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Updated 4/24/16

Chapter 6

Was he trying to woo her? In a manner of speaking, he was. With the bitter memory of the De Lacey's as a reminder, he could not afford to repeat his original mistake. He would subtly introduce himself to Georgia and win her affection and when, if the day ever came, he would show himself to her and she would not shriek in fear and disgust. She would embrace him, even if she never came to love him. She was strong, like an addiction he would never be able to sunder himself from. To whatever end it would bring, he didn't want to be parted from her.

But Victor was another matter, one that threatened to foil his plans. His father must have figured out that he had given Georgia the song, but how? He wondered. Was it pure suspicion? He didn't blame Victor. After what Frankenstein did to his bride and what he, in turn, did to Henry was enough to make anyone paranoid and suspicious. Victor was right to be paranoid, the creature conceded bitterly. But why was he so determined to ruin his creation's happiness?

Victor, however, was dealing with his hatred in a wretched manner. His attitude towards Georgia was infuriating. Unjust, to say the least, she had no part in their quarrel. But his father lacked all manner of compassion, and he knew not what he was blessed with. The creature stopped his hike and cried. Stopping to cry seemed a permanent ritual for him since he first laid eyes on Georgia. Victor had Georgia in his company, he had her music and her voice, and yet, he could utter nothing kind to her. If only they could trade places, he lamented. He would treasure and protect Georgia and Elizabeth.

The creature reached the tree line of the Frankenstein house just as the sun was beginning to set. Through the trees, he saw Alfonse Frankenstein speaking with one of his servants. Georgia was in tears with Nettie's arms wrapped around her in consolation.

"My dear girl, forgive Victor and us. I had not realized how unwell he truly is." Alfonse looked ashen and terribly ashamed. He awkwardly tried to set his arm on Georgia's shoulders, but her quiet sobbing unnerved him.

"Miss Daniels," whispered Nettie. "Dry your eyes. You cannot act this way."

The creature wondered then at the restrictions placed on Georgia's emotions. What had that wretched devil of a father done to destroy her composure? His jaw tightened and clenched as he watched Georgia fight to regain her composure.

"I do not, Mr. Frankenstein, wish to be a burden on your family." Her voice was meek and broken. She offered Alfonse a fake smile, pretending that she was over the recent exchange.

"Oh, Miss Daniels, you have been nothing of the sort, nor could you ever be. Miss Nettie, will you be kind enough to draw up a warm bath for Miss Daniels. I will have Martha bring you tea. The English drink tea in these circumstances, is that correct?" Alfonse asked awkwardly.

Nettie scowled, forgetting her advice to Georgia. "This sort of behavior is not common amongst the English. If you must know, we drink tea for any occasion. It is a far better drink for retaining one's wits."

"Nettie!" Cried Georgia.

Alfonse nodded softly. "I will get Martha then. I ask that you remain in your room, Miss Daniels until we are able to take you back to Sir John." He left them in haste, fleeing around the corner of his house. They heard him shouting to the servants and crying out for Victor. His anger boomed in the colorful atmosphere. A beautiful day had been soured and the night seemed unable to erase his shame.

"Nettie, I am alright. I will lock myself in. Please, you don't need to stand outside. Nettie, I am fine to sleep alone. Victor isn't even home. You watched him leave!" Georgia and Nettie stood arguing that the threshold of her room. Nettie continued fretting over Georgia like a worried mother. It took some effort for Georgia to wedge Nettie from her door and shut it. A tinge of guilt surfaced, Nettie was only trying to help. After a while, the older woman left the girl and returned to her own room where she spent the night wringing her hands together at the distress Victor caused.

Once alone Georgia reached up to her face, there was slight bruising, and the flesh prickled with sensitivity. In a few days time, she will have forgotten the pain, but she would never forget who did it. Georgia placed herself before the hearth and gently combed her hair, careful not to break apart her damp curls. The confrontation with Victor played in her head again and again.

Victor appeared out of nowhere as Georgia took another lap around the house. In her hand was the snowdrop her companion had given her. She smiled to herself as she examined it, completely unaware of the man charging towards her. Before she had a moment to react Victor snatched the blossom from her hand.

"Monster!" He hissed at her. Georgia back away from him in fear.

"Mr. Frankenstein! Return my flower," her voice trembled. In that moment, she realized that it was not her companion she feared, it was Victor, it was his presence that frightened her.

Victor ripped the blossom and threw it to the ground. "No! Demon! I should have destroyed you like Henry said. You and that abomination!"

"What are you talking ab—"

Before she could finish, Victor's hand struck across her face with enough force to knock her to the ground. She was stunned to silence, but she could hear the voices of Elizabeth and Alfonse, as well as the servants, cry out, their voices sounded muffled and distant. Georgia flinched as Victor raised his hand to strike her again before one of the servants tackled Victor and restrained him. Elizabeth wept while Alfonse pulled Georgia towards the house. It all had happened so fast, and she was left clueless as to why it happened at all.

Georgia felt the warm, stinging tears slide down her face. With the sleeve of her nightgown she gingerly wiped the fallen drops away.

"He hit you," came a voice from the other side of the room. Standing in the doorway was a hulk of a man, or at least, he seemed so from where she sat.

Georgia stood facing her companion. His weathered cloak shielded his form, his hood remained pulled over his face, obscuring any hope she had of seeing him. She approached him slowly and stopped when she saw him tense. He was, at least, two feet taller than she, his frame dwarfed her.

"Did Frankenstein hit you?" He asked. His tone was restrained, he was angry but did his best to mask it front of her. Would she tell him the truth?

"Yes," she replied."

His hands tightened into fists at his sides. Georgia gasped loudly and took a step away from him. In the broken light of the early spring moon and the fickle light from the hearth she saw his hands. At first, she thought the light was playing tricks on her, and then she realize that the ashy color of his hands was simply how they looked. The crude scars on his left hand did not go unnoticed by her either. Her companion knew in that moment he had made a terrible mistake. He quickly concealed the appendages beneath his cloak and turned from her.

"Please," he begged, "do not fear me. I am a monster, but I will never hurt you, Georgia."

Why? Oh, God, why had he done that? The loss of control, the exposure, it was killing him now. The creature cursed Frankenstein. Hot tears wove their crooked path down his cheeks. If she could not bear the sight of his hands, she could never see the rest of him. The weight of his heart tugged painfully.

"Geor—" He froze. Snaking around him from behind were her pale arms. They brushed past his arms and came to rest on his abdomen. She locked herself into position by lacing her fingers together. He felt her cheek press against his back and her breasts— her breasts. Terror fell over him like an enormous shadow. Did she know how dangerous this was? Did she know how badly he wanted her, how he needed her? Did she realize how she made him hate Frankenstein more?

"You're not a monster. I've seen them. I saw one today. I've been avoiding one my whole life. You, my poet, are a saving grace." She gripped him tighter.

His mind cried in agony. Against his will, he trembled. "You have not seen me, kind Georgia. I am unfit to be seen by one so beautiful."

Her grip became firmer. Had the tempest roared back to life? It tried desperately to pry him from her. She, however, could not bring herself to release him. How could she explain that she had only been startled? But she had feared him in the beginning. Would he forgive her naivety? Romantic novels had ruined her expectations of men in real life, but her poet was different, a storybook character come to life. She needed someone like her poet.

"You haven't seen my face, my body." He wanted so desperately to touch her, kiss her, cherish her. The longing was immense, beyond anything he had ever known in his short life.

He groaned. With a slow intake of air, he calmed himself. "Georgia. . . ." He was unraveling. Desire was mixing with fear; if she scorned him he would waste away. What was left of his soul would be devoured by the dark recesses of his tortured mind.

Her grip on him finally loosened. "What is your history with Victor?" She tried desperately to pierce the shroud around him. The chaotic puzzle of his presence was difficult to piece together. "He said the most disturbing things to me. He said he should have destroyed me like Henry told him too."

The creature heaved with a sigh. Light faded as the fire diminished in the hearth. They both became enveloped in darkness. Despite the lack of light, Georgia could see his large shape pacing. The floorboards creaked and sighed with his footfalls.

"You," his tormented voice whispered. "You remind him of a promise; of my intended."

Georgia blushed. So he had been in love before and Frankenstein ended it. She felt a tinge of jealousy and at the same time, she was glad he was no longer with this unknown woman. Georgia felt hopelessly romantic, like Marianne clinging to Willoughby.

"Do I look like her? Your intended?"

"Just your hair," he mused.

"May I see your hands," she interjected suddenly.

"There is no light," he countered.

Georgia's face soured. Gentlemen did not tease or banter with her, that was something only Nettie did. Was this affection? Suitors actively pursued her when she was a few years younger, each hungered for her father's property. When her claim to his property became disputed, all of her suitors abandoned her. Was this what it felt like to flirt?

"Let me feel your hands then," she ordered.

From the shadows his hand appeared. Although she could not see it, she knew precisely where it was. Instead of his hand, her long fingers came into contact with a folded piece of paper. He released it into her keeping and dropped his arm.

"Another gift?"

"I cannot give you jewels or the fine things you deserve. What I have given you is all I can give."

Anything she asked for he would give, except the ability to see him. That privilege could be given if she could love him as he was. It was something he did not believe she was capable of, no one was.

"Your hand, dear poet." She reached out into the darkness, waiting. He hesitated a moment before lifting his arm out for her. The paper he had given her was carefully placed in her nightgown. In the darkness, her hands sought out his. When the smooth flesh of her well-used fingers touched his wrinkled flesh he felt as though lightning struck him. Electricity hummed through him as it did the day he came to life.

Her fingers traced along the lines of his palms, the evidence of someone else's life. She was delicate with him but critical: she was creating a map of his hand in her mind. Her fingers then sought out his wrist. It was smooth; his right arm had been attached to the rest of him closer to his shoulder. His forearm was smooth, only feathered by slight scarring. His left arm, however, held an entirely different story, but he kept that story to himself. She hadn't exactly been deceived about his appearance.

Georgia, after running her fingers over the sensitive flesh of his inner arm, laced her fingers through his. A click emitted from the creature as he sucked in air with great care to suppress his urge to moan. Her touch could melt steel. He was petrified, the doom he fought so hard against was coming upon him.

"May I have your other hand?" She asked. The fear in her voice had finally disappeared, which was for terrifying and agonizing for him to hear.

Yes, screamed his mind, you can have anything you desire. "No. It is late, Georgia. I must go."

She said nothing for a moment. "Frankenstein has already left and I do not know where his father sent him. I am to return to Sir John's estate shortly. Will you visit me there?"

Georgia slept on the third floor, how could he visit her there? "If that is your wish," he answered with his back to her.

"It is," she replied.

"Then I will find a way. Georgia, I must go. I will return to you soon, I promise." I will always return to you.

Just as he started towards the patio door she took his left hand in hers. His movements halted. Taking his hand, she brought the appendage up to her lips and kissed his palm. His gasp was loud as he cried out her name in horror. He snatched his hand from her and ran through the open patio door, fleeing into the night. Georgia smiled to herself as she watched him flee. The desire to be bold with a man had always burned in her veins, but there had never been a man she felt inclined to break propriety for. Her poet, however, lit a flame in her soul; she had to see him and learn as much as she could about him.

She pulled the folded paper from her gown and smoothed out its page. The moon shone through the glass of the patio door and fell over the crude words of his handwriting. She grinned as she read the poem by William Wordsworth. A poem that summed him up better than it did her.

She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely Apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;
A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.

I saw her upon a nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty;
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A Creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A Being breathing thoughtful breath,
A Traveler between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
To warm, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright,
With something of angelic light.