The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein

I deserved no such thing.

“We must go.” Victor nodded to the waiting guard.

“No,” I growled.

“Go.” Justine stepped away from me, smiling. A ray of light from the window beamed down and lit her from behind as the angel I had always known her to be. “I am not afraid. Please do not come tomorrow. I do not want you to see it. Promise me.”

“I promise you that I will prevent it. I will stop this.”

Justine trembled. “Please, this is all I ask of you. Please promise me you will not be at the scaffold.”

“It will not come to that.” I would not say it; I could not say it. If I agreed, I was agreeing that it would happen. And that I could never do. But the hurt and need were so raw on Justine’s face that I could not deny her.

“I promise,” I whispered.

“Thank you. You saved me.” She smiled, and I watched her over my shoulder as the guard escorted Victor and me out. Finally we turned a corner and my angel was lost to view.

* * *

—

The judge would not see me.

* * *

—

Judge Frankenstein would not intervene.

* * *

—

My agitation was such that, the next morning, the Frankensteins rowed across the lake with both the boats so that I could not possibly get to the city and enact some “regrettable” course of action. Victor tried to stay behind, but I shouted at him to go if he could not save her. If they could not save her, they should have to bear witness.

* * *

—

I was alone.

I wandered to the edge of the lake and collapsed to my knees. Then I lifted my face to the heavens and screamed. I screamed my rage, and my despair, and my intolerable solitude.

Somewhere nearby, a creature answered my call. I was not alone. The other cry contained the soul-deep sense of loss I could scarcely breathe around.

I curled into a ball around myself and wept until my senses left me.

I LOST A WEEK to the madness of grief. I would see or speak to no one. I hated them all for being alive while Justine was dead. For being men and being unable to save her.

William’s death was a tragedy.

Justine’s was a travesty.

When I finally came down from my room with enough strength to at least pretend not to hate everyone in the house, I found Ernest packing.

“Where are you going?” I asked, though I could not actually care.

“School in Paris. Father thinks it best I leave for a while.” His lip quivered as he struggled for bravery. He had lost so much in his young life—his mo