Dr. Victor Mortis hung over his work, hands trembling as he studied his messy handwriting. He was on the verge of a scientific breakthrough, or perhaps a mental breakdown. In his field, those two strode hand and hand.
"Master?" his page boy Seraph asked, touching his arm, "You have not eaten in two day." He was American, and his grasp on the German language was weak.
"I don't have time to eat!" Victor barked, slamming his hands on table, nearly causing several glasses of specimens to fall to the floor, "Leave my study!"
Watching Seraph stumble out of the candlelit room, Victor rubbed his temple. He had never had time for such distractions. This was his life's work- he had devoted all he physically could to it. He was exceptionally smart, and the local university had deemed him a Doctor at age eight.
But they, like others before, had cast him out.
They said playing God was a mistake.
He would show them.
