Epilogue to Mary Shelleys Frankenstein

“He was soon borne away by the waves,
and lost in darkness and distance.”

...

Part One

Life was not my intent, yet nor was death. Upon the ice raft I travelled until it could continue my course no further and I plummeted into the icy depths below me. In theory the freezing blades of the water should have burnt through my very flesh and stolen life from me, but alas it did not. Perhaps it is not life I have, but a horrific imitation that should not have prevailed on this earth. As the first were forced from their home for their crimes, such painful possession as I have over these limbs, should not have been allowed even the torture of life. My borrowed body cut through the water and it was not long before I could see land, the white entombing landscape where not many would dare to tread. I was safe here, yet this was not my purpose and I continued in such a manner until it was pale no more as a glimpse of colour entered my vision.
I wondered who I was, this so called fiend, wretch. Who were those who had been taken from their stillness in the night to make this futile excuse for a life? My thoughts were broken by the realisation that alike my master I would now have to travel only in the wrap of darkness. Their eyes, their innocent eyes, I could not allow them to witness without cover my disgusting pallid flesh. Much worse than before it hung lifelessly from my body, ugliness as I had never seen.
The first night I encountered was far beyond my difficult expectations as I found my vast frame was almost impossible to hide, now that I specifically desired it to be so. Although many eyes would be closed at this dark hour, the occasional glance onto the cloaked figure who wandered away from the light of the moon was inevitable, and I ended cautious to a point of almost no progression.
I continued at least a week with this approach. Shifting at dawn into places no living soul would take a second glance at, and hours after the sun set returning to my watchful self, desperately avoiding any possible way that people could glance upon the remains of my corpse like body. I found even this was no hope and I would still often see a still bright eye watching from behind crossed wooden bars, I would have to run. Although the water could not hurt me, the trails of sunlight crashing onto my skin and allowing but one person to glance upon me, would injure what of the soul I had left inside to a state of disrepair, and this was a chance I could not take. As nightfall draped over I would run. I was aware that my heavy footing would bring much attention, curious eyes I would not dare to look into, however when they searched for the source of the noise, I would be long gone.
         My legs stopped pounding beneath me suddenly. It was still dark, yet a house stood in front of me, the exterior as white as the desolate landscape I had before been entombed in. It had a sense of immaculacy, the heavy ancient wooden door reminding me of the entrance to the De Laceys cottege. I forced it open with one small motion and entered the house.
         It was exactly as I had expected, the walls covered with books and paintings and one small desk at the end of the room, where a small woman was sat. She also was exactly what I had expected. Dark brown hair curled neatly behind her ears, her face not worn with age. The resemblance was impossible to miss, Margaret Walton, I had arrived and this would be easier than I had anticipated. Walking over to where she sat my feet pounded on the creaky wooden floorboards, but she did not stir from her actions, her mind captured in the pages of a book. Little did she know that these words would be her last venture. I stood behind her, my ice grasp ready to entomb her fragile neck. My fingers touched the warm skin, when she turned and her eyes pierced mine with a look of knowing that I could not ignore.

Part 2

“You claimed that was your final task, but no “man.” The malevolent infliction forcing this word sends pain through what was left of my body, “or fiend with such evil forebodings within his heart and mind could possibly reason with a final task. As long as you live there will be those with such mistrust and repulsion in your being that you feel that they should not exist.” Her eyes will not move from my pallor and I urgently attempt to reply. “Before I set out on this journey I read the last of the letters from your brother and I realised that I could not let another hear of my existence. I knew they must be destroyed and that those who know of me should also cease to live. I, I cannot be repeated.” Pacing across the room and towards the door she speaks again. “Feel trust that those who hear your tale should not create another monstrous being like yourself. Fear will be stricken into their very souls and your story will be one of legend, horror, a warning not an instruction.” My vision returns as she opens the door and I see the colours of hell. I can see the fire rising around me, yet I feel no pain for myself, but of those who were stolen from their peace.