Gaining Strength [Part 3]
Jun. 16th, 2020 11:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
esp_dragonv2Fandom: Noblesse
Summary: Frankenstein needs to gain strength to protect humanity; the werewolves might hold the key to that.
Contains: Self harm via cutting.
Notes: Frankenstein decides werewolves are the bigger threat AU.
Sooo, I've pretty much finished the whole draft now, with just the epilogue to go. :) The update schedule for this should be Wednesdays and Sundays because otherwise it would take months to get this all up. Well, it'll still take months with the bi-weekly updates. XD;;; But it'll be less months.
Rating: PG
Genre: General
Word count: 2,827
Total word count: 6,459
Status: Work in progress
Frankenstein paused when he felt a slight breeze, the lighting in his room changing. "Yes?" he said, writing the last of his notes before he lost the thought. Someone had to disturb him now?
"I heard you were injured attacking a werewolf!"
Ah, yes, gossip. Ateryi must have talked to the others.
...Though, how long had he been working if she had returned?
"The gods were smiling on you to protect your life." Frankenstein turned in his chair, and the alchemist's eyes were stuck to the bandages his neck. His name... Filippo?
Urgh. Frankenstein held his tongue. "Are you here to check if I've been doused their holy light?" ...Hm, maybe not by that much. His brain must still be affected by the pain.
Filippo smiled placidly at him. "We're having problems with our calculations and we were hoping your eye would spot what's wrong."
Frankenstein sighed, setting down his quill as he stood up. "Very well." A break might be in order.
* * *
Frankenstein gazed at the brown stain on the handkerchief before down at the blade in his hand. He had to do this quickly before the werewolf blood dried again.
He cut a horizontal line across his wrist, exhaling at the stinging as blood welled up along the cut. He could have tried doing the test with the wounds on his neck, but the changes would be far easier to track where he could see it. The wounds on his neck were already half healed already, so would be hard to know if any differences was from the werewolf blood or because his body had already done most of the work.
He set the blade down but as he reached for the handkerchief, he hesitated.
What if he was wrong? What if by testing the blood, he bound himself to the werewolf?
Frankenstein pursed his lips and picked up the handkerchief, pressing the bloodied side to his wound.
His research had said it was unlikely to happen. Werewolves didn't bind others to their will, and the noble contract was completed through the noble ingesting the human's blood, not the human inserting the werewolf blood into their own bodies.
The wound warmed in a way differently from how the claws at his neck did. Too fast, and when he pulled the handkerchief away, the wound had sealed.
Hm. Frankenstein poked at the wound, but it stayed shut.
Interesting. A much faster healing response could explain the werewolves' longevity.
There wasn't an additional presence in Frankenstein's mind and he smiled, relieved. Though it could be because the werewolf had died from his injuries.
He could only hope.
Now to wait for if there were any adverse reactions to the blood before he worked on introducing more of the werewolf's blood to his body.
* * *
Frankenstein frowned, staring at the silver dagger. The blade was warm to the touch, as if it had been sitting in the sun for hours.
He lifted his hand, seeing the redness across his fingertips where he'd touched it.
He put down the vial, looking around his room for anything metal in his room. The candleholders were made of iron and they were still cool, making no reaction from his skin.
The doorknobs, coat hooks... All metal, all not made with silver. And all not giving him the same reaction as when he touched silver.
Frankenstein dug into his money pouch, and even without seeing, he knew when he was touching a silver coin and when he was not. His fingertips emerged red when he looked at them again.
Interesting.
He'd never had a silver reaction before, so the self-enhancements were working? He didn't feel much different from before, but then, if his body was slow adjusting, would he notice? Hm. That was the problem with self-experimentation, though asking others to also note any changes would give him the same result if they weren't paying close attention.
He would need to take more detailed notes of his current state. His strength, his speed...
Frankenstein's gaze was drawn back to the silver dagger. If he was reacting to silver already after a few drops of blood introduced to his body, then what would the reaction to a pure blooded werewolf be?
Everything had happened too fast during the stabbing for him to see anything, and it would have been hard to tell if it was the silver or the pain from the stabbing that had repelled the werewolf.
It worked. That was what mattered.
Now he had to see if he could enhance himself further.
* * *
Frankenstein glowered at his notes. He couldn't read them, that stench distracting him throughout the morning.
He'd tried to ignore it, but it continued to build until even breathing through his mouth wasn't enough to hide it. Whatever it was. It had the sharp tang of smelling salts but had the scent of rotting meat hiding under it.
His hissed when another waft entered his room. That was it. He needed to find the source for that stench.
He got to his feet, leaving his room. It wasn't hard to follow the trail, the scent an almost physical force against his skin.
He knocked once on the door, entering instantly. Filippo was on the other side of the door, Osbern with him.
"I'm not sure what you're trying to research here," Frankenstein said tersely, "but could you have the courtesy of at least opening the window so you don't envelop the entire building in whatever you're working on?"
Filippo stared at him, wide-eyed, and then glanced at Osbern.
"I think you have the wrong room," Osbern said, concern creasing his brow. "We've been here all morning and haven't noticed any distinct smells."
Frankenstein opened his mouth to retort but then paused. The room was definitely the source of the stench, and he could see behind them a small vial with white smoke overflowing its lip. But they were standing next to it, as if...
As if they couldn't couldn't smell it.
Dammit. "Hmm, my apologies," Frankenstein said, still trying to breathe through his mouth, "I must have been mistaken." He closed the door behind him.
Even then, he heard, "He's changed since the attack," whispered through the gap.
Hah.
Maybe it was time to work more at night, when people were less likely to be researching...
* * *
Frankenstein's journal was filling up and he thumbed through it, checking his progress. He'd had this much of an improvement and he'd only had a few drops of werewolf blood. If he had access to more... What would the results be?
Though the results were strange. Exponential rather than the plateauing he had expected.
The increases he was gaining wasn't slowing down even though he hadn't added any new blood to his body recently.
As if the werewolf blood was taking hold.
Did it truly need that little before benefits could be seen? Would it be that easy to help to enhance other humans?
...'Easy', hah. Collecting even those few drops of blood had been far from easy and had taken months of waiting to get.
"-rised he's still working here," drifted through his door and Frankenstein sighed. It had been harder to concentrate when he could hear any conversation from anyone passing his door. It might be easier to work at home, but he didn't-
"I won't be working here when the full moon comes around, just in case. If he turns-"
Frankenstein glared at his door. That was the unfortunate side effect of his increased hearing - it turned out there was a lot of gossip around him. He had been able to ignore it before, but no longer. If they spent as much time on their work as talking about others, humanity would have had the strength to protect themselves decades ago.
His hands warmed and he flexed his fingers, trying to get rid of the tingling feeling.
"Tch!" He hissed at the sharp pain in his palms.
Frankenstein stared at the blood dripping from his palms.
The nails that had sharpened into claws.
Even as he watched, his nails melted back into their original rounded shapes.
Frankenstein slumped, panting. His body had changed for a few seconds, and it felt as if he had ran down the street at full pelt.
But he had achieved it. He was able to transmute his body like a werewolf.
He reached for his quill and paused, blood standing in stark contrast against his skin.
The pain had already faded from his palms. He wiped at one palm with a thumb, and while there were small divots left in his skin, that was all there was. The wounds were already sealed over, no blood seeping from them.
If those had healed, then maybe...
Frankenstein tugged at the bandages around his neck, feeling the skin there. It wasn't as bruised or swollen as it had been, nor could Frankenstein feel any break in the skin.
Something reflective, something reflective... Frankenstein dug into his desk drawers. He knew there were small mirrors stored there, from the previous occupant who had done some experiments with light.
There! He brought it out, turning his head to see the wound.
It wasn't a wound anymore. It was a scar of five lines leading down his neck towards his Adam's apple. If the werewolf had squeezed much harder...
No matter. The werewolf hadn't and he was still alive. That was what mattered.
Now. What he should be focusing on was how he had transmuted his body and if he could replicate it again.
* * *
The change in his blood was fascinating. It separated into different parts at different levels from what it used to. This was the power of the werewolf blood? What did the different levels mean?
If that was the cause for the change in his healing... Hm.
If he was able to heal from his wounds, then that werewolf must have as well.
How disappointing. Maybe he should have aimed for the heart. If it was in the same place as humans.
Frankenstein sighed. There was no point considering 'what ifs'.
In the very least, hopefully he had been able to slow the werewolf down in the meantime. Though if his current healing was anything to go by, that was unlikely.
Shaking his head, Frankenstein went back to writing his notes.
* * *
Frankenstein breathed in and out, controlling his breathing. He had finished recording everything he could, which left learning how to control the transmutation.
Which...
Was proving more difficult than Frankenstein thought it would be.
He could make reactions, transmute liquids into its other forms, but that was because he knew what he had to mix together to make it happen.
This was different. He wanted it to happen, but that apparently wasn't enough.
What had triggered the change last time? He hadn't been thinking about werewolves or their transmutation when it had happened.
No. Not quite.
It had happened when he'd heard the gossip about him outside his door.
He'd...reacted with anger. Was anger what caused the transmutation? It had certainly been what happened with that werewolf, though pain might have also been a cause.
Though had the werewolf that had dragged him out the carriage also been angry?
Frankenstein sighed, pursing his lips.
So many elements and differences he didn't have enough information about.
He would figure it out eventually.
* * *
Frankenstein rolled his quill between his fingers, studying the sheathed silver dagger in front of him.
Silver worked. His self-enhancements worked.
If there was a way he could gather more werewolf blood... And gather it in bigger quantities...
He would need to be able to restrain werewolves to do that.
Shackles? Shackles made of silver should work.
He could have a set made in the meantime.
He exhaled, dipping his quill in the ink pot. It may be another number of months before he had a chance to see another werewolf, but he could prepare himself before then.
* * *
The shackles were well made, reflecting the sunlight coming in through his window. Though Frankenstein suspected he would soon need to wear gloves if he wanted to touch them. Or at least have some kind of barrier between his skin and the silver when he wanted to pick it up.
Would they be strong enough to hold a werewolf? Would the reaction to silver be enough to keep them in place? Or could a werewolf break out of them easily?
He wouldn't know until he tried using them.
* * *
Frankenstein placed his hands palms down on his desk. He still hadn't any success in transmuting his nails again, and if it wasn't for the line of pinprick scars across his palms, he would have thought he had dreamed it.
Merely wanting the transmutation to happen hadn't worked. But maybe it had also been the timing - he might not have left enough time to recover between the previous transmutation and his next attempt.
The transmutation being tied to emotions was a possibility, so he would try it. He closed his eyes, concentrating.
Anger was an easy emotion to reach for. The frustrations of seeing how helpless humanity was when faced with the actions of a noble or werewolf. The drips of information he gained about werewolves, the slow progress he was making. Too slow to be of help to anyone. The time he was wasting.
The whispers that followed him in the hall that he wasn't sure if he was supposed to hear or not, with his new senses.
The expectations that he was going to transmute in front of everyone and lay waste to everything in his path when they should know better.
And yet, here he was, trying to transmute there.
Frankenstein exhaled, opening his eyes. His nails were the same, but he knew that before he even looked - there hadn't been the familiar tingling feeling as before.
Hm. Another failure. He picked up his quill, taking more notes. Maybe it wasn't anger that he needed, but that would a test for a different time.
* * *
Someone knocked on Frankenstein's door and he turned his head towards it. "Come in."
It was Filippo and Frankenstein sighed, standing up. "Someone else needing me to check over their work?" He was due to think about something else.
Filippo gave him a wane smile. "Unless it's to check your own work," he said with a soft chuckle.
Frankenstein frowned. "What do you mean?" His work had been a success, as slow as it was.
"The tests?" Filippo said. "They'd failed."
"I'd never..." Frankenstein sighed again. "You should stop listening to idle gossip - go to the source when you can, rather than trusting other people's word." Information got twisted with each retelling - Filippo should know that already.
Filippo was staring at him in confusion. "I did. Osbern is considering what to do with the bodies - I was just confused why he wasn't discussing the issue with you as you were working on this together. Did he not tell you they'd expired?"
Frankenstein chilled more with each word Filippo said. "No. He hadn't." His words were faint to his ears. This wasn't happening. Everything seemed a little more distant. "He's in his usual room?"
Filippo shook his head. "They were moved to the medical wing." His lips twitched into a smile. "To make sure their smell wouldn't bother anyone."
"Right. Of course. Thank you for informing me."
When Filippo left, Frankenstein went to where he kept his books. His journal where he recorded his progress never left his side, but the journal where he noted his thoughts and processes... Once he started to change, he'd no longer needed that journal as much. He'd kept it here, just in case he needed to refer back to something later on.
It had moved.
Frankenstein had a system of how he ordered his books and he knew where his journal should have been.
His journal had been moved.
Had someone - Had Osbern-? When had it happened?
He gritted his teeth and strode out of his room. It would be very easy to find out.
Iiii do not like creating or describing new characters. XDD;;
Summary: Frankenstein needs to gain strength to protect humanity; the werewolves might hold the key to that.
Contains: Self harm via cutting.
Notes: Frankenstein decides werewolves are the bigger threat AU.
Sooo, I've pretty much finished the whole draft now, with just the epilogue to go. :) The update schedule for this should be Wednesdays and Sundays because otherwise it would take months to get this all up. Well, it'll still take months with the bi-weekly updates. XD;;; But it'll be less months.
Rating: PG
Genre: General
Word count: 2,827
Total word count: 6,459
Status: Work in progress
Frankenstein paused when he felt a slight breeze, the lighting in his room changing. "Yes?" he said, writing the last of his notes before he lost the thought. Someone had to disturb him now?
"I heard you were injured attacking a werewolf!"
Ah, yes, gossip. Ateryi must have talked to the others.
...Though, how long had he been working if she had returned?
"The gods were smiling on you to protect your life." Frankenstein turned in his chair, and the alchemist's eyes were stuck to the bandages his neck. His name... Filippo?
Urgh. Frankenstein held his tongue. "Are you here to check if I've been doused their holy light?" ...Hm, maybe not by that much. His brain must still be affected by the pain.
Filippo smiled placidly at him. "We're having problems with our calculations and we were hoping your eye would spot what's wrong."
Frankenstein sighed, setting down his quill as he stood up. "Very well." A break might be in order.
Frankenstein gazed at the brown stain on the handkerchief before down at the blade in his hand. He had to do this quickly before the werewolf blood dried again.
He cut a horizontal line across his wrist, exhaling at the stinging as blood welled up along the cut. He could have tried doing the test with the wounds on his neck, but the changes would be far easier to track where he could see it. The wounds on his neck were already half healed already, so would be hard to know if any differences was from the werewolf blood or because his body had already done most of the work.
He set the blade down but as he reached for the handkerchief, he hesitated.
What if he was wrong? What if by testing the blood, he bound himself to the werewolf?
Frankenstein pursed his lips and picked up the handkerchief, pressing the bloodied side to his wound.
His research had said it was unlikely to happen. Werewolves didn't bind others to their will, and the noble contract was completed through the noble ingesting the human's blood, not the human inserting the werewolf blood into their own bodies.
The wound warmed in a way differently from how the claws at his neck did. Too fast, and when he pulled the handkerchief away, the wound had sealed.
Hm. Frankenstein poked at the wound, but it stayed shut.
Interesting. A much faster healing response could explain the werewolves' longevity.
There wasn't an additional presence in Frankenstein's mind and he smiled, relieved. Though it could be because the werewolf had died from his injuries.
He could only hope.
Now to wait for if there were any adverse reactions to the blood before he worked on introducing more of the werewolf's blood to his body.
Frankenstein frowned, staring at the silver dagger. The blade was warm to the touch, as if it had been sitting in the sun for hours.
He lifted his hand, seeing the redness across his fingertips where he'd touched it.
He put down the vial, looking around his room for anything metal in his room. The candleholders were made of iron and they were still cool, making no reaction from his skin.
The doorknobs, coat hooks... All metal, all not made with silver. And all not giving him the same reaction as when he touched silver.
Frankenstein dug into his money pouch, and even without seeing, he knew when he was touching a silver coin and when he was not. His fingertips emerged red when he looked at them again.
Interesting.
He'd never had a silver reaction before, so the self-enhancements were working? He didn't feel much different from before, but then, if his body was slow adjusting, would he notice? Hm. That was the problem with self-experimentation, though asking others to also note any changes would give him the same result if they weren't paying close attention.
He would need to take more detailed notes of his current state. His strength, his speed...
Frankenstein's gaze was drawn back to the silver dagger. If he was reacting to silver already after a few drops of blood introduced to his body, then what would the reaction to a pure blooded werewolf be?
Everything had happened too fast during the stabbing for him to see anything, and it would have been hard to tell if it was the silver or the pain from the stabbing that had repelled the werewolf.
It worked. That was what mattered.
Now he had to see if he could enhance himself further.
Frankenstein glowered at his notes. He couldn't read them, that stench distracting him throughout the morning.
He'd tried to ignore it, but it continued to build until even breathing through his mouth wasn't enough to hide it. Whatever it was. It had the sharp tang of smelling salts but had the scent of rotting meat hiding under it.
His hissed when another waft entered his room. That was it. He needed to find the source for that stench.
He got to his feet, leaving his room. It wasn't hard to follow the trail, the scent an almost physical force against his skin.
He knocked once on the door, entering instantly. Filippo was on the other side of the door, Osbern with him.
"I'm not sure what you're trying to research here," Frankenstein said tersely, "but could you have the courtesy of at least opening the window so you don't envelop the entire building in whatever you're working on?"
Filippo stared at him, wide-eyed, and then glanced at Osbern.
"I think you have the wrong room," Osbern said, concern creasing his brow. "We've been here all morning and haven't noticed any distinct smells."
Frankenstein opened his mouth to retort but then paused. The room was definitely the source of the stench, and he could see behind them a small vial with white smoke overflowing its lip. But they were standing next to it, as if...
As if they couldn't couldn't smell it.
Dammit. "Hmm, my apologies," Frankenstein said, still trying to breathe through his mouth, "I must have been mistaken." He closed the door behind him.
Even then, he heard, "He's changed since the attack," whispered through the gap.
Hah.
Maybe it was time to work more at night, when people were less likely to be researching...
Frankenstein's journal was filling up and he thumbed through it, checking his progress. He'd had this much of an improvement and he'd only had a few drops of werewolf blood. If he had access to more... What would the results be?
Though the results were strange. Exponential rather than the plateauing he had expected.
The increases he was gaining wasn't slowing down even though he hadn't added any new blood to his body recently.
As if the werewolf blood was taking hold.
Did it truly need that little before benefits could be seen? Would it be that easy to help to enhance other humans?
...'Easy', hah. Collecting even those few drops of blood had been far from easy and had taken months of waiting to get.
"-rised he's still working here," drifted through his door and Frankenstein sighed. It had been harder to concentrate when he could hear any conversation from anyone passing his door. It might be easier to work at home, but he didn't-
"I won't be working here when the full moon comes around, just in case. If he turns-"
Frankenstein glared at his door. That was the unfortunate side effect of his increased hearing - it turned out there was a lot of gossip around him. He had been able to ignore it before, but no longer. If they spent as much time on their work as talking about others, humanity would have had the strength to protect themselves decades ago.
His hands warmed and he flexed his fingers, trying to get rid of the tingling feeling.
"Tch!" He hissed at the sharp pain in his palms.
Frankenstein stared at the blood dripping from his palms.
The nails that had sharpened into claws.
Even as he watched, his nails melted back into their original rounded shapes.
Frankenstein slumped, panting. His body had changed for a few seconds, and it felt as if he had ran down the street at full pelt.
But he had achieved it. He was able to transmute his body like a werewolf.
He reached for his quill and paused, blood standing in stark contrast against his skin.
The pain had already faded from his palms. He wiped at one palm with a thumb, and while there were small divots left in his skin, that was all there was. The wounds were already sealed over, no blood seeping from them.
If those had healed, then maybe...
Frankenstein tugged at the bandages around his neck, feeling the skin there. It wasn't as bruised or swollen as it had been, nor could Frankenstein feel any break in the skin.
Something reflective, something reflective... Frankenstein dug into his desk drawers. He knew there were small mirrors stored there, from the previous occupant who had done some experiments with light.
There! He brought it out, turning his head to see the wound.
It wasn't a wound anymore. It was a scar of five lines leading down his neck towards his Adam's apple. If the werewolf had squeezed much harder...
No matter. The werewolf hadn't and he was still alive. That was what mattered.
Now. What he should be focusing on was how he had transmuted his body and if he could replicate it again.
The change in his blood was fascinating. It separated into different parts at different levels from what it used to. This was the power of the werewolf blood? What did the different levels mean?
If that was the cause for the change in his healing... Hm.
If he was able to heal from his wounds, then that werewolf must have as well.
How disappointing. Maybe he should have aimed for the heart. If it was in the same place as humans.
Frankenstein sighed. There was no point considering 'what ifs'.
In the very least, hopefully he had been able to slow the werewolf down in the meantime. Though if his current healing was anything to go by, that was unlikely.
Shaking his head, Frankenstein went back to writing his notes.
Frankenstein breathed in and out, controlling his breathing. He had finished recording everything he could, which left learning how to control the transmutation.
Which...
Was proving more difficult than Frankenstein thought it would be.
He could make reactions, transmute liquids into its other forms, but that was because he knew what he had to mix together to make it happen.
This was different. He wanted it to happen, but that apparently wasn't enough.
What had triggered the change last time? He hadn't been thinking about werewolves or their transmutation when it had happened.
No. Not quite.
It had happened when he'd heard the gossip about him outside his door.
He'd...reacted with anger. Was anger what caused the transmutation? It had certainly been what happened with that werewolf, though pain might have also been a cause.
Though had the werewolf that had dragged him out the carriage also been angry?
Frankenstein sighed, pursing his lips.
So many elements and differences he didn't have enough information about.
He would figure it out eventually.
Frankenstein rolled his quill between his fingers, studying the sheathed silver dagger in front of him.
Silver worked. His self-enhancements worked.
If there was a way he could gather more werewolf blood... And gather it in bigger quantities...
He would need to be able to restrain werewolves to do that.
Shackles? Shackles made of silver should work.
He could have a set made in the meantime.
He exhaled, dipping his quill in the ink pot. It may be another number of months before he had a chance to see another werewolf, but he could prepare himself before then.
The shackles were well made, reflecting the sunlight coming in through his window. Though Frankenstein suspected he would soon need to wear gloves if he wanted to touch them. Or at least have some kind of barrier between his skin and the silver when he wanted to pick it up.
Would they be strong enough to hold a werewolf? Would the reaction to silver be enough to keep them in place? Or could a werewolf break out of them easily?
He wouldn't know until he tried using them.
Frankenstein placed his hands palms down on his desk. He still hadn't any success in transmuting his nails again, and if it wasn't for the line of pinprick scars across his palms, he would have thought he had dreamed it.
Merely wanting the transmutation to happen hadn't worked. But maybe it had also been the timing - he might not have left enough time to recover between the previous transmutation and his next attempt.
The transmutation being tied to emotions was a possibility, so he would try it. He closed his eyes, concentrating.
Anger was an easy emotion to reach for. The frustrations of seeing how helpless humanity was when faced with the actions of a noble or werewolf. The drips of information he gained about werewolves, the slow progress he was making. Too slow to be of help to anyone. The time he was wasting.
The whispers that followed him in the hall that he wasn't sure if he was supposed to hear or not, with his new senses.
The expectations that he was going to transmute in front of everyone and lay waste to everything in his path when they should know better.
And yet, here he was, trying to transmute there.
Frankenstein exhaled, opening his eyes. His nails were the same, but he knew that before he even looked - there hadn't been the familiar tingling feeling as before.
Hm. Another failure. He picked up his quill, taking more notes. Maybe it wasn't anger that he needed, but that would a test for a different time.
Someone knocked on Frankenstein's door and he turned his head towards it. "Come in."
It was Filippo and Frankenstein sighed, standing up. "Someone else needing me to check over their work?" He was due to think about something else.
Filippo gave him a wane smile. "Unless it's to check your own work," he said with a soft chuckle.
Frankenstein frowned. "What do you mean?" His work had been a success, as slow as it was.
"The tests?" Filippo said. "They'd failed."
"I'd never..." Frankenstein sighed again. "You should stop listening to idle gossip - go to the source when you can, rather than trusting other people's word." Information got twisted with each retelling - Filippo should know that already.
Filippo was staring at him in confusion. "I did. Osbern is considering what to do with the bodies - I was just confused why he wasn't discussing the issue with you as you were working on this together. Did he not tell you they'd expired?"
Frankenstein chilled more with each word Filippo said. "No. He hadn't." His words were faint to his ears. This wasn't happening. Everything seemed a little more distant. "He's in his usual room?"
Filippo shook his head. "They were moved to the medical wing." His lips twitched into a smile. "To make sure their smell wouldn't bother anyone."
"Right. Of course. Thank you for informing me."
When Filippo left, Frankenstein went to where he kept his books. His journal where he recorded his progress never left his side, but the journal where he noted his thoughts and processes... Once he started to change, he'd no longer needed that journal as much. He'd kept it here, just in case he needed to refer back to something later on.
It had moved.
Frankenstein had a system of how he ordered his books and he knew where his journal should have been.
His journal had been moved.
Had someone - Had Osbern-? When had it happened?
He gritted his teeth and strode out of his room. It would be very easy to find out.
Iiii do not like creating or describing new characters. XDD;;