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halfamoonTitle: Red and Cold
Fandom: Frankenstein 2025
Pairing/Characters: Elizabeth Harlander, light Elizabeth/the Creature
Rating: PG
Summary: More than a ghost.
A/N: I've been wanting to write something about Elizabeth since I saw the movie, and the prompt "The Innocent" really reminded me of her. Also fills my 100ships table prompt #09 (Arctic).
Elizabeth had never been a great lover of ghost stories; she preferred the sciences, even as a girl, though perhaps her science allowed more for the uncanny than that of men like Victor Frankenstein. Of course, she remembered the tales of childhood — the maidens wronged, the innocents murdered, the sweethearts sundered — the spirits haunting cemeteries and crossroads.
She was nothing so insubstantial. Whatever manner of creature she had become — and she would discover it, given the time, classify it, find a way to call it by name — she was as pale as her wedding dress and as cold as the stone where she breathed her last. Yet, entirely real.
She was a red stain spilling out across the Arctic ice.
She was something altogether new, and she was waiting. For him.
When he found her, he wrapped his furs around her shoulders even though she no longer felt the chill. He touched her cheek with trembling fingers. Large, gentle, inhuman yet hardly monstrous. Afraid, perhaps, that she was only a spirit after all.
“How is this possible?” he asked.
“We will find out,” she told him, laying her hand over his and turning her head to kiss the palm. “Together.”
Fandom: Frankenstein 2025
Pairing/Characters: Elizabeth Harlander, light Elizabeth/the Creature
Rating: PG
Summary: More than a ghost.
A/N: I've been wanting to write something about Elizabeth since I saw the movie, and the prompt "The Innocent" really reminded me of her. Also fills my 100ships table prompt #09 (Arctic).
Elizabeth had never been a great lover of ghost stories; she preferred the sciences, even as a girl, though perhaps her science allowed more for the uncanny than that of men like Victor Frankenstein. Of course, she remembered the tales of childhood — the maidens wronged, the innocents murdered, the sweethearts sundered — the spirits haunting cemeteries and crossroads.
She was nothing so insubstantial. Whatever manner of creature she had become — and she would discover it, given the time, classify it, find a way to call it by name — she was as pale as her wedding dress and as cold as the stone where she breathed her last. Yet, entirely real.
She was a red stain spilling out across the Arctic ice.
She was something altogether new, and she was waiting. For him.
When he found her, he wrapped his furs around her shoulders even though she no longer felt the chill. He touched her cheek with trembling fingers. Large, gentle, inhuman yet hardly monstrous. Afraid, perhaps, that she was only a spirit after all.
“How is this possible?” he asked.
“We will find out,” she told him, laying her hand over his and turning her head to kiss the palm. “Together.”
