The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein

by Kiersten White

Words and stories were tools to elicit the desired reactions in others, and I was an expert craftswoman.

Henry had asked if I was happy. I was safe, and that was better than happy.

“I had to save you,” he said, blinking as though seeing me and not seeing me at once. “I am better.” “But you will not always be. Someday death will claim you. And I will not allow it.” His eyes narrowed, and his voice trembled with fury and determination. “You are mine, Elizabeth Lavenza, and nothing will take you from me. Not even death.”

“Oh, I like you, Elizabeth Lavenza. I like you very much. I am a little bit afraid of you, but I think that makes me like you more. Well. I am going to throw your cloak out with the trash—in someone else’s neighborhood, of course—and then we are going to fetch Justine and check on your Victor.”

“I have been stuck in the business of books for so long, I forgot how much fun being a part of a story can be.”

They had stripped us of everything we were taught made us women, and then told us we were mad.

“I am not blameless.” “Not being blameless is not the same as being guilty.” Mary smiled gently at me.