It was selfish of me, but I was relieved. I had tried to do the right thing. Let her have one last night of peace, one last night of happiness. I stumbled back to the other wing and passed up my room in favor of Victor’s. I crawled into his bed, the welcome oblivion of sleep claiming me from the new horrors of my waking life.

—

I lay, unable to move. One eye was closed, pressed against the dirt. The other rolled wildly, but all it could see was sky between brilliant red leaves. I made a strange, high, keening cry that I could not form into words. I could not speak, could not move, could not see anything other than the uncaring sky and the dying leaves.

Then there was another noise.

A tearing, ripping sound. The horrible grating of metal against something unyielding. A sawing sound in fits and starts, in time with the heavy breathing of some other creature. And then the wet slop of things sliding out and hitting the ground.

That was when I realized:

The noises were coming from me.

Still I could not move, could not scream, could not do anything other than lie frozen, listening to my own dissection.

I would wake up, bathed in cold sweat, my heart racing but my voice silent. I was too afraid to open my mouth, too terrified I would only be able to produce the same dying cry as the deer.

On those nights, I would pad down the hall and slip into Victor’s room. He would shift sleepily to the side, holding out an arm and letting me nestle into him. I would feel my stomach, run my hands down my ribs. I was still alive. I was fine. Victor was there, and he would protect me.

When I slept at his side, I never had nightmares.

—

The sun was nearly at its zenith when I was jarred back to consciousness. I clamped my mouth shut over the strange cry I had been making.

I felt my stomach, desperately ran my hands over my ribs.

I was fine.

I was fine.

I tried to still my breathing, but then the previous day’s events crashed down, transitioning the dread and terror of my nightmare into the dread and terror of my reality.

Bleary-eyed and numb with grief, I made my way down to the dining room. I still wore my dress from the day before, my stockings somehow lost in Victor’s bed. I had never before entered the dining room barefoot. The floor was cold and hard beneath my feet, gritty with dust and dirt that needed to be swept.

Judge Frankenstein sat at the table, his meal untouched in front of him and his head in his hands. I took my place across from him.

He looked up in surprise. “Elizabeth.”