Chapter 4

"Some people seek the past not to remember it, but to understand why it hurts so much not to have it."

— Anonymous fragment of an unreturned letter, found in a forgotten mansion.

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Chapter 4: Shadows and Breakups

Pov. Eva.

The days were getting longer.

Eva noticed it, not because of the passing of the sun—which she rarely looked at directly—but because of the rhythm of her thoughts. Once vague, now more distinct. Once foreign, now hers.

Her relationship with Lea continued to progress, the distance between them narrowing further with each day. Although the servant showed no emotion, she felt herself enjoying her presence more and more. I think. Maybe.

Understanding what she was thinking was complicated.

She continued to spend her time wandering around the mansion, guided no longer by simple curiosity but by a deeper impulse. A quiet need to understand.

"Curiosity, yes, that would be the word," Eva thought after a moment.

During one of those walks, she came to a corridor she hadn't noticed before.

Narrow, with dusty stained-glass windows that filtered the light in dull tones. The walls, decorated with old paintings, showed faces she didn't recognize, but that something in her heart seemed to remember.

One, in particular, stopped her. Clean and maintained in a condition incomparable to the others.

It was the portrait of a young woman. Beautiful. With light hair and serene eyes. The painting was aged, but her gaze still seemed to shine. There was no plaque. No name.

But Eva couldn't tear her eyes away.

Behind her, Lea passed without stopping, but she let a few words fall, with measured softness:

"The master's mother," she fixed her expressionless gaze on her. "Touching is prohibited."

Eva didn't respond. She didn't even nod. But something in her expression changed: a hint of wonder... and longing. As if that face lost in oil had awakened yet another crack in her memory.

Seeing the lack of reaction, Lea tried again:

"It would be better... if you forgot you saw him. You might anger Master Victor."

Eva didn't respond. Her attention remained riveted on the painted eyes that stared at her from the canvas as if they wanted to tell her something.

Lea watched her for a few more seconds. And, for the first time, her expression changed.

Very slightly. Barely a twitching at the corner of her lips. Barely a drooping, imperceptible, of her eyelids. Concern. Brief. Fleeting.

But she said nothing more. She just turned and continued with her work, leaving Eva alone in front of the portrait… and the memory that she didn't yet know hurt.

That night, she couldn't sleep.

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"The woman in the family portrait room?"

The voice was soft, with an unexpected hint of humor. Eva nodded silently, with a small gesture, like an attentive dog. She didn't know why, but that woman—that other being like Lea—seemed less distant. More… warm. More alive.

Her name was Emma, ​​the cook.

She had met her days before.

Or perhaps it would be better to say that she was the one who found her?

Eva had been wandering aimlessly, guided by an unfamiliar smell wafting through the halls: warm bread, something sweet and buttery.

She hadn't known such a place existed in the mansion until she pushed open the kitchen door.

There, the air was different. More human. More real.

The woman was already there, with her back to me, humming softly as she stirred something in a pot. Her hair was tied back, her apron neat, and her movements slow but sure.

The woman was already there, with her back to us, humming softly as she stirred something in a pot. Her hair was tied back, her apron neat, and her movements slow but confident.

Eva hadn't said anything. She just took a step inside.

Then, without turning around, the woman said:

"One usually announces oneself when one enters a room without asking," in a light, almost amused tone.

It was the first time Eva had heard something resembling a joke.

She stood still, puzzled... but not uncomfortable. When the cook finally turned to look at her, her eyes were dark, but not empty like Lea's. They didn't have that exact coldness. There was something else in them: not warmth, but humanity.

Like someone used to seeing strange creatures approaching with hunger.

"You may sit. But don't touch the knives, you might cut yourself," she said. There was an air about her that made her instinctively want to obey her resemblance...to Mother.

And since then, Eva returned a few times.

Not every day. Not like with Lea. But often enough that her presence was no longer a surprise.

And now, that same woman was looking at her as she kneaded bread on a floured table, repeating, as if to confirm that she had heard correctly the first time:

"That's the previous lady of the house, Master Victor's mother."

For a moment, the kitchen fell silent. Eva's eyes slowly widened.

"Victor... his mother?"

The question came out softly, almost unexpectedly. Eva looked up, surprised by that word, as if it were a sound lost in her memory.

"Mother…"

That word echoed in her mind, louder than anything else.

The woman in front of her, the cook, seemed mildly amused by her reaction, but still remained composed.

"Caroline. Caroline Frankenstein," the cook murmured, with an almost reverent pause. "The best teacher this mansion ever had."

Eva repeated the name in her mind. Caroline. She wrapped it carefully, as if it were a fragile word.

As if she knew—without knowing how—that one day he would come looking for her.

"So, answer me. Do you need anything else, dear?" the woman asked calmly, briefly pausing her work.

Eva shook her head, somewhat dazed, and with a final thank you, headed toward the kitchen door.

"I'd tell you to be careful," Emma said, briefly halting Eva's advance. "Master Victor loved the lady very much. He still stops in front of that painting every day to admire it."

The next thing she said had a small hint of concern, the first Eva had received directly since birth:

"You might incur his wrath if you inquire too deeply about her."

Eva thought for a moment, her gaze fixed on the door through which she had left, saddened.

I'm sorry, Emma... she thought. But I don't think I could stop, even if I wanted to.

She simply didn't believe she was capable of it.

The image of Caroline Frankenstein's portrait had taken root in her mind, awakening a growing desire to understand, to know more.

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Pov. Third person.

The next day, guided by the new impulse she'd awakened the day before, Eva returned to the hallway. In addition to observing the painting, she decided to look for more information somewhere else nearby.

She waited for Lea to disappear from her sight and gently pushed open a nearby door.

Inside, a dusty room, its furniture covered in white sheets, held a stagnant air of secrets.

On a table, a closed photo album caught her attention.

Eva opened it carefully. The images were worn, but they showed moments: a childhood, a youth, a family. Victor appeared in some, younger, with a different, less broken smile.

There was warmth in those photos. A warmth he'd never shown her.

They were from before the Moonlit World began to undermine his humanity, before he began his formal training as heir to the family.

Not that there was any way for her to know this.

She turned the pages one by one, as if by touching them she could understand who he was… and why he regarded her with such contempt.

And then, in the silence, something creaked.

A distant sound, but real. As if the house itself had held its breath.

This made Eva stop. A chill ran down her spine.

It was only for a moment, though.

After she got over the initial shock, she continued looking through the album.

She also began searching through the few documents in the room.

Yellowed pages, letters written in faded ink, blurry photographs that showed a woman with a sweet look and a serene countenance.

Each detail captivated her more, and although her understanding was limited, she felt that those pieces formed a puzzle that she had to complete.

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Meanwhile, in the study, Victor Frankenstein remained secluded.

The days had left a deeper shadow under his eyes, a stiffness in his body that didn't lift even in sleep.

His skin, once pale but firm, now displayed the fragility of someone carrying an invisible weight.

The demarcated field was still active, vibrant with magical energy, marking Eva's every movement.

Victor knew where she was, felt her presence, even when she didn't realize it. Anger bubbled beneath his skin, mixed with fear and a sadness he didn't dare face.

Yet he still did nothing.

Not because he didn't want to, but because something in his mind prevented him from acting.

Perhaps the wait, perhaps the vain hope that Eva would become that idealized "Eva," or simply the fear of losing the last link to what he had created.

He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and clenched his fists. The distant echo of a name resonated in his head: Caroline.

"Mom..."

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Pov. Eva.

Another month passed without Eva noticing.

She maintained her usual routine, following Lea around as discreetly as ever, although now she seemed distracted, her mind occupied with her newly acquired "hobby."

Although she had explored most of the mansion, the information she found about Victor's mother didn't much exceed what she'd found in that first room.

And with the office and workshop closed, she was running out of places to explore.

Her hunger for knowledge remained raw, now even painful.

As she walked beside Lea, her eyes fell on a window overlooking the outside.

She paused for a moment, gazing at a landscape of tombstones covered in moss and flowers.

It was a cemetery, right next to the mansion.

"What's that?" she asked in a low voice.

"Master Victor's family cemetery," Lea replied without looking at her.

She paused for a moment and added a few more words. Although she felt her actions were a mistake, she decided to speak:

"Master Victor's mother is there."

Eva froze. Lea, seeing this, walked away and continued her tasks, a kind of gesture of consideration.

Eva didn't notice this; she remained staring at the place.

"So... Master Victor's mother is there too," she thought with a mixture of curiosity and melancholy.

Her hunger howled like a wolf that had found its prey.

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For the first time since waking, Eva stepped outside the mansion.

The cold, sharp air caressed her skin, a strange but vivid sensation, different from the silent and oppressive confinement of the hallways.

Her eyes scanned the gray, austere grounds of the cemetery.

The tombstones stood like motionless shadows under a cloudy sky, and the earth seemed to hold silences that the wind barely dared to disturb.

As she approached a corner, she noticed a small group of wild white roses sprouting between the stones, delicate and colorful despite the gloomy surroundings.

In that instant, a memory surfaced clearly in her mind: she, in another life, had walked through a similar cemetery. Several times. And she was not alone.

The memory came like a gentle but steady gust.

Eva saw herself, in a distant and forgotten time, walking through a cemetery under a leaden sky.

Her hands held a small bouquet of fresh flowers, white roses with petals still damp from the morning dew.

Beside her, a nearby figure—perhaps a brother or a friend—walked silently, letting the silence speak for them.

The feel of the cold ground beneath her feet, the earthy scent mingled with the sweet perfume of the flowers, and the soft whisper of the wind between the gravestones—all became vivid and achingly real.

A slight shiver ran through her body, but also a sweet warmth, a bond that transcended time.

Shaking off the memory, Eva found herself once again standing before the real cemetery.

With trembling hands, she plucked a few nearby white roses and gathered a small makeshift bouquet.

Respects had to be paid to the deceased.

She walked among the graves, searching. There were many names, several different, others similar, some even repeated. The only thing they had in common was the surname: Frankenstein.

Finally, she found it: the simple, austere headstone marking Carolina Frankenstein's grave.

For a moment, she didn't know what to say; she felt lost and confused. In the end, she let her body move on its own, copying the actions of the memory she saw.

"Hello... Mrs. Frankenstein..." she spoke after a moment. "I-I brought... this for you."

Eva approached, and as she tried to arrange the flowers, the sharp thorns of the roses pricked and scratched the skin of her fingers.

A thin trickle of blood trickled down her hands, staining the immaculate petals with a deep, painful blush.

Her attention was completely focused on the grave in front of her.

"You... what are you doing?" A harsh voice broke the silence, freezing the air around her.

Eva turned slowly and, a few steps away, saw Victor. His eyes reflected a mixture of suppressed anger, fear, and despair.

He had left the moment he heard his creation leave the mansion and head here.

The man who had always avoided confronting her now stared at her, disturbed by that disturbing scene: flowers covered in blood, held by the hands of his creation, about to be offered at the grave of his beloved mother.

She felt something in her mind break with a dry, deep crack.

Eva felt her chest tighten.

She knew her heart was racing, she felt it pounding. Her gaze fixed on Victor, searching for some sign, some different reaction... but she only found a whirlwind of confusing, poisonous emotions.

"I'm sorry..." she murmured, her voice breaking, bowing her head, feeling the pain of the thorns, of the blood staining the flowers. "I didn't mean to... disturb."

Unbeknownst to her, her words only worsened the storm in the alchemist's mind.

Victor took a step forward, his face torn by an internal struggle between rage, fear, and a sadness he didn't want to acknowledge.

"Why are you doing this?" he whispered hoarsely. "Why do you insist on being something you shouldn't be?"

Eva raised her head slowly. Her eyes were confused.

...Excuse me?

"You should be perfect!" Victor suddenly shouted, causing Eva to back away in fear. The bouquet of roses fell from her hands, forgotten on the floor.

"I idealized you as Adam's mother! You would recreate Genesis! You would reverse the origin of humanity!" he continued, ranting like a madman. Eve took another step back. Her face showed more bewilderment than understanding. And more fear than ever. "You would give birth to the prefect!"

"Wise! Beautiful! Demure! Ideal! No..."

Victor stopped.

His face contorted, as if he were searching for the right words. As if he needed to express something he himself didn't fully understand.

In the end, he settled on a furious pronouncement:

"...not this before me!!!"

With that last cry, the man fell silent. Panting heavily, his chest heaving. But his eyes... his eyes, still fixed on his creation, were broken. And what shone in them was not resolve.

With that last scream, the man fell silent. Gasping hard, his chest heaving. But his eyes... his eyes, still fixed on his creation, were broken. And what shone in them wasn't resolve.

It was panic.

An emotion Eve shared.

Despite the newfound stability she'd achieved, her mind still struggled to comprehend the situation.

In the end, she decided that, although they hadn't interacted much... she didn't want Victor to feel sad. Perhaps it was a sign of the bond between creator and creation that somehow united them.

"I don't understand... what you mean..." she spoke slowly, her voice trembling, unsure of the right words. "I'm not perfect... or wise... or ideal."

Victor's fists began to bleed.

His teeth were clenched so tightly that a soft crunch escaped between them.

No, that's not what I want to hear. Stop. Stop talking. STOP TALKING.

"But… I could change. Be like this… if you show me how…" Her voice, though weak, held a faint tremor of hope. "Because I want to be… more than this. For you to see me… as more than a shadow. More than a mistake."

Silence enveloped them. Only for an instant.

And in that instant, something inside Victor finally snapped.

All the pressure, the guilt, the hatred for his own work, for himself… it all exploded into a blind rage.

"Damn it!" he roared, and without thinking, he threw a punch straight at Eva's face.

She staggered. The force of the impact knocked her back several steps, but she didn't fall.

Victor moved forward.

Another blow. And another. His fury consumed him, and with each blow, his words became more inhuman.

"You're just a failed puppet!" he screamed.

"You're not Eva! You're not even human!"

"Why are you acting like this?!"—another blow—"Why are you pretending to feel?! You don't even have feelings!"

Eva fell to the ground. She didn't fight back.

Victor leaned over her, and the punches continued, raw, blind, fueled by the terror now clothed in anger.

"Fucking abomination!" he roared in her face.

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Pov. Third person.

Rain began to fall on the cemetery.

Victor kept raining down blow after blow on his creation. All the rage, fear, disgust, and pain accumulated over the weeks were released in that formless and senseless violence.

Eva's gaze was lost. The rain and her creator's fury covered her like one and the same.

Why...?

The question arose in her mind, as fragile as it was painful.

Why are you doing this to me...?

What did I do wrong...?

Her face burned. Her cheeks, already swollen, were beginning to distort under the blows. And yet, she didn't fight back. She didn't understand.

I just wanted to give your mother flowers...

Is that wrong?

Then a strange heat began to ignite in her chest.

It wasn't the gentle warmth she'd felt in the past few days. It was wilder. Older. More visceral: ANGER.

I said I would change.

That I would try to be what you wanted...

So you wouldn't feel bad...

And you do this to me?!

Victor's words wove through the air and her mind like razor blades:

"Useless puppet! Mistake!"

She gritted her teeth.

"How dare you approach my mother, you... impure aberration!"

Her breathing became erratic. Fear and rage were beginning to mix inside her, forming a dark, suffocating vortex.

"I shouldn't have created you!" Victor's voice thundered, pulling her out of her inner spiral.

The knocking stopped.

"Right... heh, that's true."

Hahahaha... HAHAHAHA!!!

A deranged laugh tore from Victor's throat.

"This was a mistake..." he whispered, his voice cracking.

Shut up.

"I was wrong from the start..."

Shut up.

"It's obvious you're not Eva... why did I bother supporting you from day one?"

Shut up.

"You were nothing more than..."

Shut up!

"...a vile and horrendous mons-"

SHUT UP!!!

Eva's scream came from the depths of her being. It was a harrowing, primitive, broken voice. And, beside him, her arm rose, moved by pure rage and pain.

It wasn't a technical blow.

It wasn't human.

It was an explosion of the soul. Of pent-up fury.

An instinctive response.

The impact struck Victor in the chest with such force that it threw him several meters back, smashing against gravestones before collapsing to the damp earth.

The physical damage wasn't lethal.

But the mental effect was devastating.

Victor raised his head, soaked, dirty, ruined… and with his eyes completely dominated by panic.

Eva, still trembling, took a step back. Her breathing was labored, the arm she'd struck hurt, and yet what hurt most was what she'd just done.

"I'm sorry..." he murmured, barely audible. "I didn't mean to hurt you..."

But Victor, stripped of all dignity, his soul completely broken, could only crawl back among the graves, soaked and trembling.

"G-get away from me..." he whispered in a strangled voice. "Monster..."

Tears mingled with the rain on his face.

And before Eva could say anything else, Victor scrambled to his feet and ran toward the mansion, leaving behind the echo of his scream...

...and a wound that neither of them could ever heal.

Victor disappeared into the shadows of the mansion.

Eva remained motionless in the rain, her body trembling, not from the cold… but from something deeper.

She lowered her gaze.

Her right arm—the one she'd used to strike—still hung slightly raised, as if her mind couldn't command it to lower.

She studied him. The same arm that had once held flowers was now trembling after having pushed its creator into the abyss of fear.

Raindrops ran down her skin, mixing with dried blood, with mud… and with something else.

Shame.

Dread.

Her legs lost strength.

She fell to her knees on the wet earth, among the silent gravestones, the dirty bandages sticking to her skin.

"N-no..." she whispered in a barely audible voice, looking at her arm, her hand, her act. "II didn't..."

Her eyes opened with suppressed pain, and a soundless word caught in her throat.

A tear rolled down her cheek.

And so, under the relentless rain, among the graves and ashes of broken bonds, Eva realized that something inside her had died too.

End of Chapter 4

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And that's it, Chapter 4. I hope everyone who reads it enjoys it. Any comments or criticisms are always welcome.