Chapter Text
10 June
I am beginning to regret taking up the work of supernatural investigation, no matter the circumstances. For all the Inuit wisdom I have availed myself of, I am even more certain than ever that this place is so poor that man should not attempt to live here. It is clearly not the climate for a vampire.
Or perhaps that is more down to the strange in-between state I occupy, both living and undead.
When the sun is set, my supernatural strength can sometimes beat back the bitter chill, but when it is risen, I am once more consigned to shivering my buttocks off.
If all I find at the end of this expedition is two corpses, I shall avail myself of what remains of Frankenstein’s notes and Dracula’s library and raise them both simply to curse at them for leading me on this fool’s errand.
16 June
I have found... something. A mound of stones over ice. The late Frankenstein I presume, for what i found in his notes and the trail he left in the surrounding countryside leads me to the conclusion that the man he raised was quite a great deal more fit than he.
More trekking yet, pursuing the trail of a dangerous, lonely soul. I hope that he will be amenable to my request.
22 June.
I have found him at last. freezing, suffering from severe frostbite, but more importantly, quite depressed.
He pointed a gun at me. It was dead midnight, the longest night of the year here in Antarctica and my powers were quite present. I chose not to tell him this, of course. Diplomacy is important.
I greeted him. He seemed surprised at my cordiality.
“If you knew what I am, miss, then you would not be so quick to seek my acquaintance.” A germanic accent, austrian perhaps, and posh. Curious.
“I know well what you are, sir. And more to the point, I have some idea who as well. That is why I have sought you out.”
I took a seat.
“And what then, am I?”
“Lost.”
“I assure you, I know where I am. If I wished it, I could make my way back to the Sound. I am here of my own volition.”
“Certainly you are, but I speak more of your mind, or perhaps your soul. You are out here, having revenged yourself effectively upon your creator, and are considering or perhaps attempting to end your life, and finding that, at this extreme moment, the desire to continue is more powerful than the emptiness that once sought to consume you. Ones such as we do not cross half the world seeking revenge, only to be capable of ending it once we have achieved our aims.”
“And what are you, that you claim kinship to me? I am like none other.”
“Your body is made of the parts of many who were once dead, brought to life by the accidental fusion of science and sorcery performed by a wealthy wastrel with more luck than sense.”
I stood, and set my will against the matter of my body, erupting into mist, flowing about him in a wind made by my will alone before returning to physical form. As distorted as his face was by the scars of his unfortunate assembly, the look of shock, and even fear, upon his face was quite clear.
Fortunate, as that stunt meant I was desperately cold now and leaning upon my power to hide it, stilling the blood in my veins so as not to trigger the instinctive shivering.
“I sit between death and life, turned by a great undead, the turning halted while breath remained in my body. I am both unlife and living, and carry some of the strength of both. And I have set my will against the forces of supernatural darkness that plague this world yet, and I would like to offer you a chance to aid in that endeavor.”
I sat back down. He seemed pensive, thinking, for a time.
“And how did you know where to find me?”
he asked, in lieu of an answer.
“Do you recall the young arctic explorer you and Victor encountered?”
“I do.”
“I acquired a copy of his notes, letters and records in my pursuit of data regarding the events surrounding your creation.”
“And what is it you would have of me, in this endeavor?”
“In the accounts I have read of you, you are clever, intelligent, perceptive and even wise at times, and I have need of one with your sagacity. the supernatural is a strange and often irrational thing, and requires great wit and perception to tease out the truth from the myths and illusions.
I have many advantages, being what I am, but I would prefer not to work alone, and I have reason to believe those who currently ply the trade of opposition to the supernatural are either fools, fanatics or fascists. I would see there be a voice for those who are, or are afflicted by, the supernatural.
A voice for one like you, born awake and aware and given no chance to understand before being rejected, harmed by the one who made you, or for me, caught between one thing and another, cursed yet not fully.”
“You know what I have done, yet you still sought me out?” he asked.
“Yes. To be frank, what matters to me is what you choose to do now, what you do with the opportunities you gain from here on in. You deserve a chance to be more than Frankenstein’s Monster. To find out who or what Adam is, in the absence of the desperate need to survive.”
He sat, thinking.
“I suppose I have little to lose, trying it out.” he said.
Good enough.