Chapter 13 #3
Life, by human standards, made no sense at all.
One was praised for killing a spider or a fly, applauded for swift cruelty, yet shamed for harming a ladybug or a butterfly.
Beauty dictated mercy. Fragility determined worth.
That, Victoria knew, was why girls like her were belittled.
Humans cherished beautiful, pretty, harmless women—ornamental creatures meant to be admired and preserved.
Women with teeth, women who refused softness and compliance, were tolerated only because killing another human was illegal and barbaric.
No, they were not to be killed outright.
They were to be worn down instead. Tortured quietly.
Their bruises kept internal, their wounds hidden safely inside the mind, where they would not disrupt or offend those refined enough to inflict them.
“What?” Victoria asked suddenly, realizing she had missed half of what her father had said.
Alphonse’s chest rose several inches before he released a long, measured breath, the sound of it heavy with restraint. “I’m worried about you,” he said at last.
She moved to the cold metal table across from him, bracing herself against it, careful not to touch Innominatus until she pulled on her gloves despite longing to cross that boundary.
She had grown so accustomed to the thin fabric covering her fingers that the thought of touching him bare-handed felt almost intimate—too intimate.
It was a fantasy that had been built in the lonely hours she spent in her mind.
They were the only barrier she had against herself.
Victoria turned to the tray beside him and gathered several tools, the cool metal steadying her.
When her arm brushed lightly against the upper sternum of the cadaver, a strange, fleeting comfort settled in her chest.
She met her father’s gaze. “Papa, I’m fine. I promise. I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately—with the experiment. With Innominatus. We are getting close and—and it’s important to me that it works.”
A genuine smile flickered across her face at her father’s eye roll when she spoke the cadaver’s name.
They switched places, and Alphonse began instructing her on how to correctly attach the two kidneys. “That’s it,” he said. “Hold the renal artery with a bit of firmness. There you go.” He pulled his familiar chair closer, settling into it as he always did. “I so badly wish I could have seen it.”
Victoria’s eyes flicked briefly to him before returning to the exposed organs before her. “Seen what?”
“The crow you resurrected. You should be so proud of yourself. I detest that I didn’t witness it.” A rough sound caught in his throat. “I don’t tell you often enough how unbelievably proud I am of you.”
Candlelight glittered against the metal tray as Victoria blinked, her eyes stinging.
“I can only imagine how much it frustrates you not to share your medical accomplishments with the world,” Alphonse continued.
“Though I can empathize slightly—it has taken everything within me not to tell Dr. Paranthal and every surgeon I know how naturally talented you are. And I imagine that feeling must be amplified a thousandfold for you, knowing you cannot revel in the glory you have earned.”
Victoria shook her head and shrugged awkwardly—so much so that it nearly caused her to slice into something she very much was not meant to.
“The Gundstern brothers are coming tomorrow, so make certain that all the notes and everything is locked away—especially old Inno here. They are nosy. Make certain the door is locked,” he said with a chuckle.
The cold of the laboratory bit sharply at Victoria’s teeth as she smiled, breath misting faintly in the air.
“Inno. I like that. Inno,” she repeated, testing the nickname as though it were something newly forged.
She thought she saw the flame of the apparatus brighten but felt her father’s eyes harden on her, so she didn’t dare look directly at the machine.
She wondered if he liked the nickname. It sounded strange and intimate coming from her father’s mouth. “Why are they coming tomorrow?”
“They’re installing the chain for our friend.” He tipped his head toward the body.
“A chain?” Victoria scowled, pausing her work as she lifted her wet, gloved hands, viscera glistening under the candlelight. “For what?”
“Because he is a monster, not a man now. Have you not been listening to me at all? Despite his brain and heart being replaced with the purest possible, they are still encased in the body of a lethal and skilled monster.” His voice hardened.
“Before the resurrection on Saturday, his ankles and hands are to be chained to the wall of the castle. With no exception. The chains will be long enough that he can still be stretched out on the table as it’s tilted up. ”
Victoria gave a small nod and returned to her work, fingers steady despite the weight pressing against her chest. She had to choose her battles carefully, and she was about to pick the biggest one yet.
“I don’t think we should kill him,” she said, already knowing how the words would land.
Despite herself, she loved her creation and wouldn’t let him die again if she were able to bring him back.
She knew he was a good person and had simply been misunderstood, she could feel it.
The man she built was no longer a feral killer but a kind and good man.
“Vic—” he warned.
“Why not?” She didn’t look up. “Suppose he is good and kind? You’ve already said that with the heart of a saint, he would be pure as an angel. Which I still deserve to know how you came to possess,” she added, finally glancing at him, watching the discomfort flicker across his face.
“You do not need to know where I acquire the supplies for our experiments,” he snapped.
“And Inno could reanimate with angel wings and I would not hesitate to kill him. I have warned you repeatedly, Victoria, not to grow attached. I have heard you speaking to him as though he were already alive. He is not your friend. He is an experiment.”
Heat rushed to her face, burning scarlet with embarrassment.
“I enjoy a captive audience,” she muttered, attempting to disguise her mortification.
Silently, she prayed he hadn’t overheard the moments that had begun as gentle venting and ended with her unraveling completely.
It happened at least once a week. What would he think if he knew how frequently she let her hand sit atop Inno’s just to bring her comfort?
“I thought, in your state, that a bit of venting might do you some good,” Alphonse continued, frustration sharpening his tone. “But you’ve already grown attached. He is a dead body, my dear; he is not your friend.”
“He is my friend. I love him.” Victoria’s hands clamped over her mouth.
The whisper slipped from her mouth before she could stop it.
Her eyes widened as it echoed back to her, absurd and exposed.
Her shoulders folded inward, chin dipping as mortification swallowed her whole.
How foolish. Father or not, he would surely believe her mad now—befriending and loving a dead man. She shook her head, horrified.
“Victoria.” His voice softened, pity threading through it. “I will make certain you are not involved. But if we are successful, he will not remain alive longer than twelve hours. I will make it as painless for it—him—and for you as I can.” He cleared his throat.
Embarrassment burned through her body as she nodded silently. A grotesque, heavy ache drove into her ribs. The hollow lightness in her stomach had turned to lead, bleeding downward into her legs, rooting her to the floor like one of the leafless old oaks outside the castle walls.
“The saint’s heart will be ready to prep tomorrow,” Alphonse continued. “And the brain should be ready as well. When Inno awakens, he will be as pure and innocent as Adam.” Then, as though discussing something trivial, he added, “Speaking of which—etch your name onto his lower rib with that blade.”
“What?” Victoria tilted her head. The candlelight caught in her glossy black hair, crowning her briefly in a soft, haloed glow.
“God created Eve from one of Adam’s ribs,” Alphonse said. “By all accounts, you are the god of this Adam. He is your creation.”
Though the idea felt preposterous—almost obscene—something about it wrapped around her like a silk ribbon.
She couldn’t explain why, but the thought of Innominatus—this passive companion, this near lifelong project—bearing her name within the very structure of his body stirred a quiet, unsettling pleasure.
Before her father could reconsider, she reached for the sharpest blade within reach and carefully etched Victoria into the rib bone. He belonged to her and only her now.
“There,” her father said, a proud glint in his eyes as he surveyed the body, “now your work is almost complete. Sew up his chest tonight, but leave space to work on his heart tomorrow. It will be a long few days if our boy is to be ready by Saturday.” He fought a yawn, pressing his lips together as fatigue tugged at him.
Her gaze drifted across the unmoving form.
“It’s a shame he will have so many scars and patches on him.
” Her eyes traced the contours of his beautiful face.
“I did what I could with the burns on his face—you can hardly tell now, except for the several lines of scars…until you look at the burns on his ear and the side of his neck…”
“He looks like a calico cat,” Alphonse replied coolly, “and it’s not a shame.
He cannot survive.” His voice hardened. “People, above all else, hate things they don’t understand, things that are not like them.
They would not take well to what we have done.
If we did not kill him, they would kill all of us for our crimes against nature—if he did not beat them to it and destroy us himself. ”