8
"I suppose you and I are related, then," Greta said while walking alongside Edward in the garden, past the large sculpture of a hand and various other shapes and animals. Her hands placed contemplatively in front of her skirt.
"…hm?" Edward furrowed a brow at her inquisitively.
"Well, it's a bit unusual…but if you were like his son….and I'm his great-niece…that would make us…" Greta paused briefly and made a quick calculation in her head.
"…cousins." She finished with a small smile. Edward simply blinked at her, though still remained polite as always.
The two of them were seated on one of the stone benches which overlooked the huge garden. The afternoon sun was beginning to set, casting a harsh, orange glow on all things beneath it.
As Edward's blades snipped and clicked absent-mindedly, Greta looked over at the Castle gates and sighed deeply. She supposed she had over-stayed her welcome. And in less than an hour's time, her parents would begin to wonder where she was.
"I'm sorry, Edward. I'll have to be going soon. But…. it's been wonderful. All of it. Seeing this…. meeting you…." She said while looking at him, delighted to find that he seemed to be copying her happy expression.
The Inventor's book tucked securely away in her shoulder bag, Greta fastened the straps on it and slung it over her shoulder before standing up. Edward politely followed her right up until the gates.
"Will you come back?" He asked wishfully, not unlike a child who did not want to say goodbye so soon.
"I hope so," Greta responded with a small, sad smile. She gave a regretful sigh, wishing she could stay longer before turning to face Edward once more.
"Goodbye." She said quietly and then began to make her way down the mountain.
"…..goodbye…" Edward said, his voice barely a whisper. He was grateful to have met Greta but sad to see her leave.
Fortunately, Edward did not have to wait long for Greta to return. While it had been a few days, time passed quickly for the unfinished creature. In fact, time had little relevance for him at all. His world, at the top of the mountain, was completely still and unchanging, just like himself.
And very much like a dog, who waited with unconditional patience for its owner to return, Edward was silent and uncomplaining yet overjoyed when he did, at last, see Greta from his place in the attic.
As she made her way slowly up the hill towards the gates, Edward smiled behind the broken attic window and shuffled down the stone stairs of his mansion with relative haste, not wanting to keep her waiting.
The strain of the climb up the mountain had left Greta somewhat winded and she paused for a moment in the garden to catch her breath. She was nonetheless happy to be back here. The sun had set and the air felt cool on her skin. Up here, on this hill at the end of the street and close to the clouds, it felt like some kind of dream.
A very wonderful dream.
The castle door creaked open. Edward stepped out into the moonlight from the shadows, that haunting yet beautiful pale glow falling down upon his face. He was not so monstrous like this. In fact, at one time, he was probably quite handsome.
What a shame that he had been left with such sharp objects for hands. They had clearly made their mark on what was once a serene visage, now covered in sore and jagged scars.
"Ah! Hello again!" Greta said with a small breathy smile as she tried to recollect her strength.
"I'm sorry, Edward. I meant to come back sooner but I had to think of another excuse to tell my parents. Luckily for me, they still think I'm just hitting the books."
Edward blinked at her in confusion and gave just the smallest tilt of his head.
"Hitting them?" He asked.
Greta paused and chuckled faintly.
"It's just a figure of speech." She clarified with a dismissive wave of her hand.
Perhaps it would have been more sensible to study her great-uncle's notes in the quiet of the castle laboratory. But on a night like tonight, where the moon and stars were shining so bright, and the garden sculptures seemed so alive in their glow, Greta couldn't resist remaining outside.
Edward, of course, didn't mind at all. In many ways, the garden was his own personal playground. A space to make use of in any way he saw fit. He enjoyed cutting and trimming away at his various garden creations as Greta sat cross-legged in the grass with books and journals surrounding her.
Her bright eyes closely examined every page, every scribbled note and every discovery her ancestor made during his long life at this place. His research was spellbinding. Greta may as well have fastened her hands to the old documents in her grasp as she scarcely felt the urge to put them down. One particular set of notes had captured her interest quite strongly and her eyes flew across the words with effortless curiosity.
June 14th
I regret to admit that the construction of a machine is, dare I say almost childishly simple compared to the construction of a man. The task before me is a daunting one, but I must remind myself that Edward will never come alive without my help. And I must complete his body so that his soul may soon find a home within it.
Upon closer examination, I can see now that this procedure is rather familiar. In truth, this is nothing but a simple surgery. Stitching the skin together, attaching it over the limbs and muscles. Yes. It is not quite unlike what a Surgeon would do.
Though my Edward will not be made of natural flesh, I will construct him as though he were. The materials are unconventional, but the technique remains the same.
Sometime afterward, Greta had taken a much-needed break from reading. Finding her eyes having grown quite tired from scanning so many words. (And largely technical words, at that.) She instead found herself watching Edward as he walked around the garden, trimming the bushes until they took on their desired form.
Even though the evidence of the Inventor's work was literally, right in front of her, she still could not quite grasp how he had managed to create life itself. His notes detailed many steps of the process which had been so tedious and yet so vital to Edward's construction, but the exact nature of the spark of consciousness that had brought him to life remained so mysterious.
Greta supposed the talents of her great-uncle could not be limited to just one title. He was not just as a brilliant engineer or inventor. But it seemed to her that he was also a very skilled magician of sorts.
A magician who never revealed his greatest secret.
Greta saw now that Edward was busily trimming the figure of a young woman, with her hand raised towards the sky.
"Who is she?" Greta asked innocently.
Edward's blades ceased their cutting and he became very still for a moment or two. Unknowingly, Greta had once again stumbled upon a painful memory close to Edward's heart. However, as the moment of grief passed, a small, sad smile returned to the violet lips of the unfinished creature.
"Kim," Edward answered softly, as his dark eyes twinkled with faint starlight.