《What Makes a Monster? 》Frankenstein's Monster x Creator!Reader

《Chapter One》

Dear Elizabeth,

I know I haven't written to you in a long while, but I hope you can forgive me for my prolonged absence. I pray you haven't worried too much for my sake. Upon my arrival at Ingolstadt last spring, I had written a letter to Father, but he never responded. I fear he's still upset at me for pursuing my dream of becoming a chemist. Please, my dear friend, could you tell him I send my love? I hope he can forgive me soon.

Well, I bet you're wondering what it was like for me at the university, Elizabeth. I feared I was not intelligent enough to be permitted in classes (and so did the professors, might I add), however we were all proven wrong with my entrance exam scores. It was strange being the only woman on campus, and I constantly was the reason behind side-swept glances of disapproval, but I managed.

The knowledge I attained in my courses was exquisite, but I fear I have some terrible news to share. Apparently, having a woman enrolled in the university was so blasphemous in the eyes of my fellow students that the Ingolstadt board of directors saw no other choice but to quit me from the program. Elizabeth, I will not lie to you in saying I didn't shed my fair share of tears afterward. However, my dearest friend, don't you worry at all for me! I have acquired the purchase of a cottage in Germany, from where I am currently writing this letter. I am still in possession of the textbooks from the university and I have made one of the cottage's spare rooms into a laboratory so I can continue my studies on my own.

Elizabeth, I am quite lonely—I miss you. I long for the companionship of someone who shares my perspective on the world and wants me not as just a simple housewife. Do not fret, but I won't be home for a long while. I have big plans for my studies in chemistry and I am increasingly intrigued by the human anatomy.

My best friend, you are too kind and gentle for this world. I pray continuously for your health and prosperity.

All my love,
(Y/n).

_____

Out of the corner of your eye through the only window in the laboratory, you could see the moon rising high, nearing her zenith in the starless sky. You paid her presence no mind, however, as you were focused wholeheartedly on your suturing. The tedious process had become almost second-nature; after all, this body was massive, thus requiring all the more stitching to keep it intact. Months upon months of relentless undertaking had been applied to this project of yours, which ultimately left you a recluse, only ever venturing into the nearest town when your food stocks were scarily low. But, not that you minded. You were used to being alone.

Even among the company of your childhood best friend, Elizabeth Lavenza, you felt detached... born in the wrong era, perhaps? For years you had been berated and put down for your "outrageous" fascination with the sciences. A woman, interested in something other than tending to the home? How utterly revolting! Alphonse Frankenstein, your father, seemed to be the most disgusted with your choices. You hadn't seen nor spoken to him in nearly two years.

Exhaling a breath you didn't know you were holding, you tied off another suture. Gently running your thumb over the stitch, you silently admired your handiwork. The creature's skin was sickly pale, the light from the moon making it almost glow eerily.

Some might deem it unorthodox, reanimating the deceased, but to you, it was simply a test of your advances in the sciences; a stretch of the limitations, for lack of a better example. Tubes and wires snaked around your ankles as you attached them to the body, making sure to place them just right. Calling upon the aid of your detailed, elaborate notes, you began the process.

What a shame would it be, to come so far and yet fail, wouldn't it?

Many children dreamt up the perfect companion in the form of an imaginary friend. You, (Y/n) Frankenstein, were simply a grown-up child with a grown-up imaginary friend—except your imaginary friend isn't imaginary anymore. With a spasmodic twitch of the fingers and a labored, convulsive breath, your creature was alive.

You felt like crying aloud in joy—shouting at the top of your lungs—but you remained silent, body stiff with anxious anticipation. This is it; you had done it! No man—let alone woman—had ever successfully brought back the dead, and yet here you were, watching the body that had been, moments before, cold and lifeless, move on its own. Oh, how you wished you could see the looks on the faces of your former classmates at Ingolstadt! The same ones that looked at you with scorn and disgust, the same ones that got you kicked from the university, would they not be in awe of you? Of your inconceivable knowledge? They would write books about you. The name (Y/n) Frankenstein would be remembered for generations upon generations. But you didn't need them, nor did you desire their praise and worship. Why?

Because you had your creature.

When his eyes finally fluttered open, you could see that they were a pale yellow, reminding you of the morning sun when it peeks through a thick veil of fog, abolishing the chill with its warmth. They flicked around wildly in their sunken sockets, seeing for the first time, absorbing every bit of comprehensible information, before finally taking notice of your presence. His unwavering gaze was locked on your person, and he stared for a heart-wrenchingly long moment before he lurched abruptly to his feet, tearing the tubes from himself in the process. Medical instruments clattered to the ground in his wake.

He stood up so violently and so quickly that you feared he'd crash to the ground, but he managed to right himself. Standing at his full height, he easily reached eight-foot-tall, an intimidating sight if you've ever seen one. He stood in between you and the window, the moon illuminating his silhouette almost menacingly. Despite his obvious threatening stature, his body language reflected that of a frightened deer—wide-eyed and everything. This monster was hideous in all aspects, but in your eyes, he was perfect.

"Hey there," you broke the silence, your voice soft and gentle as to not startle him. "It's okay." He visibly flinched at the new sounds, almost surprised that they came from your mouth. A strange, grunt-like noise emanated from his throat, as if he was trying to imitate you in speaking. His brow creased in confusion: why couldn't he make those noises, too?

With both palms held aloft unthreateningly, you took slow, tentative steps in his direction, careful not to move too quickly. You have no idea what he's capable of to the fullest extent, but after having stitched his large hands together yourself, you're pretty certain he could crush your windpipe with ease, among other things.

He stood there warily, but let you approach.

"It's okay... it's okay," you kept repeating, a calming mantra for both yourself and your creation. He stared on in bewilderment, transfixed on the way you spoke. All this was new to him.

When you were close enough to hear his ragged breaths and see the handiwork of your suturing up close, you reached out to touch his wrist. He startled, his arm going stiff and awkward in your hold.

"It's okay," you reassured him again. You felt for a pulse and found one; it was faint, but a pulse nonetheless. His skin still felt clammy and cold, as if he'd been dunked in an icy river in the middle of freezing winter.

"O-okay." The word came out rough and masculine, trembling with foreign strangeness, as it left his lips. Immediately, you saw his eyes light up at his accomplishment. His first words—and he was hardly a few minutes old! How incredible, you thought with glee.

You beamed up at him in admiration. His face copied yours, his smile lopsided and dopey, crinkling the scars that littered its surface.

You found it utterly adorable.