Frankenstein, he hated the name.
The name of a father that had never loved him. The name that had placed a curse on him long before the Queen had even thought about casting one of her own. He'd wanted his name to stand for life, but as Frankenstein everyone around him had seemed to sicken and die. His mother, father, brother, only friend. All had perished because of him. People were right to think of Frankenstein as a monster. His arrogance in thinking he could conquer dead had made him one.
As Frankenstein he had been stoic, stiff. Just like he'd learned to be. Physical contact was uncalled for and to be avoided in any situation. Frankenstein's upbringing had made him uncomfortable around people with his brother and childhood friend as the only exceptions. Frankenstein had thought highly of himself, but lost all his confidence when he left his lab. Science had been an obsession and became more so when he killed Gerhardt. His own brother, dead because of him. His project had become a necessity to keep the guilt at bay. Evil, was a word that many people used as a description when thinking about Frankenstein. And although he had not been entirely bad. His own work had disgusted him, sickened him, horrified him and still he kept on going, obsessed.
Amidst that all he'd wanted to be able to create another live for himself.