Dear Elizabeth,

You cannot imagine my relief—and Victor’s—at hearing you are once again safe at our home in Geneva. I do not understand why you left but require no explanation. My joy at your return is enough to soothe all injuries.

You were probably quite surprised to come home and find my letter relating that I am in England. Circumstances necessitated that I travel here to defend Victor from baseless accusations of wrongdoing, leveled by Fredric Clerval.

I am sorry for your sake and for Victor’s that Henry grew to be such a disappointment, but I resent him for creating such trouble for us. I wonder if perhaps it was his plan all along as jealous revenge for Victor’s greater brilliance. Their family has been against ours all this time!

With Victor’s freedom secured, we are even now traveling back to Geneva to be reunited with you. Ernest remains in Paris at school, which is best for the time being. Let him grow and learn in peace, free from the spirit of mourning that naturally and inescapably suffuses our house at this time.

But my hope—long-cherished by my departed wife—is that you and Victor will soon bring happiness back by celebrating a most blessed event.

I am grateful for your delicacy in broaching the subject of a marital union with Victor. You are ever thoughtful to offer him his freedom should he view you more as a companion than a future wife. But I assure you that he cherishes nothing more than the thought of spending the rest of his life with you. He has told me repeatedly how determined he is that you two never be parted.

As such, we will proceed with a marriage as soon as possible upon our return. I am eager for the day you join our family legally as my daughter. We will travel with as much haste as God and the elements grant us to see that it is so. You can anticipate us within two weeks.

Victor shares my joy, though a lingering fever from his brief confinement prevents him from writing to you himself. He sends his love and devotion, and I send the warmest regards of my heart from a father to a daughter.

With all other regards nobly and lovingly sent,

Alphonse Frankenstein

I set down Judge Frankenstein’s letter. My entreaty—delicately and carefully worded—for Victor to return and marry me had succeeded.

And thus the date for my vengeance would be set.

I knew I should feel sorry that I looked forward to my wedding day not as a blessed moment to be forever united with the family who had sheltered and raised me, but as a day for bloody reckoning, when I would make that forever-damned monster pay for what it had taken from us.

I did not feel sorry.