I could only assume that I had been the subject of the threat. The monster had had ample opportunity to kill me or to create mischief that would lead to my destruction. And yet, though I had even come face to face with it in the forest, it had never touched me. This meant it was capable of higher levels of thought. Of planning. Of subtle machinations for revenge.

And it clearly still wanted something from Victor. What better way to convince Victor to do its bidding than to demonstrate its ability to destroy anyone at any time, and then threaten to do it to me should Victor not answer its horrible demands?

Noble Victor!

Stupid Victor.

Running here to lead the monster away from me. Where he would once again be alone and un–looked after, subject not only to the monsters in his mind but also to the monster hunting him! He thought he was protecting me, but he was the one in need of protection.

The carriage passed the grimy buildings clinging to life at the docks. People moved through the dark. Some furtively, advertising their fear. Some aggressively, stalking the night as predators. And some aimlessly, anonymous and vulnerable in the dark. A monster could walk among them and they would never know. Just as I could button myself into the clothes of a widow and suddenly be free to move invisibly through society.

It took more than that, of course. I had sold every gift the Frankensteins had ever given me, and several things that probably were not mine to sell, as well. By the time Judge Frankenstein realized I was planning something, I was already gone.

What wrath I would return to, I knew not, nor did I care. He was not my concern. Victor was the only person left whom I loved. I would not let the monster take him.

In my trunk I had my funds, my own set of pistols, and my widow’s clothing. I knew the monster feared fire—it had fled the burning building. I would find Victor, and then we would devise a trap to burn the hellish thing from this earth.

I reread the next letter, though I knew them all by heart now.

My Dearest Elizabeth,

London is a dreary town, and I loathe its smoke-choked buildings and refuse-choked streets. Henry was here but has since moved north to Glasgow. Probably to wander the highlands, spouting poetry and crying. I would express how pointless I think it all, but doubtless you, knowing my heart, can anticipate and imitate what I would write. I will save the ink.

My own business still weighs heavily on me. I find London too crowded, too teeming with wretched life to focus. I will follow Henry to Scotland and there, I hope, discharge both my responsibilities to myself and to him to satisfactory conclusions.

With all the affection of my soul,

Victor Frankenstein