Of Guilty Pleasures and Knowledge

Word Count: 350

The mansion was silent and he was slowly going insane. Not that he'd been all that sane to begin with…but it was different this time. This silence, this madness.

"Frankenstein." The Lord's voice was sharp metal, cutting deep, cutting through Frankenstein's desolation. "Where will you go now?"

Frankenstein turned away from the window and met the blood-steel of his eyes.

"So you know." He chuckled, but it was humorless, and more than a little spiteful. "Is there anything you don't know?"

"There are things I would rather not know." There was too much knowledge in those simple words. Frankenstein was aware that the Lord would know, and that he wouldn't share the reasons for his master's disappearance even if he begged on hands and knees.

The Lord smiled, his smile an apology, lips drawn tight, then hummed in the way that forewarned he was about to go off on a tangent.

"Did you know that Gejutel can't sleep without his cute little teddy bear? Or that Ragar has a shrine full of my pictures?" He studied Frankenstein's deadpan expression, as if he was satisfied with the reaction his outrageous confessions evoked, and laughed. "Ah, well, yes. I know many things. I am the Lord, after all."

His laughter tasted bitter—like regret and unpalatable truths. Frankenstein sighed. "You never change, do you?"

"Mm. Perhaps that is what has precipitated this vicissitude." The cords in his neck were strained as he spoke, the lines around his eyes stretched. "But it is too late for us."

He was too old, too tired, and for a moment…Frankenstein pitied him—pitied this perfect, beautiful creature.

"Frankenstein." His voice dripped across the silence, heavy and silken. Perhaps envious. "When you see Raizel again…tell him not to shun change—and that I am sorry I will not be there to experience the new world with him."

Of all the things he could have said, all the things he could have known… Frankenstein loathed the pity that suffused the dark matter of his nucleus. He shouldn't—couldn't—

He didn't want this memory.

"Take care of him, Frankenstein."

Of Twitching and Imbeciles

Word Count: 300

Frankenstein observed the scene unfolding in his master's study and the crowd of unwanted spectators. A nerve ticked in his jaw. The nobles had been residing in the mansion for the better part of a week now, courtesy of Urokai's moronic obsession. That imbecile had decreed he would be a better knight than Edian when he became aware of the latter's habit to stand silent and watchful guard over his master on occasion. If only this hadn't reached the Lord's ears…and if only Urokai could keep his mouth shut…

"I shan't lose to you, Edian."

Frankenstein's brow twitched.

"I can do this until the end of time."

Frankenstein tapped his foot to the floor rhythmically.

"I don't need food. Or water. Or sleep. Or bathing."

Frankenstein's lips thinned.

"Wait and see…I shall prevail."

Frankenstein gritted his teeth.

"There can only be one—and it will be I."

The Lord stood and raised an arm. Everyone stilled. Silence.

"And the winner for the title of Raizel's Knight…is Edian."

A loud thump echoed. Urokai fell to his knees. Horror contorted his features into a mask of wan skin and sharp angles. "What? Why, Lord, why?"

The Lord smiled down at him benevolently. Eerily jubilant. "Her pair of rapiers is knightly, if I do say so myself, and since I am the Lord, my word is law."

In the midst of less than manly wails and awkward clapping, one suffering groan rang. Frankenstein just wished they would leave already. His supply of tea was almost depleted after their extended stay—and there was no way in hell he was serving his master that liquid abomination Urokai had brought. The worst part was…that Frankenstein had a terrible premonition for the future regarding this whole 'Raizel's Knight' charade. A shiver crept down his spine.

Of Clones and Annihilation

Word Count: 150

Frankenstein stared at the unfamiliar noble gracing his master's doorstep. A scowl knitted his brows. He was white-haired and crimson-eyed like many of the nobles he had met so far—but too short and wiry to bear even a passing resemblance to Gejutel. He wondered if his inherent dislike for white hair and crimson eyes was spawned from his unfortunate acquaintance with the obstinate old noble. Perhaps he was being just a tiny bit biased and unfair. Perhaps he should give nobles with that coloring a chance before he dismissed them as nothing more than cheap clones of Gejutel.

With that thought in mind, he addressed the waiting noble with polite condescendence.

"So. Name? Hobbies, likes, dislikes, goals?"

Insanity glinted in the noble's eyes, and he grinned. An excellent sign. Definitely not a Gejutel-copy. Frankenstein greatly approved.

"Gradeus. Fighting. Blood. Morals. Annihilation."

Frankenstein's lips mirrored Gradeus' bloodthirsty grin.

"Welcome, Gradeus."