Frankenstein Monster (Elizabeth Olsen's story)
Introduction
In the autumn of 1855, the winds over Derbyshire carried with them a strange unrest. The countryside, once serene in its rolling stillness, seemed watchful, as though waiting for some shadow to fall upon it.
At the heart of that solitude stood the house of Victor Frankenstein, a name spoken in the parish with equal parts admiration and fear. Its windows, tall and unwelcoming, rarely glowed with light, save for the solitary tower that crowned it - a place whispered of in the servants' quarters, where unnatural things were said to stir after midnight.
Within those walls lived Elizabeth Frankenstein, his young wife, known for her beauty, her grace, and her quiet melancholy. Only twenty-five, she moved through the vast halls like a ghost of her own life - a figure of tenderness imprisoned in cold grandeur. Her husband, once brilliant and kind, had retreated entirely into his experiments, abandoning both her and God for the pursuit of creation.
What follows are the recollections - the confession, perhaps - of that lonely bride. Her words, found years later among the ruined papers of the Frankenstein estate, tell not only of horror, but of something more fragile and terrible: the discovery of humanity where none was meant to exist, and the price of compassion in a house where love had long since died.
