Frankenstein – The Monster, The Man, and the Madness

The fire in the Immortal Gazette’s great hall burned low, casting flickering shadows along the stone walls. Alice perched on the arm of Loki’s chair, absently twirling a silver spoon between her fingers, her blue eyes twinkling with mischief. Loki, lounging as if he owned the place, watched her with amusement, humming a tune that sounded suspiciously like a funeral march.

Rumplestiltskin entered, eyeing them both with open suspicion. His gaze lingered on Alice—she was far too happy—and then on Loki, who was draping his cloak over her shoulders with an air of practiced ease.

“Why,” Rumple drawled, “does this feel… wrong?”

Alice grinned, too sweetly. “We were just discussing a certain doctor. A man who thought he could play god.”

Rumple sighed. “Ah. That one.” He settled into his chair, steepling his fingers. “Shall we talk about the tale that made people fear science, grave robbing, and—most of all—the consequences of unchecked ambition?”

Loki smirked. “Oh, let’s.”

The Birth of a Monster: A Dark and Stormy Beginning

It all began on a dark and stormy night—quite literally. In 1816, the Year Without a Summer, a volcanic eruption had darkened the skies, and a group of literary greats found themselves trapped inside a Swiss villa, seeking entertainment. Among them? Lord Byron, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and, of course, Mary Shelley, an 18-year-old woman who would go on to change literature forever.

During a ghost story challenge, young Mary had a nightmare—a vision of a scientist giving life to a horrifying creation. That vision became Frankenstein: or, The Modern Prometheus, published in 1818.

“Prometheus?” Loki raised an eyebrow. “Did he steal fire and give it to mankind?”

Alice smirked. “Sort of. He stole knowledge—the power of life itself. And he was punished for it.”

Victor Frankenstein: The Man Who Played God

Dr. Victor Frankenstein was not the monster—though that’s a mistake many make. No, Victor was the young scientist obsessed with unlocking the secret of life. He dug up body parts from graves, stitched them together, and, using some unnamed science (lightning? Alchemy? Pure madness?), he created life.

A miracle? Hardly.

The moment his creature opened its eyes, Victor was horrified. He had wanted beauty, but what he saw—tall, grotesque, unnatural—filled him with revulsion. So, naturally, he did what any responsible scientist would do.

He ran.

Loki chuckled darkly. “He spent all that time creating life and then immediately abandoned it?”

Rumple scoffed. “Cowardly and stupid. That never ends well.”

The Creature: A Soul Without a Name

Now, let’s talk about the real tragedy—the Creature. Not “Frankenstein.” Just the Creature.

Unlike the horror-movie versions, Shelley’s Creature was intelligent, emotional, and desperately seeking connection. He tried to be good. He learned language. He admired humanity. He read Paradise Lost and saw himself in both Adam—the first of his kind—and Satan—the cast-out, unwanted being.

But humanity was cruel.

People screamed. Attacked him. Feared him. Even his own creator rejected him.

Loki’s smirk faded. “So, they turned him into the monster they already believed him to be.”

Alice nodded. “Exactly.”

Hurt and enraged, the Creature sought revenge. He killed Victor’s brother. Framed an innocent girl. And when Victor still refused to acknowledge him, he gave his creator an ultimatum:

"Make me a companion. Someone like me, so I won’t be alone."

Victor, racked with guilt, agreed. But halfway through creating the female creature, he destroyed her.

Loki whistled. “Ah. He really didn’t think that through, did he?”

Rumple shook his head. “Of course not. He’s a man of science, not common sense.”

In retaliation, the Creature killed Victor’s wife, Elizabeth, on their wedding night. A final, brutal lesson in loneliness.

The Pursuit and the End

Victor, now consumed by vengeance, chased his creation to the ends of the Earth—literally. They battled across frozen wastelands, until Victor finally collapsed from exhaustion. Before he died, he warned of the dangers of unchecked ambition, of playing god.

The Creature, finding his creator dead, felt… empty. His purpose—revenge—was gone. He vowed to end his own existence, walking into the Arctic wasteland to disappear forever.

The Themes: A Warning in the Dark

Frankenstein wasn’t just a horror story. It was a warning.

Unchecked ambition? Dangerous.
Playing god? A mistake.
Abandoning responsibility? Leads to disaster.

Victor was a modern Prometheus, but instead of fire, he gave life—and in doing so, cursed himself and his creation.

Loki tapped his chin. “It seems to me that the real monster was never the Creature.”

Alice raised an eyebrow. “You almost sound sympathetic.”

Loki grinned. “What can I say? I understand being created for one purpose, then cast out when others don’t like the result.”

Rumple chuckled darkly. “And you like chaos too much to be truly sympathetic.”

Rumple’s Cursed Painting: A Twist in the Tale

As the fire crackled, Rumple leaned forward. “Speaking of curses… I once tried something similar.”

Alice and Loki exchanged amused glances. “Oh?”

Rumple smirked. “A self-portrait. Cursed, of course. I thought, what if I locked my worst sins inside it? A reflection of my darkest deeds. An eternal reminder.” He sighed dramatically. “Now it haunts me. Every time I look in a mirror, I see it—warped, twisted, a shadow of everything I wanted to forget.”

Loki and Alice stared at him.

Then, simultaneously:

“Wow.”
“That’s tragic.”

A beat.

Then Alice grinned. “You’re making that up, aren’t you?”

Rumple scowled. “I am not.”

Loki nodded, mock-serious. “Of course not. It’s just incredibly convenient that we’ve never seen this cursed painting.”

Alice patted Rumple’s hand. “It’s okay. We believe you.”

Rumple’s eye twitched. “You’re mocking me.”

Alice giggled. Loki hummed a very pleased tune.

With an exaggerated sigh, Rumple slumped back in his chair, arms crossed. “You’re both insufferable.”

Loki flicked his fingers, adding another log to the fire. “And yet, you always come back for these little storytelling nights.”