The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein

by Kiersten White

For everyone made to feel like a side character in their own story

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

I, however, was perfectly aware of my beauty. I considered it a skill, alongside speaking French, English, Italian, and German. It was a language of its own, in a way; one that translated well in different circumstances.

I had become this girl in order to survive, but the longer I lived in her body, the easier it was to simply be her.

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

“You are mine, Elizabeth Lavenza, and nothing will take you from me. Not even death.”

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

I knew what it was to be rotten in the core—to hide sharp teeth behind a serene smile.

Wealthy men did whatever they wanted, after all.

I had wanted both Victor and Henry for my own. It was inevitable I would lose one.

“No!” Justine took my cheeks between her hands, the cold iron of her manacles brushing my jaw. “Dearest Elizabeth. My beloved. My only friend. Live, and be happy. Honor me that way. Remember me by having the life I dreamed of for you, the life you deserve.”

Perhaps that explained the military aggression of this tiny island country: they could never feel the edges of their land, so they pushed forever outward.

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

I was exactly who they wanted me to be. Who Victor’s father and mother had groomed me to be. Who Victor had created me to be. I was a prisoner.

would remain until Victor was ready for me. And then, because he was a man and I his wife, they would hand me over to him, and he would finally have full power over both my body and soul. And no one would help me. And no one would care.

“Not being blameless is not the same as being guilty.”

The family that had nearly destroyed me had inadvertently given me a new family.

“It was not his mind I loved. It was his esteem for me. He valued me when no one else did. And I thought it made me special, that he loved only me. I should have realized that his inability to love anyone else just meant something was wrong with him.”

With a teenage girl, because, as Mary Shelley proved, nothing is more brilliant or terrifying than that.