RAMSEY AWOKE TO ANOTHER ONE OF her Master’s experiments. Although night had already fallen, the stricken lightning left outside with a hazy glimmer. Even the full moon’s illumination was outshined by the alchemy. There goes Lord Frankenstein--Victor as he’s referred to intimately with experiments again--the dame felt wronged, knowing she shan’t sleep again with such commotion going on. 

This had been occurring the past few days, and all the while he was losing moonlight.

The other servants, girls around girls much younger than her, had their consciousness aroused by the commotion. It couldn’t be helped--the servant’s corners were situated far from the main house, closer to Victor’s ‘laboratory’.

“That child...If I wasn’t accustomed to this, I’d think the end of times was here.” The older woman mutters, taking a glance at the young girl beside her. She was fourteen years younger than her at sixteen, although she’d known her since thirteen.

She was the oldest amongst the maidservants, aside from the head maid, Mary. In her thin, white gown, she looks at the girls among the brief flashes of light poured into the room. Letting out a curt cough, Ramsey attempts to calm down the commotion amongst newly hired, slapping her hands. 

“Now, now, girls. It will pass soon, try and get some rest.”

The six girls opposite of Ramsey and Justine collectively decide to heed her advice. Justine was sleeping next to her, looking at her like a young calf glancing at its mother. A girl who lost the ones she loved one by one in the last thirteen years of her life. She was seen as an unlucky star, although Ramsey didn’t pay it much mind. She was a sweet girl, to whom she was fond of despite their differences in origins.

She was clever, educated, and had the prettiest face she’d seen on a child, as she recalled from their first meeting.

The only thing that she could see as a ‘flaw’ if she were to be married in the future was my weak body constitution. She glanced down at her pale, ash-toned skin and raked her curly, straw-colored hair out her face.

“Are you still feeling ill, lass?”

“Yes, I haven’t been feeling the past few days.” The woman sighed and rested her head against her chest.

“I will cover for you. If you feel too ill, stay in bed. I’ll get medicine and take care of you.”

“Where did you get medicine from, Ramsey? People like us can’t afford-- 

“--such opulence?”

She gives her a wolfish grin in response, showing a string of crooked teeth.

“My dear Justine, I have my means. Regardless, we both should do our best to be caught.”

 A maid’s duty is to be seen, not heard.

....

....

LATER ON THAT WEEK, LORD FRANKENSTEIN’S EXPERIMENTS SEEMED TO HAVE STOPPED, but Justine’s health worsened. Her rosy cheeks were no longer, her eyes were in a constant daze. She was confined to her bed, and Ramsey continued to hide her absence. She’d even taken a hold of her duties, which included cleaning the parlor floor.

The maid cleans the floor below her with vigor.  Her braided hair, which greyed beyond her years was tucked under a white, thick bonnet. Her face dark and earthy, like burnt umber--her face was filled with scars from prior traumas. Her thick, dark brows are set in a deep furrow as she cleans.

She’d have to finish the task soon if she’d like to get to Justine soon.

She was quite worried about the girl, she didn’t look too well when she had to leave her and it wore on her mind...

She scrubbed and scrubbed until a man’s voice shocked her.

“Ah, Miss Ramsey.” Ramsey looked over at him, giving the young man a wary yet wan smile.

There, at the entrance of the room, was Lord Frankenstein. He looked tired and ghastly. He was particularly willowy, tall, and thin. But, at this moment, he looked to be in good health.

At that moment, his expression was dark, to which she avoided his line of sight.

She was reminded of his cold appearance when his parents died. 

Mary worked hard to have him eat and take his role as the head of the estate seriously.

Despite that, has he grown into a fine young man--aside from those experiments he insisted on doing...

“Good day, my Lord.” 

She gives him a quick curtsy, before preparing to leave.

“Answer my question, Ramsey.” Victor’s voice contains a warning, one that reminded her that he was an adult, and not the child she recalled growing up with.

She pauses, relenting--in her heart, but continuing.

“Miss Justine has been ill for the past week--I took up her duties in her stead.” He looks at her, with those amber eyes, letting out a long sigh.

“You fool...” Victor says in a whisper not loud enough for the maid to her properly.

“Pardon?”

“...Nothing. Is Mary aware of this?” The older maid shakes her head quickly.

Of course not.

Her voice is slow to approach, eventually letting out like a croak.

“No--however, as you and Lady Elizabeth know, Justine’s body hasn’t been the best, she can’t even properly walk as of late. I have my hands tied, yet I cannot sit by while she suffers without family.” Her words seem to tumble like detach heads from her lips--he steadily interjects, "...I’ll speak to Mary and have Justine’s duties temporarily given to a new worker--and as for her illness, I'll have a physician to look at her--” 

“Thank you, My Lord!”

He began, his deep, mulled voice by the short, older woman’s outburst, her hands thrust in the air.

Victor stops, takes her hands down, slow, gently almost.

“I need you to help with something.”

As she held his eyes, she laughed in her heart.

Of course, he needed her for something. 

Even if a servant was admired by his beloved, he wouldn’t call a doctor to treat her for naught.

He was similar to his father in that respect.

She doesn’t say a thing for a moment, continuing to abide by gravity as she clutches her apron.

“Lord Frankenstein--”

“Are you neglecting your duties, Ramsey?”

A shiver crawled down her back and made its place in her spine.

His words are weary, cold--despite that repertoire with each other, the maid was reminded of their positions.

He was a young man, born into wealth and prestige.

And she was a woman whose origin was beyond her ken.

They weren’t the same.

Very briefly, the unpleasant revelation that causes her mind to recoil. 

His hazel eyes held her gaze with a steel persuasion--she could already tell something was very wrong. She’d heard these words before, although the situation wasn’t grave. But with her position and her history, she held her tongue--standing in his direction with her eyes to the newly cleaned floor.

“When will you be needing assistance, Lord Frankenstein?”

“I am glad you haven’t forgotten your duties.”

....

....

WORDLESSLY, SOMETIME LATER ON SHE FOLLOWS HIM down to the pit of the main house, where his laboratory was located. Where he did those ungodly experiments--which, Ramsey disagreed with, knowing he toyed with life while doing something. While she felt she was agnostic as far as morals went, something did feel right to her about creating like through digging up bodies.

It felt...wrong, appalling necromantical pursuits.

At one point many families with not much to their name would sell their loved one’s body to the Estate for money. 

And with their permission, he continued desecrating the dead like that, for what? 

Alchemy? 

Money?

It was repugnant.

She frowns as she continues to follow the candle lit path as she holds up the lantern and he leads down the winding stairway. It gets noticeably colder during their venture, she remembers the amount of ice he orders and keeps to preserve his subjects. 

Victor had been obsessive over the creation of life and the inevitable presence of death ever since the Lord and the Madam succumbed to their unknown illnesses. He was only sixteen when it occurred. 

Not a child but not a man either. 

He wasn’t a gifted alchemist, but he knew quite a few things. It wasn’t as if their country prohibited the use of alchemy or magic--they encouraged it. The Magic Tower was a great addition to their society’s infrastructure and aid to keeping it’s chaotic order. 

However, Victor was interested in dark alchemy, which from Ramsey’s knowledge was forbidden.  

Although she was a slave turned servant, she had enough education to understand why it’s banned. 

And yet with that knowledge, the young man sought it out, sacrificing livestock and chopping up body and even utilizing his own blood.

She tried her best to serve him, despite not agreeing with his actions at times. Victor played God and Igor, a hunched fellow was his unholy advisor. He was a quiet but polite young fellow. He was a bit shorter than young men his age due to the curve of her spine causing his aforementioned hunch. His skin was a warm taupe color, his face is plush of youth.

From Victor’s musings he found him in a London alleyway and inquired for him to be his assistant in exchange for food and shelter. Despite the rumors of the going-ons of their manor, he accepted and has been living in a small house adjacent to the main property.

Other than that, Ramsey didn’t know much about his background—she did know one thing, and it was that he wasn’t much of a threat.

He terrified her when she first met him but eventually when she realized he was harmless they arrived on batter terms.

The most she’d be asked to do as far as his experience were clean ups, to discard the failures. But now, she feared that it was much bigger than a mere tidying or disposal.

Her anxious mood heightened when they approached the door to the laboratory.

Behind the door she could hear crying. Her heart rose her throat and throbbed incessantly. When Victor unlocked the door and pushed it open, she’s greeted at a horrid sight. 

Igor stood, over a wriggling body in an attempt to calm the person beneath him. The man is well beyond his size, but is crumpled to the floor like a frightened child.

“Igor.” Victor’s voice warns the young man who timidly backs off, almost immediately.

“What happened now?” Igor looked quite nervous, Ramsey stayed quiet but couldn’t help but shoot the young man a wary glance.

“He’s refusing to bathe again, My Lord.”

There is a pause before Victor pinches his glabella in irritation, waving off his young assistant.

“...It’s alright, let him go. Ramsey’s here so you’re relieved of bathing duties. You may go with your day.” 

With Igor skirting off, almost like a frightened cat, she’s shown a clear view of the thrashing young man.

A young man who looked like the split image of Elizabeth, only more muscular and tall. His beauty was as striking as hers, although his height seemed exceeding that of a human man. He was wearing a nightgown that reached his near and tumbling flaxen hair and didn't do much to hide his familiar face.

“Lady Elizabeth...do she have a...?” Ramsey trails off, her voice but a whisper, knowing that couldn’t be right. Lady Elizabeth was an orphan taken in by the Madam. 

She didn’t have any known siblings.

She casts another weary look at Victor.

“My Lord, who is this?”

Victor’s accomplished grin doesn’t help to calm her nerves either.

“I am Prometheus and this is my creation.”