, fulfilled the role of the parent in looking on with joy, but it was strange to think of him in that way. Even with all of his otherworldliness, he looked so young.

My first step was hesitant and heavy. This body was a different shape from my last one; it was taller and thicker. Regardless, though, walking in a strange body is not as difficult as one would first assume it to be. Especially with the aid of another.

"Will I shtay elshewhere, now?" My voice, I think, would never truly become normal. Maybe after more time using it, it would be a closer approximation, but I had to concentrate in order to speak for now. My throat wasn't as dry as before, but I suspect it was hardly pristine, and my vocal chords are worse, if anything. My words came slowly, too, since I was actively aware of my tongue's motions in my mouth.

"Of course. There's a room nearby that's been prepared for you."

We went to the room, my steps perhaps jerky or stiff, and loud, but without much difficulty. Frankenstein used his free arm - the one that wasn't supporting me - to open the door. It was simple, but the furniture was well-made. The thought hadn't occurred to me until right then, obvious as it seemed in retrospect, that Frankenstein was probably a noble.

There was a small bookcase beside a bed, and a desk with a chair. Some candles were on the desk for light, were I to ever need them. It may not have been much, but it was more of a home than I had ever had. Considering the only other home I knew was a table... which I had been strapped to.

I sat on the bed. My legs had decided that the short sojourn was enough for a lifetime. My aching body decided that I should sleep soon, even though I'd only been up for at most 8 hours while Frankenstein had run tests to see if I was ready to move. I glanced up with gratitude at the man. He smiled down and said, "Tomorrow, we'll start physical therapy. Until then, do as you see fit, dear friend. I'll have some food brought up shortly, since you don't have machines to deliver nourishment directly, anymore."

"Thank you, Frankenstein."

He patted my shoulder, "Victor, please. I've known you all your life." He chuckled at his own joke. I'd be lying if I said that I didn't, too.

"Very well. Thank you, Victor."

I was reclining on the bed when the maid came in. I propped myself up to greet her, and upon seeing me, her eyes went wide. To her credit, that was the most that she did before curtsying slightly, "I've brought dinner, m'lord."

I smiled reassuringly. She shrunk back a little, though, so perhaps it wasn't very wise of me. I suppose I did look a corpse walking, because I in some part was. Regardless, that was something to consider later.

"Pleashe leave it on the deshk. Thank you very much."

She did so, and then left as rapidly as was appropriate. Or perhaps a little faster. It was of no real consequence. Eventually, I won't look as grotesque, I hope. Or at least my character will profess a soul as beautiful as my form is ugly.

I sat up. With no small effort, I raised myself off of the bed and crossed the short distance to my desk. I took a moment to appreciate the aroma of the food. The meal was somewhere between simple and extravagant. The meat appeared to be veal, with a sauce that seemed to be made with wine and some onions. There was a small salad and two rolls. Some wine - probably the same kind that was used in the sauce - served as my drink. The bottle declared it to be called Blauburgunder.

I picked up the fork and the knife. It was strange that it felt so... normal. I couldn't particularly feel the cutlery, but simply using it made me feel like I was on the road to recovery - as indeed I was. My hands were suffering from faint tremors, but that didn't prevent me from cutting a bite of veal away at placing it in my mouth. I closed my eyes and savored it as if it were a gift from the gods instead of human hands. My sense of taste was still dull - as all but sight and hearing have been - but nonetheless, it was delicious.

As I continued with my meal, I felt a smile cover my face again. It was good to be alive.

It took me a while to eat, with my reduced dexterity and dedication to savoring food instead of devouring it like a base animal. My drowsiness had apparently been increased drastically while I was otherwise occupied. It took me a while to muster up the strength to relocate to my bed. I tucked myself under the covers, and then my energy was spent. After my eyes closed, it couldn't have taken more than five minutes for dreams to overtake my conscious mind.