If Blame's the Game- A Frankenstein Fanfiction

Of Honesty and Madness

“But she will be tried today, and you will then hear all.” Ernest had relayed to him, recalling the tale of how even his own father, who had, at times, looked upon the girl as a second daughter, believed Justine to be the murderer of William. 

    But such was preposterous! Justine was looked upon by the Frankenstein’s as one of their own, and it was no secret that she often looked upon William in a similar manner. The girl had nothing to gain from such a crime, and the only piece of evidence damning her was a necklace found in her dress- Surely, this was purely circumstantial. 

    But Victor could not calm himself with such a simple statement. He was no fool- He knew well the very being he had created had to be the killer of William and had intended to frame Justine for the crime- Wicked, vile wretch that he’d created! How could it be that such a being, who had laid eyes upon him only once, could track him down and commit such atrocities? How could it be that his dream of bettering humanity had collapsed so quickly, had so quickly led to such violence? He felt faint: His condition had significantly improved than what it had been after he’d committed his crime, but the possibility, no matter how small, of blood being upon his horrid hands once more quickly brought his heart racing and he felt ill. 

His father and Ernest had left him be, but Justine’s trial would not be for several hours. He informed a servant that he needed to rest after hearing such heavy news and to wake him shortly before the trial, and retired to his bed. Sleep did not come easily in his paranoia, but when he fell into a light doze, his dreams were plagued with disturbing images. 

    He saw his younger brother in the monster’s arms, blue eyes wide and frantic, small hands clawing at the hands upon his throat, but as the boy grew paler and weaker, his horrible wretch disappeared, and Victor felt his own hands strangling the small boy, until he grew pale and blue-lipped with death. 

    He awoke gasping for air, and only feeling weaker after his rest. It was the being that he’d created that had murdered his dear, innocent brother, and if Justine were to be hanged for a crime Victor knew well she was innocent of, would that blood not be on his hands as well? Such was an impossibility, he reminded himself. Justine was without guilt, and he trusted that would be apparent. 

    Victor accompanied his family to the trial anxiously. Justine appeared calm, attempting to appear confident, but upon seeing her relatives peering at her, grew sorrowful. Both would work in her favor, Victor assured himself. However, his dread only grew as the trial went on. The woman was unseen at the time of the murder and the following morning, and only responded with confusion when questioned. However, when she heard the news of the boy’s death and she laid eyes upon the body, she quickly dissolved into hysterical sobs and fell ill for a period of days. 

    Such evidence would only appear against her favor to the thousands watching, and Victor trembled. He could barely believe that he could hear witnesses speaking against her, that he was sitting watching a woman almost as close as a sister to him accused of murdering his brother in cold blood. He was the one that ought to have been up there, or, rather, the true murderer. The thing of his own design ought to be up there, ought to be the criminal in the eyes of man. How could it be that a creature made by his own hands, that he’d spent months feverishly designing and perfecting, had taken the life of one so young and blameless, and was prepared to indirectly kill another? 
   
    Justine testified her account, she retained the position of her innocence.

    Her sweet, sorrowful voice rang out, “God knows, how entirely I am innocent. But I do not pretend that my protestations should acquit me; I rest my innocence on a plain and simple explanation of the facts which have been adduced against me, and I hope the character I have always borne will incline my judges to a favourable interpretation where any circumstance appears doubtful or suspicious.”