Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The humans of Salem were comparably ordinary beings; ordinary, in the sense that they held the same fears as the average citizen. Everything under the category of werewolves and vampires was the physical embodiment of their worst nightmares. With that in mind, the citizens of Belrive could hardly be described as ordinary, given how their fears took on a slightly different form.

Dismal raindrops pattered against the arched windows through which faint flickers of gloomy light streamed in, leaving the wood-paneled corridors inside with a muted, colorless appearance. Three pairs of shoes drummed against the floor in perfect unison. Two pairs belonged to the bulky security guards, the other to the pallid boy they guided in front of themselves. The crowds of students among them immediately dissipated at the hands of their presence. Some hurried into classrooms, others pressed themselves against their lockers, while their contorted faces all expressed the same fear and apprehension. But they could all heave a sigh of relief when this boy had been led into a secluded classroom, and the door was slammed shut behind him. 

Being well-acquainted with this procedure, he mechanically collapsed behind the sole desk in the middle of the otherwise empty and dimly-lit room. He scooted forward in his chair, and fiddled with his thumbs until the door opened once again. 

In strutted a woman; one with hair that more closely resembled grayish yarn tied up as neatly as its frizzy texture allowed. Her heels clicked as she approached the teacher’s desk. She dropped her books on top of it, the thud causing every grain of dust to shoot up and float back down as elegantly as tiny feathers. Once she had arranged her many books to lay in a perfectly straight pile, she pasted an approachable smile onto her wrinkled face in preparation to greet her students. 

But upon seeing this one boy, her face lost any and all splashes of color. Her hand flew to her mouth to suppress a blood-curdling shriek of terror. Without bothering to pick up her books, she rushed out of the room, pushed past the students, and barged into the principal’s office. 

She hurried towards the well-dressed gentleman sitting behind his hardwood desk; a man accompanied by the dove perched on his shoulder, and his elegant, red-haired assistant standing nearby. Upon seeing him, she couldn’t grasp how he could seem so unbothered, with how he was calmly signing paperwork instead of acknowledging this horrible threat. 

“Back so soon?” he asked, his gaze still glued to the moving quill in his hands. “Might I assist you with anything? Do not be afraid to ask; I know how overwhelming a new job can be.”

The woman tried to speak, but only a senseless jabber of stutters came out. She gripped onto her purse as if it would protect her. 

A mere glance at her body language made him realize what this was all about. He left the quill in its inkwell, and said, “Victor, I presume?”

“Frankenstein?” she stammered. “Here? In your school?”

“Indeed,” he sighed while beholding her countenance, which conveyed more fear and disbelief than words ever could. “It’s hardly an ideal situation, I know. But I’m afraid we don’t have much of a choice; not unless you want him to follow in his parents’ footsteps. He must remain here, where his education can be kept under close surveillance for the safety of our people.”

“Why us, Principal Waldman?” she continued, remaining just as confused. “Don’t you think he’d be better off somewhere else? Somewhere like… did you read the paper this morning? Somewhere like that Monster High!”

“Pardon?”

She dug into her purse and pulled out the daily newspaper. “I read about it just this morning. It’s far away, located on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

Waldman squinted through his monocle as he skimmed through the front page. He muttered something about the school’s strange nature before returning the paper, and continued, “No, it needs to be done here. It needs to be done properly. No one without our history would know how to deal with these people. Tell me, and I hope you don’t find me rude, but do you want history to repeat itself?”

“No!” she gasped. “No, of course not.”

“Then please, I urge you; return to that classroom,” he pleaded, before reaching into his pocket to pull out his wallet and started fiddling with its contents. “How much would you like? I could give you a raise on the spot! And if that doesn’t suffice, I’d be more than happy to discuss your salary.”

Tears now glistened in her eyes. “I cannot accept it. I cannot! I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Waldman, but I quit. I cannot work in his presence. Not in the presence of a scientist!” she piped, and ran off. 

Through the gap in the door, Waldman watched her disappear down the corridor. He began to massage his temples and looked to his assistant. “I don’t suppose that you would be—”

She batted a thin eyebrow at him, clearly expressing her lack of enthusiasm for the idea.

“I see,” he sighed. “Well, then. Start looking for new teachers who might be up for the job. But before you do that, would you be a dear and go over there to dismiss him?”

Her forehead wrinkled as her brow arched even higher.

Waldman only wished to clasp his hands together and sincerely beg her to do it. Instead, he gathered his strength and rose from his chair. “I suppose I’ll do it myself then,” he said, controlling every aspect of his voice to conceal his reluctance. 

His hands grew clammy with every step he took through the dreary corridors, and he swallowed thickly in an attempt to moisten his dune-dry throat. He peeked into the secluded classroom, and with a quick gesture, he sent the boy home. 

Science is what haunted the citizens of Belrive. Instead of monster stories, the local parents scared their young with urban legends about scientists. The tales spoke of two such people and the disaster that had been caused by their chemical-gloved hands. But what Salem and Belrive had in common is that the latter also had experiences with monsters. That was all due to the aforementioned Frankenstein couple, whose blasphemous names had grown to become synonymous with their laboratory creations that once ravaged the town, wreaked havoc and eventually earned their creators’ places as mere stories. 

All that remained of them now was their son. Their son, who’d kept the town in a constant state of worry ever since the passing of his parents. There wasn’t a soul among the townsfolk who didn’t fear that their greatest nightmares might one day return, if the terrible study of science should ever tempt him. And now, this son of theirs had just been dismissed by his principal. 

Waldman stumbled back into his office, grasping the door frame with his trembling hands to keep himself from falling over. Glistening sweat coated his forehead as he returned to the safety of his desk. 

When he spotted a list on its surface, his mood only worsened. The paper creased in his firm grip as he scanned it with a look that only accentuated the discoloration about his heavy eyelids. It was yet another list of schools located in other towns that hadn’t strictly excluded science from the curriculum; schools that Victor would feverishly write down, and give to Waldman with the intention that he should send them applications regarding a transfer. 

And so the principal groaned, “Must he jump at every chance to study science? Can’t he learn from his parents’ mistakes? It’s foolish, I say! Foolish! You understand, don’t you, Miranda?” 

He received a nod of agreement from his assistant and continued, “That’s right! And we must all work together to keep this horrible security threat at bay!”

The last few words had him bashing a determined fist into his desk, causing the inkwell on its surface to wobble. 

* * *

In the outskirts of town, said security threat was on his way home. Raindrops gathered atop the circular lenses of his glasses, dotting his vision with muddled spots. The bare branches of the newly-budded trees served as little protection from the rain, where they stood atop the yellowed grass covering the vast fields by the side of the road. Only the chilly whooshes from the passing breeze were heard in his ears. 

It was quiet there. A deafening silence that could only compare to life’s greatest discomforts, which lingered wherever he went. Fortunately, Victor had discovered a foolproof solution to this loneliness. 

Far away from the center of Belrive, buried within an isolated glade, was a house; one with chipped paint that had once been white, which had turned gray following the spoilage of time. The wet stench of mold encapsulated every room, and the walls were what mice considered a place of luxury. Having retrieved the daily newspaper from the faraway mailbox, Victor stepped onto the porch, whose rotting wood creaked as he approached the front door. Well up there, he dug into his pocket, inserted the key into the lock, and turned it with a mechanical click. 

The first thing he did upon entering was to announce his arrival to his parents inside. 

Distant scratches accompanied the strange smells the forehall had to offer. Victor slipped into the kitchen, where the beige wallpaper with flowers splayed in all directions flaked off beneath the stained ceiling; a sight he barely saw through the droplets blurring his vision. He took off his glasses and started wiping off the rain-speckled lenses with the sleeve of his button-up shirt. As he did so, his gaze wandered towards the two blurry silhouettes hunched over the dinner table. His mismatched eyes, in their unhealthily purple sockets contrasting his sickly pale skin, instantly lit up at the sight of the couple. 

He proceeded to tangle his glasses into his dark hair, pushing the greasy strands back like a headband. He preferred to see them that way; blurry, so that their vague outlines seemed human. 

Victor threw the newspaper onto the dinner table. He took out a notebook and tore out a page, on which he would be writing down any new schools he’d come across in the paper. But before he got to work, he lowered himself onto the chair adjacent to the two figures, and started ranting to the pair. He stuttered excitedly about his day, the weather, and his delight about getting dismissed early, and went on to imagine how they would respond, had they only been alive. 

Then, he brought forward the newspaper. A mere glance at the front page gave him an addition to his list. He didn’t bother to read the article. All that mattered was that it was a school that presumably taught science and hadn’t yet rejected him; a school by the name of Monster High. 

* * *

“Monster High?” 

Waldman’s eyebrows drew together as he attempted to interpret the new list. He then put it aside and let out a forced chuckle, nervously clasping his hands atop the desk. “Monster High. Very amusing, Victor.”

“I want to transfer there,” replied his student, in a voice squeaky and vaguely nasal. He held his chin up high and straightened his posture, having the utmost confidence that luck would be in his favor this time. 

The principal squinted with scrutiny as he tried to make sense of him and his peculiar request. The confusion surrounding the matter almost drowned out the apprehension he felt in regards to being dangerously near this scrawny adolescent; a mere boy, no older than fifteen. 

“Victor, haven’t you read the paper?”

“I have indeed!”

“Then I can only assume you missed the part where it discusses how it’s a school for actual monsters. Do you really wish to spend every day among such creatures?”

Frankenstein looked to his side, scratching at the back of his neck. That idea hadn’t occurred to him. Yet, he promptly regained his confidence and continued, “That’s entirely trivial. I want to transfer there.”

The older gentleman turned to his assistant in search of feedback. But before she could utter a word, inspiration brightened his features. “So be it,” he said. “I’ll have your application written and sent as soon as possible.”

Victor was waved off, and his principal immediately began to work on the application. 

With just the two around, Waldman’s assistant hovered about him and sent curious peeks at the words seeping out of his quill. When she couldn’t contain her curiosity any longer, she leaned forward and asked, “What excuses are you going to throw in there now, that’ll make sure he gets rejected? Perhaps we should say that he harbors a number of highly contagious diseases, like we did last time? Or, what say we mention an extensive criminal record?” 

Before she could go on, Waldman had put his quill aside and was tucking the finished letter into an envelope. As he did so, he calmly explained that they would do nothing whatsoever to stop him from transferring. Then, he scribbled down the name Headmistress Nora Bloodgood, a name found within the article, atop the envelope before stamping its flaps in place. 

“But think of all the possible repercussions!” she blurted out, the surprise in her tone blending with frustration. She pointed a stiff, lecturing forefinger at this presumed madman while she went on. “Do you want him to follow in their footsteps? After everything that has happened?”

Despite this outburst, Waldman’s composure didn’t waver. He strode over to the window behind the desk, and brought his hand towards his shoulder, allowing his dove to move over to his finger. And after giving its feathered chin a quick scratch, the dove grabbed the letter in the firm grip of its sharp claws and swiftly soared off into the distance. 

An unmissable air of victory radiated from him as he watched its pale silhouette grow smaller along the misty skyline. 

Waldman turned around, revealing a knowing smirk. “Fear not. He'll be back before long.”

Chapter Text

Waldman’s dove soared over bustling cities as well as lifeless towns, above barren prairies and frost-covered mountain tops; it soared across continents with the wind brushing through its feathers, as it came to fly over Salem and the grand, although derelict castle looming atop a steep hill. 

Like a deliberate camouflage, the building’s pointed roof blended in with the evergreen treetops at its feet. Yet the wooden scaffolding lining the hollow walls clashed against its dark exterior, rendering it quite visible now that renovations for turning it into a school were underway.

The dove circled the area while trying to locate its recipient, all while the arrangements inside were up and about. Inside, a figure peeked through the gap between the red curtains; the ones reaching from floor to ceiling. He scanned his surroundings with his mechanical eye, its gear-shaped iris turning as it processed the image of the area. The other shone with ardour; the organic ability which the cogwheels lacked. 

He mumbled numbers under his breath. The built-in clocks on his copper-based arm ticked as he counted, all while its intricate machinery whirred smoothly. He partly hoped they hadn’t enrolled any ghosts; for if that was the case, how would he know which seats in the rows before him were occupied? 

Yet he settled on trusting his vision, although the ghost factor would explain why so many chairs looked empty. Roughly a dozen were occupied, thinly dispersed across the auditorium. Not one student sitting there was like the other. Twitching werewolf ears stood out as well as sharp fangs, bandage wraps, silvery scales in combination with fins, as well as with traits from monsters he hadn’t ever seen in person. 

Backstage, behind the red curtains, rays of light streamed in through the unfinished roof, lighting up various areas as if spotlights were pointed at them. The sharp clicks of a lady’s heeled boots increased in intensity as its echoes drew closer to the curtains. A quick glance at her gave the illusion of normality, but a closer inspection provided an eerie feeling that something about her wasn’t quite human. Elegantly dressed in violet with details of red, her bodice was more notable than her full skirt, with the wide lapels framing its front and the fashionable folds making out the hem of her gigot sleeves. The collar of her ruffled blouse, embellished by a bow, covered her typical dullahan characteristic; the gap separating her head from her neck. The sunlit spots she passed left her lean countenance appearing brightly pale and gave her dark hair a silky shine, seen in the crescent-curled bangs beneath a voluminous bun. 

She stopped by her associate’s side, intertwined her clawed fingers, and met his face; one that was rugged and firm, yet gentle in appearance, as you would expect of any ordinary gentleman from Londoom; ordinary, disregarding the mechanical modifications and part-fae lifespan stretching centuries. 

In her modulated and remarkably silvery voice, she went on to inquire about the audience. 

Her trusted associate plucked at the edges of his thick mustache, and smoothed out the wrinkles of his pinstripe vest to make himself appear particularly proper in her presence. Having straightened his tie, the color of which appropriately matched her violet attire, he reported, “13 students exactly. It appears they’ve all been able to make it, Headmistress.”

Headmistress Bloodgood nodded with a hint of delight. But before she could say another word, her gaze fell on a bundle of white feathers in her peripheral view, which flapped in through a hole in the roof. The dove soon perched itself on her colleague’s goggled top hat and the letter in its claws fluttered to the ground. 

The two exchanged surprised looks before he knelt down to grab it, automatically handing it to her. 

Bloodgood briefly flipped it around in her hands and returned it before long. “Do leave it on my desk, Hexiciah,” she instructed. “I’ll have a look at it after the opening ceremony.”

Hexiciah nodded, and watched as she advanced onto the stage. One could easily fall awestruck while she carried out her speech with such sheer elegance:

“Welcome, monsters; one and all. From this moment forward, I declare Monster High officially open. May her walls ever stand as a beacon of hope and acceptance for all monsterkind. It is my dream that her doors will forever remain open to all, and for the future to smile upon each and every one of us as we move forward into the dawn of…”

* * *

Nora Bloodgood lowered herself onto the velvet-clothed armchair behind her office desk. Lit sconces cast a warm glow upon the intricately carved shelves, densely packed with leather-bound books, lining the stone walls. She ran a paper knife through the envelope’s opening, and proceeded to pull out the letter. 

As her silver eyes wandered across the sentences, a wrinkle appeared between her well-marked brows. 

The door creaked open and her trusted associate stepped forward. As habit went, a cup of chamomile tea with minimal honey steamed in his hands; her favorite. The porcelain clattered against her desk as he placed it beneath her. 

“Hexiciah,” Nora began, immediately catching his gaze. She slipped the letter between her fingers and held it out for his taking. “Won’t you have a look at this?” 

Having handed him the letter, the Headmistress rose from her armchair. In her graceful and well-carried manner, she calmly stepped towards the tall windows with her hands clasped behind her back. Her pale fingers grazed the silky curtains, sweeping the burgundy fabric aside to study the view of the airy foyer, whose bricks were being pushed into place by her gargoyle construction workers. As she watched them scrape away the bricks’ excess plastering, the touch of lifelessness in her eyes mingled with an appearance of contemplation. 

“A human?” Hexiciah mused, confusion and disbelief lacing his voice. His dark eyebrows furrowed while he squinted at the sentences, proofreading to confirm their contents. 

“Indeed. A normie.”

“I… fail to see why a human would choose to be around monsters in times like this,” he added. “Certainly not willingly.”

“No matter,” she blankly replied, raising the cup to the crimson tint of her lips. “He shall make an excellent candidate.”

* * *

As soon as Waldman received a response to his letter, he called Victor into his office. The latter tried his hardest to keep himself from tearing the letter in two as he shakily tried to break the red seal of the envelope; a seal stamped with the letter B. 

When Victor pulled out the letter, two tiny scraps of paper fell out and fluttered to the ground. He dove down to pick them up and found upon closer examination that it was three tickets; two was for trains, the other for the ship that would sail him across the Atlantic Ocean; from Switzerland to North America. He then unfolded the letter, hoping to find an elaboration. 

The following strings of words were written on the stationery:

Victor Frankenstein, 

We have received and reviewed your application to become a student at Monster High, and it is with open arms that we welcome you to attend. Your traveling expenses have been paid for to ensure a safe and comfortable trip to Salem, Oregon. 

Five days from now, when your arrival is estimated, I shall personally meet with you in the premises and ensure that all is in order. 

We look forward to seeing you. 

Sincerely,

Headmistress Bloodgood

Victor immediately sprung up, threw his fist in the air, and bolted outside with the letter and tickets creasing in his grip. 

Waldman’s dismayed assistant watched as he disappeared out of the building. Even with Frankenstein out of sight, his maniacal cheers still echoed down the halls. She sent an icy glare towards her superior, tapping at her tightly crossed arms. Her eyes narrowed as she shook her head in disbelief. “Principal Waldman, this is utterly outrageous!” she fumed. “Why on earth would you permit him to leave?” 

“Tell me,” he calmly said, gazing at the ceiling as he mechanically flipped a quill between his fingers. “You’ve lived here all your life, have you not?” 

After receiving a reluctant nod, Waldman shifted in his seat and continued, “Then I take it you’ve never really lived among monsters, and do not realize the gravity of the situation. But I, myself, have lived in territory shared with them. I was among the ones who fled Belrive, following the Frankenstein disaster. I fled to London; or, Londoom, as those monsters call it. But my stay was only very brief, as I returned barely a year afterward. I was only lucky to find that the disaster was over by the dawn of my return to Belrive; but even so, I most certainly would’ve returned regardless.” 

A grave look occupied his eyes as he continued: “Dear Miranda, monsters are far greater terrors than scientists ever could be. In fact, most monster-infested cities have taken preventive measures to ensure they won’t be outnumbered by them; imprisonment, being one thing. And dare they commit even the smallest crimes, they best be ready to face the trick or treatment. And why is that? Because a human won’t last a week among them, let alone a day, would they become the minority. It is a known fact that those monsters are innately inclined towards violence, meaning that they’ll always dive straight at the chance to harm us. Just look at all the historical conflicts between us, and the casualties that have followed!”

Waldman stopped short to collect himself, but his efforts had little effect on his mood. A shaky sense of agitation filled his tone as he went on, “They must be kept under rule, for a human simply cannot last a day among them. But on that account, I highly doubt that this strange experiment will make it that long. Starting tomorrow, I’m sure the press will be overworking themselves when printing article after article saying ‘Monster High: the greatest mishap of the 19th century. Did its founders suddenly forget how monsters of different kinds have been at each other’s throats since the dawn of time, when proposing they should all go to school together?” 

He paused to cough forward a scoff. “As if humans and monsters aren’t already too different to coexist. Rest assured that Victor will be back. And when he does return from that warzone, he’ll have learned his lesson once and for all: to stay put, and give up on science at last.” 

The tension in his assistant’s face slipped away, and was replaced by an amused smirk. “I see. I’ll make sure his locker doesn’t get cleaned out in his absence, then.”

“Good thinking. He’ll be needing it before long.”

And so, they shared a good laugh while everything proceeded to unfold; one that echoed through the very depths of Belrive.

Chapter Text

Victor burst through the doors of his decomposing mansion. He sprinted upstairs while passing creaky floorboards and the familiar stench of mold. Up in his cluttered bedroom, he dove underneath his unmade bed and grabbed the first little bag he could find. 

He took his jar of savings and shook the few coins loose. They clinked as they fell into the small bag, where they soon became hidden beneath his plaid pajamas. 

He paused to debate whether or not to bring his chess table, but he stopped himself, figuring it would be a hassle to carry; and needing to take turns occupying both ends when playing was, at times, too tricky to be worthwhile. 

While he proceeded to hurry downstairs, he thought about the coins in his bag; about how lucky he was that his tickets had been paid for by another. Then, he thought about how fortunate it was that Waldman always agreed to write his applications, as he could barely afford the postage fee. 

But the moment he stepped outside, reluctance began to gnaw at him. Reluctance, with how he was leaving something important behind. He slowly turned around to send a final peek into the kitchen; a peek towards the two silhouettes sitting by the dinner table. He mechanically reached for his glasses. However, since he didn’t know when he would see them next, he decided to keep them on, wishing to capture an authentic memory of the two.

He went back into the kitchen; back towards the two humanoid silhouettes stitched together by old scraps of moth-eaten clothing. White padding peeked through the holes where their seams had burst, and they were both dressed in lab coats. Victor’s test prototypes were motionless by the dinner table, radiating a cloud of what he interpreted as melancholy. While they were only prototypes, separating himself from them felt more inconceivable than anything else. How could he, when they were all that he had?

He looked away, swallowing thickly to rid himself of the lump that thickened in his throat. Once he’d collected himself sufficiently, he turned back towards his family. Victor carefully rotated their chairs so that they faced him, and briefly looked into their mismatched buttons for eyes. 

Then, he went in and wrapped his arms around them both, burying his face in the old fabric. He wished to hold them in a far tighter grip, but didn’t dare to. The fear of fraying the fragile material, or making the poorly-stitched seams undo themselves even further, held him back. 

But after letting go, he managed to raise his spirits by reminding himself that he was indeed going to a town that hadn’t burnt all their science-related books or made it illegal to practice the subject. Now that he could freely study science, he was taking a tremendous leap towards that which would solve his loneliness; towards creating a real, living family for himself; towards creating life.

Before leaving, Victor made sure that his creations were sitting in upright and comfortable positions. He fussed to ensure that his gesture hadn’t done any harm or disturbed them in any way. 

Thus, he departed from Belrive. 

* * *

“An exchange program, you say? For humans?” inquired Professor Hexiciah Steam. Occupying the velvet-clothed chair otherwise meant for visitors, he sat on the opposite side of the Headmistress’ desk. He watched, with an air of curiosity, as the quill in Nora’s hand danced across the paperwork beneath her, its silky feather brushing against her gaunt cheek. 

Bloodgood signed her finished report with a swift movement and left the quill in its inkwell. Her countenance remained as composed as always upon meeting the gaze of her colleague, but she failed to keep her bright eyes from gleaming with enthusiasm. 

“Precisely,” she replied, eagerly lacing her fingers together. “I believe it could serve as an excellent tool for improving monster-normie relations.”

The metal-handed man leaned slightly forward, indicating his interest for an elaboration. Nora took note of this and continued:

“As you are aware, Hexiciah, the values of the younger generation must be prioritized in order to firmly establish social reforms. Thus, a vital key to reducing the fear and prejudice that mongers between our kinds is teaching our young that they mustn’t feel threatened by each other. They must realize that our differences are only superficial; that we’re all the same at our cores. For that to occur most efficiently, I believe they should get to know each other under peaceful circumstances; in everyday places like school, where they’ll feel safe. Which is why they—” 

She stopped short with a gasp. Her gaze had wandered to her side; to the newspaper featuring yet another article about the trick or treatment. Her pale skin was drained of its remaining hints of color as she skimmed through the latest report of the normies’ efforts to keep the monsters put. 

Sighing, she added, “I don’t believe the timing could be more urgent.”

Nora slipped the quill between her clawed fingers yet again, and brought forward some additional paperwork that would distract her from the recent discomfort. 

Without her noticing, Hexiciah carefully reached forward and flipped the newspaper around so that its front was out of her sight. 

“I have considered it for quite some time,” Nora continued, her gaze still fixed on the paperwork. “While the main focus of Monster High is to unite monsters, the final goal is to peacefully integrate all ways of life; especially normie society. But I must confess that I feared no human would ever dare sign up during these times, which placed this idea on hold. But now, young Frankenstein has set things in motion far sooner than expected. I believe he shall make an excellent candidate for the normie student exchange program.”

One mere human among monsters? Hexiciah took off his goggled top hat, revealing the luster of his dark hair. He started fiddling with its brim as he recalled how some monsters could be when they, for once, felt they had an advantage; particularly the most vulnerable ones, with a pent-up need for payback. Personal experience tainted his superior’s plans with a splash of fear. 

“Headmistress, if I may…” he began, his deep voice laden with regret. “This is Salem. Most monsters do consider humans to be among the greatest terrors of all. At best, he’ll be completely alienated. At worst, he could fall victim to violence. And what then?”

“Monster High offers no room for the intolerant,” Nora countered. “My students are no less than obligated to make him feel at home here.”

“But are you truly convinced that the timing’s right? Wouldn’t it be best if we tried again later; sometime in the future, when times have come to change?”

The Headmistress looked up from her work. Her expression carried compassion as she beheld him, and saw the source of his concerns as well as their validity. 

With a gentle reassurance in her voice, Nora responded, “I understand your concern, Hexiciah, but change never comes by itself. It’s not that easy. There’s always something that initiates it; there’s always someone setting it in motion. But…” 

A sigh exited through her nostrils. “But you do make a fine point. The students will, doubtlessly, be a little on edge to begin with, as the concept of different monsters coexisting must already feel so alien to them. Being around a normie during such strange times might only worsen that feeling, which would surely serve to worsen their…”

Nora’s lengthy eyelashes suddenly fluttered, and the black pupils within her silver-hued irises sharpened with inspiration. “But perhaps they might not need to know. Not for the time being.”

“Do you suppose we should disguise him, Headmistress?”

“Not quite. What I mean is that certain monsters are frequently mistaken for normies, considering how our physical distinctions can sometimes be difficult to spot,” Nora returned. Her gaze wandered to his human-leaning characteristics, then down to her dullahan self. “It has even happened to me, at times. In fact, I believe he might easily pass as a… dullahan. One who’s had his head permanently reattached because he kept losing it.” 

She tapped a claw against her chin as the ideas raced through her mind. “And since such a procedure would leave scars, he should wear something to hide the lack thereof. A cravat, perhaps…”

Now, Bloodgood had always been among the wisest monsters Hexiciah knew, and she was correct in saying that change didn’t come by itself. Logic was in her favor. Still, the bitter feeling of uncertainty remained in his abdomen. 

“Do you understand, Hexiciah?” Nora asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. Her soft gestures carried a tinge of ardour as she went on, “First, I believe we should focus on integrating him just like we’ve planned with his fellow creatures. We shall begin by treating him as a dullahan, and carry on with monster unification protocols as we would under normal circumstances. Having the students get to know each other for who they are, instead of what they were born as, should be the main focus apart from their ordinary education. This phase should teach them to overlook each other’s physical distinctions and have them realize how similar they truly are, regardless of their scaritage. Once they’ve learned that their commonalities far outweigh their differences, they should all be comfortable enough to view each other as friends, rather than foes. That would be phase one.”

She moved on to her main point. “Assuming that the first phase has gone accordingly, then Frankenstein’s true nature shouldn’t be an issue for them, and it may finally be revealed. Since they’ve already gotten to know him as an equal, a friend, they should realize that there’s nothing to fear. And if Victor can get along with my students, then he could prove to the normies that they’re wrong about us monsters; that we aren’t innately inclined towards violence or stand among the greatest terrors of all. Their fear would be debunked, as would the grounds of the treatment we face.”

Hexiciah nodded as he returned his hat to its rightful spot atop his head, securing it with a tilt. He could see the thoughts behind her theory, and settled on sticking to her notions.

“I’ve consulted the school board as well,” continued the Headmistress. “They have approved of the exchange program, and are even quite keen to see what might become of it.”

Following the end of her explanation, Nora pulled out her desk’s bottom drawer. It contained a few carefully folded white blouses, which she kept for the times when work kept her glued to her desk until the roseate beams of sunrise streamed through the windows. She grabbed one and tore off a sleeve with a rrritch, leaving sprouting bits of thread in its absence. 

“His train arrived an hour ago,” she noted. “He should be in the premises by now.” 

After draping the sleeve over her arm, Nora rose from her armchair. She gracefully smoothed out the wrinkles of her violet attire, and advanced towards the door, asking, “Won’t you accompany me?” 

But since her requests were closer to commands than to questions, Hexiciah tagged along with only a nod in response. 

* * *

The silent morning sun flared through the arched windows, casting its golden light upon the stone walls and their wooden frames. Only very few of the coffin-shaped lockers lining the corridors had locks on them, which served as the sole reminder of the students’ existence. Perhaps it was simply too early for them to have arrived. That explanation seemed quite plausible, as the only sounds that filled the corridors were the footsteps from two pairs of shoes and the wind whistling between the treetops. As desolate as it was, Bloodgood even began to wonder if Victor hadn’t arrived yet. 

A sudden yelp came out of a science classroom just as they walked past. Both the Headmistress and her trusted associate stopped in their steps to peek inside. 

Their eyes fell on a glass jar containing a lifeform whose greenish body, almost ribbon-like in stature, energetically swirled around its enclosure. It sparked with bright electricity as the boy holding it waved his hand in pain, following an attempt at touching it. 

There was no doubt about who stood before them. 

Having approached him with Hexiciah walking closely by her side, the Headmistress now stood next to him, she freed her head from its spot between her shoulders, popping it off. This was a normal habit of hers whenever she addressed her students. It was a most convenient trait, as it ensured that their eyes were on the same level, and that no necks were damaged when craning up to look at her. One hand carried her head, and she debated extending the other to Victor in a handshake; but with how busy he appeared, she settled against it, greeting him with a simple “I am Headmistress Bloodgood. Welcome to Monster High; I do hope you’ll feel at home here.”

“Alright,” Victor replied, avoiding her countenance as he kept on scavenging the room, only wishing to be left to his work. 

His superiors exchanged a glance. He was evidently not the most cordial.

Bloodgood then returned her head to its usual spot between her shoulders, screwing it on to ensure it wouldn’t come off. 

Then, in hopes that her student would hear her from the faraway counter he’d moved to, Nora patiently called out, “If you do not mind, we’d very much like to give you a tour of the school to help you get settled.”

After having rummaged through the drawers, Victor resigned to the little luck he’d had. He drummed his fingers against its surface, making light, yet frustrated taps. “Are there more science classrooms?” he asked, his back still turned. 

“Why, yes.”

Simple as that, Victor instantly scurried over to the two. 

Then, Nora’s eyes fell on the torn sleeve draped over her arm. “If I may…” she said, bringing forward the scrap of fabric. She tipped her chin upwards to get a better look as she wrapped it around his scar-free neck, swiftly looping the edges together to form a neatly-tied cravat. Once finished, she quickly tucked it into his vest. 

“Do wear this at all times,” she instructed, with a quick gesture of a lecturing forefinger. 

Victor shrugged.

“And this here is Hexiciah… Professor Steam, that is,” Nora added. She was holding her hand out in front of her colleague as one does when introducing another. An introduction was her intention, but it felt more like watching her show off something she held dear. 

Victor did not look him in the eye. Instead, his gaze was fixed on Hexiciah’s left arm. Fascination brightened his features as he watched the metal fingers curl and emit tiny mechanical clicks with every movement. The boy’s fingernail then sounded a metallic clink against the copper as he began to tap on this product of ingenious engineering. With raised brows, he mumbled words of astonishment under his breath. Hexiciah didn’t appear to mind this gesture, which might otherwise have been regarded as an intrusion. Meanwhile, Nora briefly wondered if this was a never-before-seen human greeting she should put into account.

“Where did you get this contraption?” Victor soon asked.

“Why, I constructed it myself!” Hexiciah replied, proudly. 

Victor did not reply. He simply took a mental note of that information, just as he took mental notes of the other science-related classrooms they strolled past when the tour resumed. He restrained himself from entering and flipping those rooms upside down, given how he couldn’t do it in the inconvenient company of those other two. 

He was then familiarized with his locker, the creepateria, study howl, clawditorium, and the remainder of the classrooms. Since the renovations were only partly finished, some of these areas had ceilings riddled with gaping holes, while others had walls with only their basic skeleton intact. 

Lastly, they went up into the building's two topmost towers.

As a result of his early arrival, Victor had been struggling to keep his heavy eyelids open during most of the notably dull tour. But as soon as he entered the bridge connecting these two towers, he immediately sparked to life. His bright eyes widened as he ran his hands along the walkway’s brick railing, and pressed his hands to the walls within the towers. 

“It’s perfect!” he shakily exclaimed, startling both Nora and Hexiciah who had grown accustomed to his silence. 

The twain started looking around in search of what made it better than, say, the study howl. Yet, despite their efforts, they couldn’t find a single redeeming quality. It was dizzyingly high up, not to mention lonely; there wasn’t a single soul in sight, and very little implied that it would ever become a popular spot. 

Victor, however, saw all of its beauty. Its roof, tall enough to nudge the skies, was a perfect placement for lightning rods. Thus, he could catch and conduct any amount of electricity he might need. And the seclusion; that undisturbed seclusion was perfect for maximizing efficiency.

While his new student inspected the tower’s every nook, Hexiciah looked down at his built-in clocks. He asked, “We showed him everything, did we not?”

“We did, yes.”

“Do you suppose we should…?”

“No, no. Let him make himself at home,” Nora replied. She sent a final look towards her student, saying, “Good day, Victor.”

But the human was apparently too focused on inspecting the walls to hear them, responding only with silence. 

Once their footsteps no longer echoed down the stairwell, Victor lost his well-placed charade of being busy. He bolted downstairs, and slipped around a corner just in time to avoid the two. And when the coast was clear, he hurried into the remaining classrooms to investigate and see what equipment they had. He proceeded to hurry into the school’s airy library, where he spent the rest of the day devouring every book they had on science and the use of all relevant instruments. 

Hopefully, the consequences of his experiments wouldn’t be all too grave. But given his family history, one could only pray that another disaster wouldn’t follow.

Chapter Text

Hexiciah Steam, who had a habit of making the Headmistress tea between his classes, would do so in the creature’s lounge. The small amount of furniture there gave the illusion that the little room was bigger than reality testified, which would change as soon as the rest had been assembled. For now, the remaining furniture took on the form of boxes stacked in the corner. Greyish light streamed in through the sole window, further muting the dull colors offered by the room as well as the counters and cabinets Hexiciah stood by. 

Mere moments after he’d put the kettle on, the door creaked open. The warm glow of the candlelit corridor spilled across the floor in the shape of a half moon, the traces of which swiftly vanished when the entering figure nudged the door shut. His wingtip shoes tapped against the parquet flooring with his every step. A touch of gray streaked his brown and unkempt hair, out of which a pair of twitching ears protruded, and a gruff and unpleasant countenance accompanied his short and lean form which barely filled up his tweed suit. 

Hexiciah greeted the other monster with a polite nod. 

But instead of responding, he sighed, leaned an elbow against the counter and bluntly complained about having had ‘the strangest fellow in class just now’, all while scratching at his bushy sideburns. 

“Is that so, Krempe?” Steam replied, while reaching into the cabinet to pull out a tea bag as well as a jar of honey. 

“In the midst of my lecture, he asked when I was to delve into the advanced forms of science, as he put it. He said he’d just recently learned everything I taught, and that the knowledge me and my books offered was pointless to him and his work.” He scoffed, and distastefully continued, “It seems to me like he was never taught how to behave in the presence of his superiors.”

Hexiciah’s face, which indicated a certain interest, turned towards his colleague. His raised eyebrows accentuated the lines on his forehead. “Say,” he began, “He didn’t have dark hair and round, crooked glasses?”

“Yes, that’s the one,” Krempe responded, waving a finger. “And…” 

Although they were alone, he leaned forward and thinned his voice into a whisper. “Believe me, Steam, when I first beheld him, he put me on the verge of shock. I realize now that he’s likely of fae blood or something of that character; but his lack of fangs, fins and fur along with the beige pigment of his skin… Good lord! He almost had me believing that I was teaching a normie.”

Hexiciah’s gaze wandered towards his ticking clocks. “Why, that sounds most peculiar,” he muttered, dipping the bag of chamomile tea into the cup beneath him. 

“He smelled like one, too. Truly reeked of that awful stench.” Krempe’s nose scrunched as he began to sniff. “I can still smell it; it must’ve gotten stuck in my nostrils. Oh, I would curse this werewolf nose…”

Hexiciah restrained himself from raising a sleeve to his nose to see if his colleague’s claims were true. 

Heaving a sigh, the lycan continued, “Now, I’m well aware that Bloodgood can be just a tad… overly progressive when it comes to normies, but she would never bring one into our territory, would she?”

“I hear he’s a dullahan, who’s had his head permanently attached to his body,” Hexiciah said, promptly changing the subject while screwing open a lid.

Krempe furrowed his bushy eyebrows, confused as to why anyone would wish to hide their monsterhood. His colleague explained that it was simply due to Victor’s unfortunate tendency to lose his head. He continued with a shrug, “Well, I suppose it’s not that bad of an idea, now that you mention it. In fact, I’m willing to bet that Bloodgood’s father had wished to think of that. Blindly running around normie territory in search of his lost head, and gaining a reputation among them as the Headless Horseman, can hardly be a joyous fate.”

“Perhaps so.”

Right as he stopped speaking, the kettle began to whistle while steam gushed out through its pipe. 

Hexiciah, who had grown understandably restless, grabbed it and swiftly poured its boiling water into the porcelain cup beneath him. Having applied a minimal amount of honey, he excused himself and left the creature’s lounge with the cup in hand. 

* * *

After swinging by the Headmistress’ office, Steam advanced into the ancient catacombs beneath the old castle that was Monster High. To most, these catacombs were a pointlessly abstruse maze of massive proportions. But to Hexiciah, it was a source of fascination and curiosity; a place just waiting to be charted like an unexplored ocean. All he lacked, really, was an intricately built steam-powered submarine, drifting some twenty thousand leagues under the sea. 

He had already progressed far through its endless corridors, and inspected many of its dust-laden old rooms and chambers. Having taken a liking to one of these rooms, he’d claimed it as his own, and had just recently finished putting everything in place. Now, a new workshop was waiting for him. 

Upon entering, he was welcomed by the sour aroma of chemicals and metal. The stone floor reflected a prismatic glow, originating from the beaker-covered stations filled with liquids in a wide range of colors, even those reaching beyond human eyesight. Rows of bookshelves, packed with his countless books, lined the walls. These looked like a treasure trove of scientific information, which the school’s library could only ever dream of emulating.

Piles of metal scraps laid in the corners, obscured by white sheets. In other places, prototypes as well as advanced inventions were lying about, littering the space around the wide chalkboard with countless notes and equations scribbled all over its flat surface. Some constructions were falling apart by their rusted bolts, whose copper had blue stains of corrosion, almost as if they’d molded with age. Others had well-polished gears beaming from even the vaguest contact with light. 

A hardwood desk stood in the very center; hooks had been nailed to its side to serve as a tool board. On its surface stood Hexiciah’s daily invention with the purpose of keeping his creativity at bay. 

Thus, he reached down to grab a wrench, and got to work.

Chapter Text

Monster High: the greatest mishap of the 19th century. Such was indeed the opinion shared between the monster world’s majority. Many debated the sanity of the now infamous headmistress. Some insisted she was ill, while others deemed her judgment simply as ignorant, with how she outrageously dared contradict the ‘biological fact’ of monster separation; of the ‘perfectly natural notion’ that people’s appearances differ solely to serve as a sign that all perceived unequals should be kept apart and lead drastically different lives, never to interact with one another. 

But she knew better than to pay mind to the public’s idle assumptions, for she knew the truth. 

And may their endless bickering repeat until all that remains are its distant echoes. She had no time to pay mind to anything that was not physically in front of her. Her time was precious, for it can with great certainty be said that Monster High kept her constantly preoccupied. But being swamped with mountains of paperwork, and constantly needing to ensure that all was in order around the premises, was not the most taxing of her duties, but rather her students. 

Given their histories, as well as the state of the world, certain tensions of hesitance and distrust did ensue between the different monsters. This, however, was nothing she couldn’t assist in sorting out. While her fine skills as a diplomat played a significant role in accomplishing that, it is also worth noting how her students were good teenagers with open-minded values surrounding monsterkind. Their parents were, after all, among the most progressive monsters there were; something she knew from the mere fact that her students had enrolled here. 

And now, she could scarcely be prouder to witness her students putting their histories aside. That is what the public did not know. 

However, these initial social discomforts were hardly her most difficult challenge. The complications of having monsters stemming from different climates and regions can be imagined, with how yeti-blooded and fire-elementals among others now had to find a common habitat that was comfortable for all. At first glance, one would assume that the general public had actually been correct; that the bodily variations of monsters prohibited them from sharing the premises.

But they were incorrect.

The different monsters could smoothly adapt to the new environment with ease; something that was not before known, as it had never before been tested; not in the eyes of the public. But, being something of a pioneer in her field, discoveries like this were something Bloodgood would only find more of. 

However, it is important to note that she would not force her students into adapting to conditions their systems refused. She thereby spent many resources on, and doing research to find, the best accomodations that would ensure every monster was truly comfortable. She needed to ensure that no silver could be found around the premises, and that no garlic be served in the creepateria, with the comfort of the vampires in mind, as well as keep up with each and every other monster’s needs.

Still, despite the pressure, along with an inhumane budget, Nora succeeded in this task, fueled only by determination and tea; with the addition of how she cared about her students, for they were all hers. 

She’d eventually found balance among the students. Or rather, she’d found balance when it came to all the students but one. The issue of knowing the preferences of all the students, and accommodating them, now weighed her down yet again. She had indeed taken garlic out of every recipe in the creepateria to favor the vampires, but whatever was it that the normies required in order to become more acclimated?

She proceeded to, on numerous occasions, attempt to ask Victor if there was anything in particular he’d need to ensure the above; yet, whenever he was consulted, he grew increasingly snappy when asking her simply to leave him to his work; his work that constantly kept him so preoccupied. Now, being exceedingly busy was a predicament Nora recognized, as well as respected. 

Thus, whenever her schedule allowed for it, she’d slip into her candidate’s classes to silently observe how things were going for him, in an attempt to personally find an answer to her inquiry without interrupting his endeavors. Here, the very first thing she noticed was Victor’s outstanding performance in class. Almost miraculously, he seemed to gather more information during just a few lessons than most would in a semester. 

But while she was only happy to witness his academic talents, her observations soon made her realize just how shockingly unfamiliar she was with the ‘human ways’.

Here, it is important to note how, until now, Nora’s experiences with normies had mainly been through books and print. The same applies to most monsters, given how rigorously segregated Salem was. But now, it was clear to her that these books had lied; or rather, failed horribly to describe how very eccentric humans were by monster standards. For it was through her observations of Victor that she discovered how real humans rarely seem to address their peers, and could easily be labeled as mildly rude; that they isolate themselves to obsessively pursue their interests, and can, at times, be described as rather neurotic. All of this being behavior she’d only have expected from a monster who’d spent his life with only himself for company. 

The idea that these newly-discovered cultural differences might stand in the way of the exchange program’s success left her with a sense of panic, urging her to find ways to streamline any and all means of monster-normie communication. But unfortunately, there seemed to be little logic to Frankenstein’s behavior, and the only thing she got out of her search for such was a piercing headache. 

Hexiciah made sure to keep an eye on him, so that Nora could be given more time for her other, and plentiful, duties as headmistress. But contrary to Bloodgood, his experiences with normies had been strictly practical. This brought him to the realization that this was no matter of differing cultures, for all languages could describe him through the medium of a single word: simply eccentric. 

And perhaps Nora might have realized this sooner, had she not been as blinded by ambition. 

But regardless of Victor’s personality, his potential for monster and normie society alike was undeniable. Thus, despite the recent revelation that he might not have been the best possible sample to pick, Nora continued her search for ways to integrate him. 

“He appears to be deeply fascinated by science, but has little interest in the subject itself. He isn’t nocturnal like the vampires, nor is he strictly carnivorous like the werewolves. And then there’s the matter of recreational activities…” 

Thus went her rambles as she paced behind her desk. A loose strand of frizzy hair brushed against her shoulder, having escaped from her bun, and her flat bangs had lost their curl; a curious sight, given how she was normally exceedingly well put together. It seemed as if her excessive theorizing had temporarily passed Victor’s neurotic tendencies onto her.  

Her trusted associate clutched onto a steaming cup of chamomile tea as he listened, unsure of how to proceed, and when to speak between her rambles.

“And I did give him his schedule, did I not?”

He nodded, just as he had done the first three times she’d asked this very question.

“Perhaps I’d better go find him,” she went on. “He might have forgotten where one of his classrooms are. It would hardly leave a good impression if he wound up late, would it?”

“Er— I brought you tea,” Hexiciah intervened, raising the cup for her to see.

As Nora’s eyes focused on the porcelain, the tenseness in her gaze slowly slipped away, and her pupils dilated to its ordinary size. Her pale skin then gained an almost lifelike touch of color upon processing the extent of her behavior, and she swiftly returned to her chair. 

Bloodgood thanked him while wrapping her cold hands around the cup. She processed the sweet scent of her favorite tea, combined with the feeling of its warm ceramic against her palms, all of which left a somewhat soothing effect on her. It might perhaps have been more effective, had it not been for the previous display, unprofessional as it was, that now haunted her. 

“I do hope you’ll… disregard this behavior,” she sighed, bringing the cup to her crimson lips. 

Hexiciah nodded, almost dutifully. He made sure to sound comforting yet professional enough to suit her liking, when saying, “I’ll check on him. Don’t worry.”

Nora set the cup aside, pulled out a drawer and brought forward a copy of Victor’s schedule. “Do give this to him,” she instructed. “In case he loses the old one.”

He gave a nod, took it, and turned towards the exit. 

The door flung open, and was only centimeters away from slamming right into Hexiciah’s nose. The cool air from the sudden movement blew at him as a figure hurried through the door frame. 

Krempe scratched at his bushy sideburns as he hurried towards the principal’s desk. “Headmistress, there’s a thief on school grounds!” he announced.

Bloodgood began to rub at her temples. “Is that so?”

“Over half of the supplies in the science classrooms have disappeared without a trace! They were there just a few days ago, and now, nothing! There’s not a trace of them!”

Nora’s well-marked eyebrows drew together and were separated only by a wrinkle. A theft surrounding school supplies? If anything, she’d only imagined the funds as a possible target. Bloodgood pressed her eyelids shut, feeling as if someone was driving a dagger through her skull, and heaved a sigh. “I’ll write a report on it.”

“Write two, if you please,” Krempe added. “This is crucial equipment!”

Hexiciah sent a look of concern her way before leading Krempe out the door. 

“Absurd, isn’t it?” The werewolf complained as they walked. “Do you figure someone broke in?”

Hexiciah knew not how to respond, and refrained from doing so. He didn’t wish to think about an expansion surrounding the list of Bloodgood’s worries. 

Soon, the two disappeared into two separate, branching hallways. While Steam traversed the dimly-lit corridors, he inspected the schedule in his hands, hoping it would provide a clue as to where its owner was. It revealed that Victor had been dismissed from clawculus just five minutes ago, and that said classroom was on the very opposite side of the building; something Hexiciah regretted, as it would’ve been far more convenient if his student had been closer by. 

However, when he looked up from the paper, he spotted a silhouette exiting a science classroom. The hurried individual was easy to recognize, given that his skin was neither green nor blue, and by the clothes he never seemed to change. 

Hexiciah scanned the schedule once again, wondering if he’d misread it. Since Victor was out on lunch break, he should’ve been off to the creepateria at that hour. But regardless of what he was doing on this side of the building, it didn't matter; the Headmistress had asked him to lend him that schedule, and that he would do. Hexiciah sped up his pace to keep up with his student. 

Before long, he was following him up a spiral stairwell; ones he knew belonged to the towers judging by their length and the slight exercise they provided. 

After having reached the top, Hexiciah’s gaze first fell on the vials and instruments Victor was placing on a desk. Then, he saw the rest. 

Lit candles provided a warm glow that mingled with the light streaming in through the dormers of the conical roof, casting its brilliance upon the desks littered with beakers and tools. An electric eel sparked inside a glass jar. And by the wall, there was a hospital bed from the nurse’s office, bedded with a spare lab coat that served as a blanket with a pair of plaid pajamas on top. 

Victor mumbled to himself as he wandered between the tables, counting the many items. Once finished, he dug into the pocket of his lab coat and pulled out a list, quickly scanning its many notes. 

Once finished, he muttered something with dissatisfaction in his tone. Victor stuffed the list back into his pocket and directed his steps towards the stairs; only, his gaze was fixed on the floor, and he proceeded straight into something as solid and unpleasant as pure metal, striking his forehead with a thud. He grimaced as he rubbed the sore spot on the top of his head, pressing his eyes shut.

When they later opened, he found a copper forearm before his eyes; eyes that looked up, and kept looking up for a tad bit longer. Once they finally spotted a face, he tensed up altogether, embodying a mixture of surprise, fear and defensiveness.

“I’m very sorry, lad; is your head alright?” Steam began. “I’m afraid I didn’t—”

“What do you want?” Victor interrupted. 

“Well—” Hexiciah brought forward the schedule— “the Headmistress asked me to give this to you.”

The boy grabbed the schedule and muttered something while skimming through it. Then, he folded it together and stuffed it into his pocket.

Tugging at the tips of his mustache, Hexiciah lingered to behold his surroundings. The medical instruments, combined with the candlelight cast upon them, made the tower feel strangely homely. 

“I take it you did all of this?” 

“I did not,” Victor blurted. But when he took a moment to analyze Hexiciah’s expression, he realized the question wasn’t grounded in any ill intentions. He ran a sleeve across his forehead. 

Having dropped a level of defensiveness, Victor responded, “I did, actually. Why?”

“No matter; just curious. And why, may I ask…?”

“Well, I needed someplace to work. So, I made one. See?”

“With the use of…” 

Only now did Hexiciah connect the dots, leading him to remember Krempe’s complaints about an unknown thief. 

“I see. Then, I should wish you good luck with your work. Good day,” Steam said, cutting the conversation short. The Headmistress needed to be consulted before further action could be taken. 

Victor watched as his professor disappeared downstairs. He shrugged and returned to his ‘borrowed’ items. 

* * *

“Clearly, a better workspace has to be arranged for him. He must be able to engage in whatever recreational activities he finds enjoyable.”

Such sounded Nora’s reaction to the news. She seemed relieved rather than upset; something Hexiciah found unusual, given how the orderly woman generally supported rules; especially when it concerned those that extended to law. But it would seem that no ordinary reaction could fit an unusual situation. 

“It would be an appropriate start,” she elaborated, having taken note of his puzzled appearance. “I believe it could serve to acclimate him, which would thereby make him more willing to engage with his surroundings. Specifically, the other students.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Well, we could arrange some new equipment for him and make this tower better equipped for his little hobbies. Surely, with your knowledge, you must know where to find the appropriate tools and such?” 

She sent a concerned look towards the paperwork beneath her, surrounding the school’s funds. This prompted her to briefly reconsider whether the budget would allow it.

Hexiciah thought about all the places he’d been to in order to personally furnish and equip his workshop in the catacombs. The books, the tools, the materials — all of it. 

But when he noticed her eyeing the budget, his features were illumined with inspiration. “You mustn’t worry about the budget,” he said. “I could have it all arranged this very minute!”

"Excellent,” she replied, wholeheartedly. “Thank you, Hexiciah.”

Some tension in Nora’s face had passed following those words, and she looked as if a burdensome weight had been lifted off her shoulders. 

The sight caused a certain softness to bloom in his heart. “You’re most welcome.”

Thus, he was out the door, headed towards Victor’s tower with lightened steps.

* * *

“Use whatever you please, so long as you don’t take anything from school grounds. You see, the Headmistress spends so much time getting everything in perfect order,” Hexiciah explained. “It means so much to her, really. So very much…”

Frankenstein gave him a vague, absentminded nod where he stood by the workshop’s threshold, clutching a glass jar containing a familiar electric eel; the one thing from his collection he’d been permitted to keep, aside from a lab coat. Astonishment played upon his features as his gaze wandered between the vials of effervescing chemicals; the tubes and wires connecting the advanced machinery, the careful notes as well as the tools, all of which hardly compared to what they had in class. Science: what a blinding view! Endless opportunities stood before him. Perhaps also a hint of nostalgia, considering where he’d been the last time he saw a laboratory of such proportions. 

“Now, if there’s anything you wish to know,” Hexiciah amiably began, “or if you have questions of any kind, you’re more than welcome to ask.”

Victor turned around; and would he have turned around any quicker, he would surely have pulled a muscle. A certain wildness occupied his widened eyes as he sputtered, “Tell me everything! Everything you know.”

“Everything?” Steam, unfazed by his student’s manners, rubbed at his stubble as he thought. “Well, I would gladly teach you. But I fear that such a class would span a century, at best. Perhaps I could recommend a few useful books, instead?”

Victor’s gaze darted between the room’s many corners, eventually landing on the bookshelves. He threw a pointing finger their way. “Those books, you mean?” he asked, and barely gave his professor enough time to respond before he shoved the jar into the man’s arms and sprinted towards them. 

“But really, I’d rather you didn’t—”

Hexiciah fell silent when Victor began to climb up the rolling ladder attached to the bookshelves. He put the eel aside, hurried towards him, and just barely managed to grab him by the ankle before he’d climbed beyond his reach. 

“Victor, I’d rather you didn’t do that. I don’t trust these ladders; I’ve been meaning to get them replaced. Let me do it. Besides, between the two of us, I believe I know the most about the order in which these books are sorted,” he joked. 

Frankenstein reluctantly climbed down, allowing his professor to take his spot on the ladder. He tapped an impatient finger on top of his tightly crossed arms while watching him grab a handful of books. 

As soon as Steam stepped foot on the ground, Victor snagged the books from his grip. The corners of his mouth twitched and perked upwards to form a grin as he looked at the pile in his hands. A half-choked, fervid giggle whirled out of him. “Excellent!”

Hexiciah watched as his student ran off. He briefly wondered, with a tinge of concern, if this had really been a good decision.

Chapter Text

A clock ticked in the empty silence of the Headmistress’ office; a, to her, dearly familiar sound. 

With a magnifying glass in hand, Nora carefully inspected the papers surrounding her school’s spendings during its first month, slowly leading it between one section after the other. And as she read, her many obligations blended together to form a haze of overlapping clouds in her mind. One particular matter shone through this fog, making its importance especially clear; the process of renovating the building. 

It wasn’t going as efficiently as she would prefer. One would think that, since the school board chose this old castle to save money, they could’ve used the funds they saved when declining to invest in a new building on streamlining the necessary renovations. 

But alas! 

And to hire gargoyles, the cheapest of construction workers… The idea may have worked in theory, but certainly not in practice. Bloodgood heaved a sigh and massaged her temples in a futile attempt to rub away the accumulating stress. 

Without the sound of a knock, the door suddenly creaked open. Nora looked up, the sight eliciting a gasp. She shot up from her armchair, hurried to smooth out the wrinkles of her violet clothing and swiftly stepped forward to greet the school board; a skeleton trio with blonde bouffant wigs, dressed in their finest frills, with barely a hint of life in their stiff skulls; at least in terms of demeanor. 

Holding out her hand, she expressed what a delight it was to see them, but received little response. They merely stared at her clawed fingers until she lowered her hand. 

“We have come for an inspection,” muttered the tallest in the middle. His raspy voice implied he was long overdue for a good rest. 

The Headmistress made sure to straighten her posture. Plucking a hair from her blouse, she asked, “Might there be anything in particular you wish to see? I could provide you with a full tour. But I must admit that the clawditorium isn’t—”

“We have come to see the normie.”

“Victor? Certainly.” Nora returned to her desk to pull out a drawer, revealing his schedule inside. She scanned it:

Monday,  11.50-12.55: (MAD) Science. 

Her heels clicked across the floor. “This way,” she said, opening the door and sweeping her palm towards the dimly-lit corridor. 

While traversing the hallways, the stiff appearance of the school board’s skulls remained as indecipherable as always, showing no sign of either approval or disappointment in regards to their surroundings. Nora did pray that they felt the former. 

Upon arriving at their destination, Bloodgood gently pushed the door open. The three slipped inside the classroom, unnoticed. 

Beneath them, Professor Krempe had been going on with his lecture for quite some time, scribbling down points on the chalkboard and occasionally pointing at posters with an extended yardstick. Everything had gone smoothly. He’d always found the appropriate words, and had plenty of engaged students before him. 

Almost every student was engaged, that is; all except for the one sitting in the back of the lecture hall. Said student leaned far back in his chair with his feet propped up on his desk; he had his face buried in a book, which he eagerly read as he gnawed on a pencil. 

Considering the room’s amphitheater-like structure, he sat notably high up, towering above the rows of desks beneath him. He could therefore only be seen if you intentionally tilted your head upwards, while one could easily focus on the students sitting at eye level instead. In spite of that, his professor couldn’t seem to ignore his poor manners and unacceptable lack of interest. 

Krempe sincerely tried to ignore this blow to his pride. But when his efforts finally proved ineffective, he paused his lecture to glare directly at this student, hoping to gain his attention. 

While everyone else noticed this and turned their heads in unison to look at Victor, the latter simply kept on reading, either unbothered by or unaware of the newfound attention. 

Not even when Krempe cleared his throat, audibly enough for it to echo between the stone walls, did his student’s eyes move from the page beneath them. 

“Frankenstein!” he suddenly called out. His voice sounded forced, as if he was struggling to keep his composure. “Pay attention! And put that book down!”

“Actually,” Victor began, his gaze still fixed on the printed sentences, “Bloodgood said I could read as much as I wished.”

“Excuses!”

The boy calmly pulled out a note that had been tucked between the pages. Within seconds, he had folded it to resemble an airplane, which soon soared above an audience of curious faces turning to follow its trajectory. It softly landed in front of Krempe’s well-polished shoes. 

His professor picked it up, unfolding it to reveal a note in the Headmistress’ elegant handwriting, confirming Victor’s claims. He clenched his jaw at the sight of it, the paper creasing in his tightening grip. He threw it aside with a grunt and went on with his lecture. 

The Headmistress, standing at the very back of the lecture hall, glanced at the school board to see if they’d had enough. But since their skulls somehow displayed a clear sense of interest, she remained silent.

Krempe’s lecture went on; and while Victor may not have been listening fully, his ears were active enough to spot an error in his professor’s teachings. He gripped onto his pencil and waved its gnawed tip in the air. 

A smile overspread Krempe’s gruff features as if his pride had been patched up, now that he seemed to have gained the attention and respect of all his students. “Yes, Victor?”

“Actually, professor—” He squeaked, raising a lecturing finger, “—You are incorrect. As a matter of fact, the amount of truben trectons present in rylt atoms isn’t even near seven. Rylt always has a hundred and fourteen trectons in its laudnertuld, while the opposite has ninety-five. Therefore, the number of truben trectons is 209. Not seven, as you so claim.”

Krempe’s gaze darted between the audience, the students in which started cupping their mouths and whispering to one another. His skin had grown flushed by the time he continued, “I knew that, of course. I was merely testing you. As I was saying, the amount of truben trectons…”

Victor, disinterested as he was, went on reading and listened only for the sake of spotting errors. And once his ears twitched, he raised his hand again. 

Wanting nothing more than to silence him, Krempe went on speaking while occasionally sending nervous glances towards the back of the lecture hall; glances Victor noticed, further urging him to stretch his hand higher. This went on until matters couldn’t be delayed any longer. The so-called dullahan went on to clear his throat, loudly enough for the whole class to hear and for them to again turn their heads in unison. 

Krempe, accepting defeat, unwillingly muttered, “Yes, Victor?”

“Well, the ions in this case actually serve the purpose of—”

The screech of a ringing bell interrupted him. Frankenstein’s face promptly lit up, and, having forgotten the rest of his sentence, was the first to leave his seat. 

Krempe glared in his direction. Then, he bitterly turned to the chalkboard to wipe off its contents. 

The normie hurried past the school board, who nodded with approval. The latter moved out into the corridor to watch his shrinking silhouette. 

“I see he’s very knowledgeable,” said the tallest of the three. 

Bloodgood replied with a proud nod. 

Soon, her thoughts returned to her most recent paperwork. She briefly considered the matter, before carefully asking, “Now — if you don’t mind, that is — I would like to inquire about whether or not it would be possible to put some additional funds into the renovations? I believe it would greatly benefit—”

Would the school board have had eyebrows, they would’ve skeptically raised one. This feeling was instead laced into their voices when saying, “When you have proven that Monster High can be maintained in the long run, we might consider your request. One can only invest so much in a program which stands on such shaky grounds.”

Nora subconsciously pressed her fingers to the right side of her chest, rubbing where her heart would be. “I see,” she pushed out. “I understand.”

Professor Steam, who followed his habit of visiting the catacombs at this hour, walked past. Upon spotting them, he stopped in his steps to politely greet his superiors. Standing by Bloodgood’s side, his arm very nearly brushed against hers. 

Unbeknownst to him, Nora’s gaze had drifted towards his dearly familiar face. The slight smile that seeped out of her was as discreet as it was radiantly warm. 

In front of them, the school board was too focused on the Headmistress’ display to notice the hand Hexiciah held out for their taking. Their eyes darted between the two, reflecting a certain distaste. 

Nora, having felt their gaze burn at her, turned to look at them. And upon realizing why they were glaring at her, her countenance fell blank and solemn. Correcting her posture, she stepped away from her closest colleague to keep an appropriate distance. 

An approving, yet suspicious hum came from the school board as they looked between the two. Then, they redirected their focus towards Bloodgood. “You shall proceed to contact us by mail, as well as provide weekly reports of your progress.”

“That I shall do,” Nora replied. 

Hexiciah briefly reflected upon how strange it felt to see her in a position where someone else’s rank exceeded hers. He proceeded to tip his hat at them, and continued following along his route. 

Soon, the school board parted from her as well, though without warning. 

Nora tensely watched until the school board had disappeared down the corridor. Then, her eyes fell on the shrinking silhouette of Hexiciah. A certain guilt whirled up inside her chest; a feeling among many others. 

* * *

Frankenstein sprung into the sourly chemical-scented workshop. He dropped the book in his hands into a cluttered pile of others like it, having been asked to leave them there. It was due to safety reasons, as Hexiciah put it, with the untrustworthy ladders in mind. 

Without a sliver of hesitance, Victor hurried towards one of these ladders attached to a row of bookshelves. He climbed up the steps in a firm and determined manner; fearlessly, or carelessly, depending on the viewpoint. Perhaps recklessly was the more appropriate adverb, given that the ladder wobbled with his every movement. Meanwhile, at the very top of the shelves, the screws holding it together began to slowly slither out of place. 

When Hexicah entered, he found him zooming across the bookshelves, picking up one book after another while barely holding on to the ladder. Sweat began to glisten on Steam’s forehead. 

“Victor?” he called out. “Victor, get down from there!”

Meanwhile, his nonchalant student was running his hands across the many hardback covers he passed. The taps of his fingers against each book felt no different than playing an instrument, with the varying sounds of each patter. Seemingly ignorant of his recklessness, he asked, “Where are the books on chemistry?”

Hexiciah debated whether or not he should answer, but figured that telling him would only make him come down quicker. He reluctantly answered, “The top-right corner.”

And soon, Victor’s shoes nudged the floor. He paid no mind to the somewhat shell-shocked expression painted across his professor’s face while making his way towards a regal-style sofa, reminiscent of those designed in Transylvania. 

Steam’s gaze fell on the enormous pile of books his student had left behind. His furrowed eyebrows conveyed a mix of confusion and surprise. Such a reading speed was, at the very least, remarkable. 

“I see you’ve already finished the twenty-first batch I lent you,” he said, scratching at his head.

“Indeed.” Victor placed his twenty-second batch of books by the sofa’s equally elegant side table, right next to the jar holding the electric eel which kept him company. “They were all very fascinating, but—”

A strident creak, followed by a metallic, earsplitting clank drowned out his words. He spun around to see what had interrupted him, and was met by the sight of the ladder he had just clung to. The only difference is that it was now lying planted on the floor, split in two.

“—But I need to know more,” he continued, unfazed by the fact that he would’ve met the same fate as the ladder, had he not stepped down when he did. 

Sparky threw himself onto the sofa, bouncing once or twice against the feathery suspension. Reaching down to pick up a match, he struck it against its box and held the flame to a candle atop the side table. His circular lenses reflected its warm light, as his irises did the flame. He then shook the match until all that remained of the fire was a swirl of smoke trailing upwards before throwing it aside. Thus, he was prepared to open up a book. 

While Victor sat there, reading while squinting through a magnifying glass, Hexiciah debated whether or not he should bring up the dangers in disregarding one’s personal safety. But he decided not to, knowing from the previous attempts that he simply would not listen.

Entering his own workshop had become a gamble ever since Victor’s arrival. He never knew what horrors he’d meet upon entering its doors. Last time, he’d just barely managed to stop him from drilling a hole through his head in the name of science. He’d even begun to wonder if he should have the school nurse’s office moved into the catacombs, in case his student should ever need to be resuscitated following another outrageous experiment, again inspired by something he’d read. Nor would it surprise him if he came in one day to find his workshop blown to bits, his life’s work in the form of ashes, smoke and scattered metal pieces. 

Yet, despite it all, he’d much rather have him mishandle his own space, rather than letting him run amok on school grounds; Nora’s grounds. On that note, one of his concerns had become especially clear: if Victor was this careless, then how would the Headmistress’ plans on integrating him ever make it past phase one?

Hexiciah seated himself behind his desk, located just by the side of the sofa. He started tightening the screws on an elaborate contraption on top of its surface. 

“Victor,” he began, “I trust you haven’t told anyone?”

“Told them what?”

“That you’re really human.”

His student shrugged. “No.”

“Good. See that it remains that way, because they’re all under the impression that you’re a dullahan.”

Victor returned a blank “Oh-kay”, which adequately expressed his enthusiasm towards everything that wasn’t the book beneath his nose. 

Happy that they could come to an understanding, Hexiciah shifted his focus towards the gizmo on his desk. 

Yet, despite its alarming aspects, Victor’s recklessness had also proven to be a source of nostalgia. It was a reminder to Hexiciah of how he had been as a young man, eager to challenge the very limits of the fabric making up the world. He also found solace in the knowledge that his old tendencies never cost him his life. An arm or an eye, perhaps, but nothing more. 

Suddenly, Victor ran a confused hand through his greasy hair, scratching at his scalp in the process. “This here…” he said, flipping the book around and tapping at a paragraph. “What does it mean, exactly?”

Hexiciah pulled his reading glasses out of his chest pocket and grabbed the book by its spine. He held it at arm’s length, tilting his chin upwards as his vision focused behind the circular lenses. “Ah. Yes, that part discusses the dynamics of severed kebytitions. The tellibran, as you see there—” he pointed at a complicated illustration— “is a source of constant energy, and the closed curves there are given by the intersection of that tellibran with spheres of various radii, corresponding to different values of the total magnitude in regards to the angular momentum. This leads to a fascinating result about the  untethered muntesoid, which is rather similar to the way that isotopes correspond to temperature, in the sense that heat can be used to—”

“Hold on,” Victor interrupted. “The relationship between isotopes and temperature is too erratic to be used as a general example! In fact, putting the isotope ratio in mind…” 

And so, with a raised forefinger, he went on to explain the matter as if Hexiciah was really the one asking a question.

Once the notably extensive lecture was over, Hexiciah's eyes wrinkled with amusement. It most definitely served as another reminder of his youth. 

“Well, then; that clears it all up for me,” Steam chuckled. He thanked professor Victor for the lecture, and returned the book. 

And how much more he was thusly reminded of:

Chapter Text

In a fog-bound alley, snugly lit up by streetlights, laid an old bookshop — a stronghold of personal memories — which had stood empty for some time. All that remained habited was the flat on the floor above. The burgundy wallpaper of Hexiciah’s living room inside was adorned with many items; with intricate clocks in all shapes and sizes whose pendulums hypnotically swung back and forth, and gears that sounded in a chorus of synchronized ticks; with brass sconces and a crackling fireplace, intermingling to cast a warm and welcoming glow upon his home. But the most common items of all were framed photographs. 

The most yellow and faded picture depicted a boy and his constant companion; a Baskerville hound. Then came the additional photos depicting his childhood self and family members; his mother, being one of Oberon and Titania’s people, and human father. There were also plenty of photographs from the years during which all his time was spent doing scientific ‘research’ that mainly included blowing things up and constructing absurd contraptions; a history which, apparently, had been a necessary step in becoming the world’s foremost mechanical genius one day. 

However, even though these pictures were in abundance, their amount couldn’t compare to the ones he’d taken during his countless travels and adventures; for the laws of nature were not all that fascinated this curious individual, but also planet earth itself. Before Monster High, but after he’d gotten his act together as a scientist and inventor, Hexiciah spent his days seeking out new frontiers, sailing across seas, and even wandering for days on end. Not being too vain a man, he’d stop to rest in the nearest place that offered him a bed and food; anything ranging between the cheapest hostels with torn wallpapers, to guest rooms of the most extravagant chateaus enveloped by lusciously green and flourishing gardens. 

He’d acquaint himself with foreign cities and historical monuments, as well as monsters of all kinds, with the latter being the highlight of his travels. Prior to meeting new monster species, he would be thrilled to learn about their customs, their cultures, and how their lives differed from those he already knew. But after bidding adieu to his new acquaintances, his spirits were always lowered by disappointment. It turned out that there was little new to learn, apart from what he already knew; for despite a few, minor cultural differences, the monsters he met would be more alike than they were different. 

This stirred up his thoughts and had him questioning the main argument as to why different monsters should be kept separate; that the sole reason why their diplomatic relations were so bitter was because they were all too different to ever get along. But how could that be, when the one thing he’d learned from his travels was that, beneath the facade of social customs, they were all driven by the same thoughts, passions and feelings?

And he wondered: were there others out there with whom he shared these thoughts? If so, where were they?

* * *

On a fateful day in the 17th century, he’d set foot for Transylvania. He felt only fortunate that he’d taken an umbrella with him that evening, as part of him would otherwise have been at risk of rusting. Its canopy shielded him from the rain that pattered persistently against its fabric while pouring down about him, slowly filling up the ditches around the remote path he followed; ditches that soon amounted to smaller rivers, which swiftly streamed past him and the dense woodlands. Meanwhile, above the treetops and swirling clouds, the sky already bathed in a bright shade of saffron. 

Despite the time, as was shown on his built-in clocks, Steam believed he could go on a bit further before he’d need to find a place to sleep. Only when the soft rumbles of thunder began to sound in the distance did he begin to consider finding shelter for the night, solely due to the risk of his umbrella getting struck. 

Before long, he’d located a prodigious castle in a nearby glade surrounded by bare, dead trees whose spidery branches stretched like lightning in an empty sky. Its dark, worn and gloomy exterior stretched threateningly far above his head while ravens cawed and circled its giant towers, whose tall tips possessed a sharpness comparing to that of needles. Behind the arched windows, the curtains were drawn, apparently to keep daylight from peeking in. 

The sight left an unreachable itch below his ribs; an inexplicable urge to stay away. But as the rain grew heavier and the intervals between lightning strikes and thunder grew shorter, the feeling came to pass. He’d experienced far worse living conditions — and he wasn’t too vain a man. 

The wrought-iron gates with their spiky tips creaked as he slipped through them. He soon reached forward to grab the metal door knocker, but his fingers could only brush against it before the door flung open. 

Hexiciah politely took off his goggled top hat, revealing the luster of his dark hair to the elegantly-dressed butler in front of him. Before he could open his mouth, another figure had soundlessly appeared by the door frame. It was a raven-haired man of an exceptionally pale countenance, slightly pink in color. A cape brushed against the ground beneath him, its high collar stopping just by his defined jaw. Speaking flashed a sharp pair of fangs, and his words were expressed through a prominent Romanian accent. Light was shed on his notable hospitality when he politely greeted the metal-handed man by the door, exchanged introductions, and escorted him to one of his many guest rooms. 

While there were plenty available, Hexiciah was given the room closest to the exit. His host — Dracula was his name — seemed to be in a hurry to get back to his guests, so our inventor was soon left with only the luxurious interior of his assigned bedroom for company. The tranquil silence of the full moon beamed in through the gap between the velvet curtains, casting its pale moonlight upon the gothic wallpaper. A canopy bed, matching the blood-colored curtains, had an elegant robe folded on top of its blanket; a robe which Hexiciah quickly slipped into. And as soon his face nudged the feather-stuffed pillows, he retreated to the realm of slumber. 

He awoke barely an hour later, his throat feeling like a contraption in dire need of oiling. He tried to swallow it away, but his attempt was to little avail. So, he slipped into the silken slippers tucked beneath his bedside table, and left his room. 

Gold-framed paintings with motifs of old, rugged vampires in tailcoats were hung across the moonlit corridor. Even though he’d been given the room closest to the foyer, finding the kitchen was as difficult as navigating a maze with how the corridors branched into other, longer corridors, and most often led towards dead ends. 

Before long, he was instead facing the problem of navigating the kitchen cabinets. Only after some excessive scavenging did he find a glass. A pitcher full of water awaited him by the counters. However, after he’d filled up his glass and raised it to his lips, he got the strangest feeling of being watched. The source came from the arch leading into the dining room. 

Hexiciah clutched onto his glass as his eyes darted between the many monsters seated across the dining table, which was long enough to fit the several dozen conference members. These were monsters of all kinds who, despite their physical differences, all shared the same bothered look of having been interrupted. Their formal tailcoats made him appear terribly underdressed in comparison, and Hexiciah excused himself, asking them to pardon the interruption, before returning upstairs. 

The distant, structureless murmurs of conversation resumed once his steps had stopped creaking against the stairs. But when he managed to find a structure in this murmur and instead distinguish words, he instantly froze. His dark eyebrows rose, accentuating the lines on his forehead, as he continued to eavesdrop.

The conference discussed how, despite a few, minor cultural differences, monsters were really more alike than they were different; how, beneath the facade of social customs, they were all driven by the same thoughts, passions and feelings. This is what they went on to describe as the leading reason to strive for monster equality. 

Monster equality; two words that became the source of so great an allure when paired together. But he didn’t know what surprised him the most; whether it was that very topic, or the fact that there were others with whom he shared his thoughts; real, living beings. The idea made his fingertips tingle with joy.

Hexiciah hurried back into the kitchen. “Pardon the intrusion, gentlemen,” he began, “but I happened to overhear your conversation. I mean to inquire about the matter regarding—” 

The sight of the council’s faces caused him to stop short. Before him were widened eyes, pale complexions and monsters pulling at their cravats; the appearance of creatures whose gravest secret had seeped out.

“—Regarding monster equality?” he continued, hesitantly. 

Dracula looked at his fellow creatures before rising from his chair by the table’s end. “That is indeed what we are discussing,” he firmly stated, fully ready to defend himself. “Do you object?”

“Object? No, no; every fiber of my being agrees with you!” he beamed. 

The council heaved a sigh of relief in unison, relaxing their tense shoulders and rubbing the sides of their chests.

Surprise flitted across Dracula’s face before he gestured towards an empty chair. “Well, then. Won’t you take a seat?”

Hexiciah soon came to occupy the empty chair. He victoriously shook hands with the two monsters sitting next to him, and the meeting went on. 

* * *

Hours of intense discussion had scratched an intellectual itch deep in his mind, and the answers to his questions had left him feeling refreshed in a way that no amount of water could ever emulate. It was then arranged for him to return at the next monthly conference, and that he did. He then attended the next one, and the one thereafter. 

Some members of the Society of United Monsters were more notable than others. Some of them, Dracula included, proved to be members of the royal vampire court; the more open-minded half, who were against a certain Stoker’s wishes to uphold vampire superiority. Another noteworthy attendant was a werewolf named Krempe; a well-spoken man with captivating ideas and perspectives surrounding monster equality. Unfortunately, he also had a tendency to blame the state of the world on the so-called normies, causing his redeeming qualities to lose their worth. One would think that a man who so frequently quoted monster history should know that the issues between different monsters existed even before humans entered the equation, but such wasn’t the case with Krempe. Hexiciah declined to broaden his fellow-creature’s perspectives, as to the uneducated, revelation is a doorway to knowledge; but to the close-minded, it is a wall that echoes back their prejudice as truth. And to describe Krempe as the latter would be a grave understatement.

As the years passed, Hexiciah grew to become a trusted friend of Dracula’s, as well as other members. However, none of those friendships could compare to the one he developed with another. 

She would sit by the chair adjacent to his, scribbling down notes with her head tilted down so that her raven-colored bangs obscured her eyes. He remembered this detail very vividly, as he used to spend a good portion of the meetings wishing she’d look up and add to the conversation, so that he could catch a proper glimpse of her. She radiated a certain allure which compared to his deepest scientific fascinations, and he wanted nothing more than to speak to her. 

However, she was largely intimidating; a, to him, notably unfamiliar feeling, considering how he’d otherwise leap headfirst into unseen corners of science as well as the world, regardless of what might await in the unknown. And once he’d finally gathered the courage to open his mouth, the assembly would be over and her chair would be empty. 

Such is how the meetings typically went. He would watch as she opened a fresh page in her notebook and dipped her quill in its inkwell, just before Dracula slid into the room and started the conference. 

One day, in the midst of these discussions, he suddenly heard a remarkably silvery voice coming from nearby. 

“A fascinating topic, don’t you think?”

Hexiciah’s gaze shot towards her, thinking she’d finally decided to add to the conversation. 

“Vampire hisstory,” she elaborated as her quill’s silky feather brushed against her cheek. “Very insightful.”

It took a moment to realize that it was really him she addressed. Perhaps she’d noticed the attention. 

“Indeed!” he soon answered. “Especially the parts explaining what led to their hierarchies—”

“—And their aristocratic attitude of superiority in regards to other monsters,” she continued, and looked up; away from the careful notes beneath her. 

His eyes crinkled with delight upon spotting the glint of her silver gaze. “Hexiciah Steam,” he said, reaching forward his hand. “Lovely to finally speak to you— or rather, meet you.”

She took his hand, returning an amused smile as she pressed it. “Nora Bloodgood. Now, don’t you find it compelling how…”

And so they went on discussing vampire history, unaware of the displeased faces turning their way, as well as how their tones which first amounted to whispers grew louder with every word. 

The scrapes of a chair’s legs sounded throughout the room. By the table’s end, Dracula had risen from his seat. “Hexiciah, ms. Bloodgood,” he politely began, “I am delighted to see that you are getting along, but I should ask you to postpone the smalltalk for when the meeting is adjourned.”

The two broke away from each other, having realized that all heads were turned towards them. Smalltalk was indeed prohibited during the meetings, as Dracula meant to save it for later when he dined with his companions to catch up with them. The two apologized, and the conference went on.

Following the conference’s conclusion, Bloodgood rose from her seat and directed her steps towards the foyer. Hexiciah caught a glimpse of her in his peripheral view and pushed back his chair, getting up before she was gone altogether. 

“Won’t you stay for a while?” he’d eagerly asked, standing by the arch as she slipped into her violet cloak. “I’d very much like to continue our discussion on vampire hisstory.”

The chandelier’s dazzling crystals overhead cast its opulent beauty onto Nora, taking the colorful form of prismatic beams that played upon her countenance. Her gaze wandered between his gear-shaped iris and the organic’s bright and vivid green as she thought, apparently to inspect him before deciding. Her decision was finalized once she returned her cloak onto the clothing hanger. 

Bloodgood’s heels clicked as she approached him, her hands clasped behind her back. “I suppose that could be arranged,” she hummed. “Where were we?”

“Their relations with the werewolves, I believe,” he said, mirroring her composed tone, though his heart wished to leap for joy. 

The conversation resumed in a secluded study, by a round table with two adjacent chairs. Streaming past the ruffled curtains, the pale moonlit glow accompanied them as they exchanged proper introductions. 

Nora Bloodgood was a name belonging to a poet, librarian, and visionary. She must have been the top student where she studied, with how she spoke ten languages, possessed impressive knowledge in social studies, and could describe every year of hisstory in such great detail that it seemed she’d been present there herself. If only she hadn’t been young enough to be his sister, while wise enough to be his grandmother, that might well have been true. 

A lively discussion went on well into the evening. Soon came the time when they were to bid farewell, and they parted by the gates of Castle Dracula. 

To remain at the castle after the monthly assemblies quickly became a habit which they both happily followed, as their discussions seemed far more efficient and enjoyable than those spent in the company of others. Hexiciah’s travels were among her favorite topics, with how his first-hand experiences confirmed her theories on monsterkind as a whole. These were a great source of inspiration, urging her to further pursue her own interests. Her voice rang of sheer enthusiasm and involvement when she spoke not only of monster equality and unification, but of the dreams and ambitions she had in abundance; her dreams of what the world could be, and her ambitions to change what was. 

In the eyes of Hexiciah, this caused her to go from being a mere source of curiosity to someone worthy of the most sincere kinds of admiration. 

* * *

Many years passed; and by the time the 19th century arrived, Hexiciah had grown to consider her his dearest friend. Nora, modest in that sense, was quite content with her own company and a good book. She did, however, appreciate him the way she did her books; perhaps even more than her combined collection. 

While she preferred to do any and all traveling through the eyes of authors and explorers, he did it through his own. One would think that this should’ve brought them closer together, though it only pulled them separate ways. Due to their clashing lifestyles, they scarcely saw each other outside the monthly meetings in Transylvania; but ever since they met, he would always ensure that his travels were brief and didn’t ever span for longer than a month. That was a habit he managed to smoothly uphold — until a certain offer came up, surrounding an expedition that he, despite its poor timing, couldn’t turn down. 

“I’ll be away for some time, Nora,” he explained as they sat in their study. A trail of steam rose beneath him along with a sweet aroma, originating from the cups of chamomile tea on the table. “I’ll be off to the other side of the globe, and I shall remain there for eleven months. But I would very much like to bring you along! You wouldn’t be restricted to just hearing about my travels; we could experience them together.”

Bloodgood had a sip of her tea, steadily holding a saucer beneath her cup. She was looking out the window, a tinge of dreaminess in her gaze with which she traced the gleaming constellations above. A sincere smile seeped out as she did so; a fine embellishment for her crimson lips. 

“I’d like that very much,” Nora said before long, leaning forward to return her cup to its spot on the table. A clink sounded against the porcelain. “But I must deny. I have a library to tend to. Besides, I do not mind experiencing your travels through a medium apart from my own senses; especially if it means yours.”

Steam’s shoulders sank. He looked at his wingtip shoes beneath the table as he nodded in understanding. 

“Hexiciah?” she said after a moment, leading his gaze towards hers. 

“Yes, Nora?”

“Won’t you come see me, first thing you’ve returned? At my library? You could tell me about everything you’ve experienced while it’s still fresh in your memory.”

His green eye lit up, while the gears reflected the moonlight. “Why, I’d be delighted!”

And so she brought forward her notebook, tearing out a page with a rrritch. She scribbled down the address in her elegant handwriting, folded the page together, and handed it over to Hexiciah.

He took off his top hat and tucked it deep beneath its brim, carefully securing it. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than losing it. 

In the distance, a hint of morning bled into the starlit sky, urging them both to look at their watches. Having realized that it was only a matter of minutes before Hexiciah’s train would depart, they hurried to pull on their gloves, cloaks and overcoats — he still took the time to help her put on hers — before scurrying to the train station. There was no logical reason for her to follow him there, but she did it still, motivated only by emotion. 

When they arrived at the platform, the locomotive had already been set in motion; its wheels screeched against the metal tracks, and smoke welled out the chimney up front as Hexiciah hurried past the masses of people waving off their loved ones with their handkerchiefs. He stretched for the railing of the carriage’s rear balcony, only managing to nudge it a few times before finally grabbing hold of it and jumping on. 

A sigh of relief accompanied the motion of drying off the sweat that glistened on his forehead. He collapsed onto the balcony’s bench, looking back into the distance as he steamed away. There, he spotted Nora, and watched as she took off a silken glove and waved it in his direction. 

* * *

That trip was supposed to have been the most exciting event of the century. Still, Hexiciah couldn’t find anything even remotely worthy to snap pictures of; nothing more interesting than the dull, industrial-looking cabin of his steamer, where he spent most of his days locked in boredom. Nor could he go out and focus on the ancient artifacts his shipmates discovered, nor on the fields laden with vibrant orchids and a multitude of other blossoms; not the mountaintop views, nor the setting sun. It would appear that his standards for beauty had been raised; and could he really be blamed for having found a new paradigm?

After weeks of moping about, he jumped on an earlier ship home. Home, as in the address written on the note tucked within the brim of his hat. 

When his ship docked by the still and windless harbor, he hopped off and got a map of the urban town of Salem, which he followed until he stepped onto a certain sidewalk. There, he stopped to check the map once again, unsure whether or not he was at the right place. The brick building before him more closely resembled a mere bookshop rather than a full-sized library, leaving his thoughts to wander. He peeked in through the well-polished window. But its interior, empty of monsters, served as little confirmation to his whereabouts. 

The bell attached to the door jingled as he stepped inside. They were in any case open, judging by the sign. Surely, he could ask someone for directions if he’d ended up at the wrong place. But then—

“If you would be so kind as to wait for a moment,” called out a silvery voice, sounding somewhat muffled behind a wall, “I’ll be there shortly.”

Hexiciah’s face lit up. No, it would be more appropriate to say that he was beaming brighter than the sun, all thanks to the sound of that familiar voice. As he waited, he plucked out a few books from the shelves. He proceeded to bring them to the counter, where he eagerly anticipated the mere sight of her. 

Soon, a door creaked open and she emerged in her violet, ruffled-adorned attire while dusting off her hands. She approached the counter almost mechanically, suggesting she was moving solely based on muscle memory. And once she caught sight of these books, a slight smile began to tug at her lips. Nora picked them up, carefully running her hand across their leather-bound covers, swiping away any dust.

“I must say,” she began, “these are excellent picks. They’re my…”

She stopped short, drawing her gaze towards a glint of copper. The sight elicited a gasp. “Hexiciah?”

The brightest smile overspread her features, and she hurried towards his gear-shaped iris. Without a sliver of hesitance, she pulled him into a gentle embrace, stained his cheek with a quick press of her tinted lips, and allowed her head to sink into his shoulder. 

His breath was taken away with a gasp, the culprit being the gesture as well as the realization that her arms were around him at last. The familiar smell of her sweet perfume filled his senses, causing his heart to flutter as he raised his arms, which proved to fit perfectly around her narrow waist, almost as if they were made for holding her.  

Then, time took on a life of its own, erasing the distinction between hours and seconds. The outside world faded into the background, leaving just the two and the warmth of their hug. 

Soon, unaware of how much time that had passed, Nora looked past his shoulder, her eyes falling on the clock atop the beige walls. She reluctantly slithered away from his arms and walked over to the door, flipping its sign over so that it said ‘closed’ to the public. 

“I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon,” she said. A tinge of self-consciousness now vibrated in her voice, implying that she debated whether or not her gesture had been too hasty. 

“Well, you see…” Hexiciah’s gaze fell on the parquet flooring as he rubbed at his lipstick-stained cheek, still taken aback. He vaguely felt as if part of his body was missing, even though the ghost of her warm embrace still lingered. “You see, Nora, one of my shipmates fell ill,” he continued, stumbling between words. “He needed to be returned along with the rest of us sooner than planned to receive medical attention.”

“Oh. How fortunate— er, unfortunate,” she said. “I do hope he’s fairly sound.”

“I’m certain of that. You mustn’t worry about him,” he blurted out, hoping he hadn’t tainted the atmosphere by delivering bitter news; ones that weren’t even grounded in reality. 

“But do tell me; how was the journey?” Nora asked. She returned to her usual post behind the counters, eagerly clasping her hands on top of them. “Did you learn lots? I do hope it was enjoyable, apart from your friend’s misfortune.”

“No, I’m afraid it wasn’t,” Hexiciah replied, moving to the opposite side of the counter. Sunlight peeked in behind him. “The rain poured from the very moment we stepped ashore and wouldn’t stop even for a moment. I didn’t dare go outside; you see, I feared I would rust. And to make matters worse, an awful thunderstorm ravaged the entire continent.”

“Oh. How unfortunate,” she responded, again in a vaguely forced manner. “And did the journey home go well?”

“Yes, quite smoothly,” he nodded.

“Despite the storm?”

“Pardon?”

“That awful thunderstorm, ravaging the entire continent?”

“Oh! No, it seemed to dissipate as soon as we’d set sail for North America. We were quite fortunate that way,” he chuckled, running his sleeve across his forehead. “But please— I would very much like to hear about your latest endeavors. How have you been, Nora?”

Bloodgood opened her mouth, though immediately faltered. Suddenly avoiding his gaze, she swallowed thickly and mumbled, “I’ve been quite busy myself.”

“Oh, really? How so?” he asked, leaning forward. Whatever she had to say, it would be the most exciting thing to acquaint his ears since his departure. 

Clocks ticked in the background while Nora gathered her thoughts. She looked at him with a hint of scrutiny, but couldn’t find anything other than curiosity and kindness. From that sight alone, she figured it couldn’t hurt to tell him. He was different from the others; different from those friends and acquaintances of hers who had decided to cut ties after she’d happily revealed her latest plans to them. She gathered her strength, asking, “Hexiciah, do you recall the notes I took from the meetings?”

“Yes,” he hummed. “It was a very wise choice to take notes. I wouldn’t either wish to forget anything they preached.”

“They’re not for me,” she explained. “They’re for an old professor of mine, as well as two colleagues of his. They were quite intrigued by Dracula’s ideas, but didn’t dare to personally attend his conferences. You see, these three have since long been promoted from being mere professors, to having a prominent place in the board of deadeducation. Thus, they have reputations to keep; jobs to keep. And they couldn’t lose their jobs; if they would, their plans would never be set in motion.”

“Plans?”

“Their plans for a school. They had considered the idea for some time, but after reading about the matters discussed in the meetings, they finally decided to go ahead with their plans.”

“What kind of school?” he asked, interest and curiosity blending into something scarcely bearable. 

“How shall I put it…” Her gaze wandered to the stationery atop the counter while a claw tapped against her chin. When she looked up again, a gleam of careful enthusiasm was spotted in her eyes. She went on, gesturing softly as she spoke, “Well, as you’re aware, the student bodies of all schools are divided based on monster species. Take the all-vampire Belfry Prep, and the all-werewolf Crescent Moon High. Well, my professor’s wish is to open a school meant for all monsters in hopes that the tensions between species might alleviate; to encourage tolerance, diversity, equality and harmony amongst all; for the vision of peace to stop being a dream, and instead become reality. They call it Monster High.”

His cheeks dimpled. “That sounds like a lovely idea.”

“Do you really think so?” Excitement laced her voice, leaving it with melodic undertones. “Hexiciah, the contacts I wrote notes for; the school board of Monster High, have chosen me as its headmistress.”

His brows perked up. “Headmistress? Why, congratulations!”

“Thank you, but… they really only needed me for my notes at first. When they heard I had signed up as a candidate to become principal, they believed it was my attempt at humor. They thought I was far too inexperienced for the position. Yet, out of everyone consulted, I was the only one who believed that a school like this was possible. And once they finally interviewed me, it would appear that I impressed them with my visions and ideas of what one could do with such a school.” 

A pleased smile seeped out. She continued, “And there seems to be a number of young minds willing to enroll! I tried consulting the Society of United Monsters as they seemed like the right monsters, and several of the parents there were stoked about the idea. Some even said they wished they’d gone to such a school when they were young! So far, 13 students have signed up. But… There's still the matter of finding teachers.” The moment she said the latter, her tone lost its excitement, as did the gleam in her eyes. “The school board has consulted a number of people, but none have been interested thus far.”

A heavy sigh escaped her, implying that something weighed on her. Aimlessly tapping at her desk, she continued, “I do wonder if some of the consultants are actually fond of the idea, but simply do not dare participate in such a project. Perhaps they’re afraid of being shunned by those they viewed as dear friends…”

“I could take the job!” Hexiciah immediately suggested, following little consideration surrounding the idea. But perhaps no thoughts were needed for such a matter. 

“You?” The pronoun rolled off her tongue like it was the most beautiful word to exist. Hope illumined her features. “Oh, thank you, Hexiciah. Truly. I would want nothing more.” She paused, her expression growing slightly pained with regret. “But— I fear it might be insufficient.”

“I could teach multiple classes! I may not be as educated as you, Nora, but I do have the appropriate merits.”

“And your vast experiences would be greatly beneficial,” she added. “But I’m afraid I can’t allow it. I really don’t want you overworking yourself. If anything, it should only be used as a backup plan. There must be more.”

“Perhaps you could consult the society?” he suggested. “Since they responded so positively, then some of them might surely wish to contribute themselves?”

“Indeed!” Nora brought forward the stationery lying on the side of the counter. “We mustn’t wait a moment longer. I’ll contact them right away,” she said as she dipped the quill in its inkwell, and scribbled down the first name that came to mind on an envelope. 

Hexiciah spotted another quill by her side, with which he began assisting her with the letters; assisting, which was, and always had been, the least he could do to express his affection. 

They ended up with a thick pile of letters held together by a wide ribbon, similar to the ones you tie around presents. Hexiciah held the pile by the loops of their bow while the bell attached to the door jingled. Behind him, Bloodgood’s key rattled against the metal lock. 

Having closed her library for the day, Nora turned around, meeting his gaze. 

The corners of his eyes wrinkled to accompany his smile. “Now, then… lead the way, Headmistress Bloodgood!” he playfully voiced, holding out his copper-based arm to the world before them, and the other for her taking. 

She wrapped her arm around his, gently holding it as they made their way through dim streetlights and a town hurrying to return home, strolling beside ringing bicycles and horse carriages. 

“Headmistress…” Nora beamed, allowing the warmest of smiles to graze her features. “Can you believe it, Hexiciah?”

His eyes glimmered with pride and admiration as he gazed upon her. With a touch of lightness, he murmured, “I couldn’t imagine anyone better fit for the position than you.”

She beheld him with a look of comfort, securing her hold around his arm. 

He held the door for her as she passed through the entrance of the post office, where they proceeded to leave the letters by the counters. Then, they were back outside almost as soon as they’d entered. 

The two went on to spend the following months getting the school in perfect order. Or rather, she was the one bringing everything to perfection, with how she dedicated every waking moment to Monster High. He merely hovered about her, ready to be at her aid at all times, although it was seldom needed. 

However, seemingly out of the blue, something changed between them. Somewhere a few months into the preparations, addressing her as ‘headmistress’ stopped being an act of playfulness and instead something he felt was expected of him. She had grown strangely distant, for a reason he had great difficulty identifying. 

Had he said something to hurt her? Did she deem it inappropriate that they didn’t belong to the same monster types? Had he misinterpreted it all? Had work simply gotten in the way? Whatever the reason, cardiology hadn’t caused the change of heart. Then, whatever could it have been?

So, he stuck to addressing her as Headmistress Bloodgood instead of Nora. Since she never objected to this title, he figured it must’ve been what she wished. And that wish is what he would follow — although he now felt distinctly empty. 

He did, however, have a vague guess surrounding the circumstances. And it would certainly be a logical answer.

Chapter Text

Each Tuesday, the school board of Monster High was impatiently awaiting Bloodgood’s weekly progress report. This week’s letter discussed the blossoming friendships between her vampires and werewolves — the two species who had been feuding for thousands of years — and included a mention of Victor, who hadn’t yet made much progress regarding her plans. 

On the topic of monster unification, Nora was now pleased to report that some had even moved past friendship and delved into romance. In her eyes, this was a wonderful achievement that could prove lots to the monster world. Not only her vampires and werewolves had begun seeing each other, but also the freshwater and saltwater sea monsters, as well as the gorgons and the mummies. 

Yet, she regarded this milestone with a range of emotions that far surpassed mere contentment. It filled her with a peculiar sense of emptiness; a clear absence which carved itself into the very depths of her soul, as its distinct omission felt like part of her body was missing. The latter made her think of Hexiciah. Did he feel that way, too? 

Given that he was, in a sense, missing an arm. 

However, as soon as she caught herself feeling, she promptly pushed it all aside and told herself to focus on her work. But this endeavor only made her feel more, to the extent that when she looked back at the report she’d written, the letters swam before her eyes. In an attempt to find another means of distraction, she looked to her office. But the effect given by its empty and gloomy interior was only counterproductive, even inflicting an uncomfortable stinging upon her.

She sprang up from her desk, abruptly enough to make the legs of her armchair screech against the floor. Her heels clicked as she hurried to the window with the view of the airy foyer. With her clawed hands resting on the cold windowsill, her silver eyes fell on a construction worker. 

A perfect distraction. 

Her sharp nose nearly nudged the glass while she followed him with her gaze. Soon, he reunited with his co-workers by the main entrance, who were busy attaching a sizable clock to the wall above. Her thoughts immediately drifted back towards copper and steam whistles, causing the painful emptiness emitted by its absence to intensify. 

Forcing her gaze away from it, her eyes came to wander between the students strolling by. But she spotted a pair with intertwined fingers, and saw how the young gorgon so tenderly held on to his darling’s soft hand and so gently ran his thumb over her knuckles; how their arms brushed against each other, paired with the mellow smiles they exchanged. 

Nora rested her weary head, which had suddenly grown unbearably heavy, against the palm of her hand.

How very lucky they are.

Then, she remembered. She instantly looked up, her eyes frantically darting between the passersby to ensure that no one had seen her. Were there telepaths at the school? Her thoughts went to the Screams couple, whose son had enrolled. She desperately hoped that he hadn’t walked past her office just then, for what would happen if he’d tell the school board about this?

Nora hurried away from the window, returning to the armchair behind her office desk. She quickly signed the weekly report, hardly bothering to proofread before stamping its flaps together. It would be sent off soon enough. There was nothing she wanted more than for her feelings to copy this gesture, and send themselves off as well. But this attempt was as effective as the others. If only they could be removed, washed away with the most acidic soap, and have the marks sandpapered away so that the proof of their existence would cease to be. 

If only. 

All she could do was abide by the school board’s values, whether her feelings agreed or not. 

Nora had indeed been their only willing candidate. But it would seem that she believed in the project far more than they did. Their trust, as well as their conviction that Monster High was even possible, still stood on shaky grounds. Nor were they particularly impressed by the vague hints of affection between her and that professor who’s always around her; the one who brings her tea, exchanges smiles with her, and whatnot. In their traditional circles, inter-workplace relationships were highly frowned upon. Nor did they deem it appropriate for someone in her — or even their own — position to court altogether. One might suggest that he should thereby quit his job as professor; but with the latter considered, it would make no difference.

Should she make even the slightest misstep, they could strip her of this position; and what would become of Monster High then? No one else wanted her job. The project would fall to ruin, as would the dreams she’d had all her life; her visions for a united future, and her visions for peace. That simply would not happen under her watch. To make herself appear disinterested; professionally distant in his company would thereby be for the greater good. It was easier that way, for there would be no talk about getting the school board to change their minds. She had made up hers, and her decision would not be discussed. That was final. 

But why must the heart be so delicate a thing? It was absurd and unwarranted to feel so hollow. She should have been used to these kinds of sacrifices, those old friends of hers considered. But why, oh why, should it feel so differently when it concerns someone who believes in you? The one whose eyes glimmer with admiration at the sight of you, while others behold you with repugnance? The one you’ve known for centuries, who you’d gotten along with in an instant, and spent so much time with? The one who’s been your foremost supporter, and holder of the sweetest traits of kindness and curiosity? That dearly familiar Hexiciah Steam? 

But it was futile to argue against a calling. This was a price she would pay, even if it meant that she could only ever be Headmistress Bloodgood in his eyes; for her feelings were irrelevant, and her place was here, behind her office desk. 

* * *

Victor sat by the stairs outside the main entrance, hunched over a sketchbook with a pen between his fingers. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair and rustled the leaves around him, which had begun to assume colors of russet and gold. Occasionally, he looked up from his sketches to watch as the other students were dropped off by their parents. He took note of the latter’s appearances; the manner in which they dressed and wore their hair, and went on to scribble down any design ideas he received. 

Being an engineer at heart, Hexiciah had only very few books on chemistry and biology, while the vast majority covered physics and engineering. And the books surrounding the former subject only featured surface-level knowledge, while the latter covered it incredibly thoroughly. The logical course of action for Victor would thereby be to make sentient mechanical constructions, and scrap his other plans; disregard the family recipe. 

He proceeded to make a few adjustments to the designs beneath him, adding a thicker mustache, a frillier blouse, white streaks to the conical hairdo…

Victor murmured something to himself; a pleased kind of murmur. He turned the page. Once he’d prepared a list, and the numbers had been written down, he looked back up to closely observe another set of parents. His eyes fell on a smiling father, who shared a laugh with his daughter. 

FRIENDLY, he wrote in his messy handwriting. 

His gaze wandered towards an attentive mother who fussed over her son, straightening his bowtie and smoothing out the lapels of his vest. 

CARING.

By the wrought-iron gates, a couple gently held their twins in their arms before they parted ways. 

Victor freezed at this sight, managing only to stare at them. He swallowed thickly to rid himself of the lump that thickened in his throat. 

ALIVE.

Victor’s mismatched eyes narrowed at the sight of the word. He tore out the page and crumpled it into a ball before tossing it away. 

Traits, such nitpicky things, were superfluous; all he needed was for them to be alive. They could have whatever personality traits they wished, as long as they were there. As long as they could think and speak and care. As long as they could offer him comfort, assurance and company. As long as they could free him from the constant gnawing of loneliness, which feasted on his heart. 

Victor shot up and hurried into the catacombs. 

Only the sour scent of chemicals and metal welcomed him once he’d reached the workshop. By a spare desk, he unfurled a wide sheet of bluish paper which covered its entire surface, and delved into the second phase of his project; the making of his blueprints.

Chapter Text

Krempe barged into the Headmistress’ office, unmissably announcing his intention to ‘file a complaint’ as he strode towards Bloodgood’s desk. 

A closer look at Hexiciah, who rearranged her books in the background, revealed that he was glaring at his colleague, likely due to the insolent gesture.

Sinking back into her armchair, Nora held back a frustrated groan. She’d already had three of these encounters that very week. If this went on, the piles of complaints she’d written at his request would surely outgrow her endless piles of paperwork. 

Gritting her teeth, she waved him forward and brought out a blank form. “Go ahead.”

“Well…” Krempe clasped his hands behind his back, squinted and looked to the ceiling like an artist awaiting inspiration. “For one thing, was it truly necessary to let that Frankenstein sit and tinker with… whatever it is he’s tinkering with, during my classes? Allowing him to read irrelevant books during my lectures was one thing, but don’t you think this is taking it a step too far?”

Bloodgood coldly batted a displeased eyebrow. 

“I’m simply… worried that he might be missing out on useful knowledge,” he added, now chuckling nervously. 

“Your concern is admirable, but you needn’t worry,” she blankly replied. “Victor is quite knowledgeable, and it is my opinion that this is what’s best for him.”

“But if he’s not even going to listen, what use is there that he attends my classes?”

Nora patiently awaited the moment when she would finally hear something worthy of writing down. 

“School policy, Krempe. The system only allows for a certain level of absence,” she explained. The statement above was grounded in lies; he couldn’t know the real reason. “I’ve already taken him out of the classes he perceives as being ‘too irrelevant’. Any more classes would equal an absence far too great. You have my condolences, but he refuses to do anything that isn’t related to his own projects; and your classrooms are the only ones with the appropriate equipment.”

Krempe ran a dubious hand through his frizzy hair, shaking his head back and forth with disbelief. He soon muttered, “Would you at least tell him to clean up, then? His stench compares to that of a normie…”

Bloodgood exchanged a glance with Hexiciah, whose shoulders had suddenly grown tense. Naturally, there was nothing to be done about this supposed normie scent, but she played along. “I suppose I could inform him of that,” she responded, pretending to write it down. “I shall have a talk with him at the nearest opportunity.”

“Please, Headmistress, do it right away; it’s revolting!”

“At the nearest opportunity, Krempe.” She spoke slowly and clearly. “I am preoccupied.”

Hexiciah stepped forward to sacrifice himself, offering to speak to Victor.

His fellow professor’s face immediately lit up. “Excellent! I’m coming with you.” He hooked his arm into Hexiciah’s, and the latter sent a confused look back at Nora before he was forcibly pulled out of her office. 

While his legs were notably stubby in comparison to his much taller and sturdier colleague, the werewolf marched through the corridors with an agility that would suggest they were the same height. 

Following a bit of struggling, Hexiciah managed to free himself from the steel grip that was nearly stronger than copper. “Krempe,” he began, stopping in his steps. Revealing the place where he could, for once, be free of him, was not something on his agenda. “I would prefer to go alone.”

“Oh, but I really do insist!”

“Is that so? Are you truly so eager to be near him and that… well, that smell of his?”

The lycan opened his mouth, but no response was formed.

“Well, then. I’m glad we could reach an agreement.”

“I trust you’ll tell me how it goes, then?” Krempe suggested, sounding notably chipper. “I’ll be waiting in the creature’s lounge.”

Oh, the creature’s lounge; Krempe’s favorite place to sit and lurk. But alas; what else could be done?

Hexiciah gave him a hesitant nod; and when he’d turned around, he ran a hand across his face, pressing his eyes shut in resignation. 

Thus, without bothering to search elsewhere, Steam went directly to the catacombs — and that which might await there.

* * *

Following the completion of his blueprints, Frankenstein practically lived in the workshop. He had attached himself to his project like a magnet now that he had delved into practical territory, and could only with great difficulty be severed from it. It was at this point that he’d begun to consider discontinuing his studies at Monster High. He had everything he needed in that workshop, and no longer needed the school. 

Victor had gotten so far as to bring it up with the Headmistress herself. When he came into her office that day, she’d first assumed it was really Krempe, with how he barged in without knocking. But when she peeked through the gaps between her towering piles of paperwork, she was relieved to find that it was only him. She did, however, ask her student to knock next time; a, to Victor, previously unknown concept. 

Now, under normal circumstances, she would only have been happy to accommodate his wishes to ensure the success of her own project; the success of the exchange program. But allowing him to leave would mean its end. Considering what workaholics they both were, neither of them would give up on their causes. And while Nora didn’t wish to threaten him, she was compelled to say that he wouldn’t be allowed access to the workshop if he withdrew from Monster High. This instantly changed Victor’s attitude, as he’d gotten too distressed to argue against her, let alone form words. 

They came to the agreement that his schedule would be shortened, and that he would be allowed to sit and tinker during class. Since Victor gathered more information during just a few lessons than most would in a semester, he had already learned everything that was required of him. Thus, all that mattered to Nora was that he showed up to class to interact with his fellow creatures. But since he failed to do just that, she occasionally tried to set him up for socializing with various students. However, her attempts were either ignored, or resulted in nothing but nervous glances, clammy palms and an empty silence between him and the other student. 

They were like each other’s pawns; perhaps even kings, as neither could be removed if they wished to continue. 

But unfortunately for a certain professor, Nora’s recent endeavors had made Victor incredibly eager to get back to work, causing him to grow even more unyielding in his obsessive attempts to succeed. Thus, entering the workshop had become more of a gamble than ever before. 

The steady sounds of Hexiciah’s footsteps echoed through the catacombs’ dark and humid corridors. Water dripped from the ceiling, each drop sounding so distinct in the still area. 

Once he’d moved closer to the workshop, this serene silence became but a memory, for a sudden, overwhelming bang made him freeze. Dust fell to the floor, and the ground shook beneath him. This was followed by the distant sounds of shattering glass as well as a multitude of thuds, followed closely by one another. 

He listened closely until these sounds had passed and all that remained were muffled, high-strung curses. 

Hexiciah braced himself, put his hand to the workshop’s entrance, and hesitantly peeked inside. A thick mist immediately entered his airways and itched in his lungs. He let out a strained cough and found a dark blanket of smoke before him, covering everything like a thick fog. 

On the other side of the room, Victor was frantically stomping at that which beamed yellow light through the mist. The scolding soles of his shoes caused him to suck air through his gritted teeth, all while he coughed and snarled between vulgar curses. Once the fire had been stomped away, he slipped out of his lab coat and shook it to fan away the remaining smoke. 

Hexiciah hurried towards a contraption full of brass rivets and gears, and pressed a button on its side. The elaborate device immediately began to absorb the dark mist, which violently whirled towards it. 

Victor, unaware of this, gave his coat a pleased smile. He then slipped back into it and grabbed its bottom edge, which he spat on and used to roughly rub away the soot covering his glasses and limiting his sight. But once he’d put them back on and processed his surroundings, he regretted ever having cleaned them. 

An apologetic grimace spread across his soot-covered face as he inspected the glass shards about his feet. His gaze wandered to the dark stain he’d burnt into his desk, then to the pile beneath him which still had a threatening glow buried within its ashes. Colorful chemicals that were once held together by beakers dripped down the nearby stations, and what remained of a few books were charred pages and only parts of their leather covers. 

A wave of gnawing regret washed over him; regret that soon turned into guilt when he processed the aftermath of this accident. A brief state of clarity replaced his mania, and he scratched at the back of his head while realizing the minor possibility that he might have gone somewhat overboard. 

Victor crouched down in front of the crime scene, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and began searching for ways to restore the previous order. But he couldn’t quite put his finger on where to start. 

Those thoughts came to a stop when, in the corner of his eye, he spotted a figure standing by the door. Beneath its coat of soot, Victor’s complexion lost some of its color. There was no need for him to ask the other if he was upset; his expression did it for him. 

Hexiciah, being a bit more orderly in contrast, did indeed feel a certain level of distress at the hands of this disarray. But he was also relieved to find that somewhere, deep down though it may be, Victor did possess a certain level of restraint and self-awareness. Besides, the explosion had only stretched a radius of roughly five meters, leaving most of his own things unharmed, as well as the electric eel. 

“It’s quite alright, Victor,” he soon assured, though a bit hesitant. “Now, then. I’ll help you clean up.”

The relief from this statement had Victor wanting to loosen his tense expression, but the sheer surprise he felt contradicted this signal, leaving him confused in how to proceed. Unfamiliar with being met by patience, he knew only to return to the pile of ashes with a dustpan, and crouched down to sweep it up. But as the ashes moved and brushed against each other, the glow buried within grew brighter. 

While this was beyond the boy’s attention, his professor quickly noticed it, and blurted out, “Hold on there, you should wait before touching the ashes. You might set it—” 

He stopped short when this mere glow burst into a fire, which caught on to the broom and set its tip ablaze. 

The tip of the flame stung the tip of Victor’s nose. He sprung to his feet and stomped away the fire once again. A sigh of relief left him after it had again been extinguished. He began to rub at his nose, resignantly clarifying that he really ‘knew what he was doing’. 

That response only served to activate a certain neural pathway, bringing Hexiciah back to a similar instance from his own youth. He recalled a nickname he had been given long ago. And so, he smiled, and replied,

“Certainly, Sparky.”

* * *

Hexiciah remained in the workshop for some time, hoping that Krempe would tire of waiting. He swept the floor in the background while Sparky carefully restored the previous order; he replaced broken beakers, polished what had been burnt, and threw away what had been ruined beyond repair. 

Meanwhile, Hexiciah searched for topics that might fill the silence. His immediate thoughts went — as they typically did — to the Headmistress, and if he could ask anything that he might report to her. 

One of her top priorities came to mind. 

“Now, I’ve been meaning to ask you…” Steam began, still clutching onto the broom whose edge moved back and forth to sweep the floor. “You are making friends, are you not?”

Victor shot a look towards his blueprints. He supposed his creations could function as friends as well as family, and shrugged. “Sure I am.”

The tension in Hexiciah’s face passed, smoothing out the lines on his forehead. “Oh, good. You see, Nora is sincerely counting on you to do so. It means so very much to her…”

“Who’s Nora?” Sparky asked. The beakers in his hands clinked as he returned them to their rightful place by the stations. 

Upon realizing what he’d allowed to slip out, Steam’s hand flew to his mouth. He debated whether or not he should brush it off, but figured the harm had already been done. 

“That, Victor, is the name of the Headmistress.”

“Hm! I didn’t think she cared about my work.”

“Your work? Well… I’m sure she cares about that, too,” Hexiciah responded, now with a tinge of confusion. “But, please — don’t tell her I called her by that name.”

The gentle clinks of glass sounded in the absence of Victor’s words.

“But… you don’t find it, well, lonely?” Steam went on. “Being the only human, and such?”

He took Sparky’s silence that followed as a yes, although he might simply have been too focused on cleaning to hear. Nevertheless, it left him with a stinging sense of compassion. 

“You know, if I was a human in a place like this; even partly so, I’d certainly feel that way. It’s a perfectly reasonable reaction; perfectly human.”

Victor didn’t notice how something in his professor’s voice implied that it was a very personal matter to him. Instead, working had him back in that trance-like state he so commonly was in. 

This silence went on until Hexiciah eventually left, as he only felt he was bothering him. 

* * *

In the familiar halls of Monster High, Hexiciah saw to quicken his steps when passing the creature’s lounge. The bustling corridors had students constantly passing to and fro; a great source of relief, since they masked the sound of his footsteps. But right as he’d successfully passed the creature’s lounge, its door flung open. 

“Oh, my good Steam! Lovely to have you back. Come in, won’t you?”

A heavy sigh exited Hexiciah, who regretted that he’d forgotten about Krempe’s nose. He wanted nothing more than to hasten his steps; but then, it dawned upon him that his colleague would only keep pestering the Headmistress if he walked away. So, he reluctantly turned around, directing his steps toward his fellow professor. 

Krempe scurried to seat himself by a round table, eagerly gesturing for his associate to do the same. 

Steam sent a longing look towards the exit before hesitantly lowering himself onto a chair. 

The werewolf leaned forward, resting his elbows against the wooden table while impatiently awaiting a report. “Well?” he asked, opening his empty, though somewhat hairy palms. “What did he say?”

“Well, there really wasn’t much for him to say. But he did acknowledge the suggestion,” Hexiciah lied.

“Hm. I see,” Krempe mumbled, leaning back in his chair with crossed arms. His chin pressed against his collarbones as he looked at his well-polished shoes, lightly kicking their shiny tips together. “You know, part of me feels bad for that boy.”

Hexiciah could already name several reasons to have compassion for Victor, but was welcome to hear another one. “Why is that?”

“That sorry appearance of his. Unfortunate, isn’t it; to so closely resemble a normie despite being a monster.” Krempe paused to look Hexiciah up and down. “With all due respect, of course.”

His associate sent another longing look towards the door, silently telling himself to stay for a certain someone’s sake. 

“To inadvertently be associated with such vile and disgusting creatures,” he went on, “can hardly be a joyous fate. Do you figure he should dress differently? Glue on a pair of fangs, perhaps? Paint himself a different color? If anything, it would certainly make him appear more approachable.”

“You don’t think you’re being a bit unfair?” Steam asked, beholding him with a stern expression. While patience was something he normally had in abundance, it was being drained at a rapid pace, disintegrating more and more with every word expressed by his colleague. “To call all normies vile, disgusting and unapproachable? You do realize that the humans discussed in the paper are vastly overrepresented, do you not?”

“Unfair?” he scoffed. “It’s only what the normies deserve!” 

Krempe’s face wrinkled with repugnance, and he started eyeing him suspiciously. “You’re beginning to sound just like one, Steam. Surely, that cannot be your intention?”

Hexiciah opened his mouth, but gave in just as quickly. A complicated situation, perhaps, with how the monsters who knew about his situation had always regarded him as human, while the humans viewed him as a monster. And in living among full-blooded individuals, with the way things had been over the last few centuries, obstacles like these were not an uncommon sight. Under typical circumstances, he’d confront the other about their prejudices and stand up for himself, fully ready to defend himself if necessary. 

But now, he held back. An attempt to educate such a close-minded individual was something he recognized as a fool’s errand, especially given how teachers seldom make good students. And Krempe would, doubtlessly, barge straight into Bloodgood’s office again, now to whine about how she could be so distastefully progressive as to hire a part-normie. She had already received enough complaints on his behalf, and to cause one himself and further bother her was not on his agenda. 

“I trust you’ll disregard my previous statement, then,” he soon returned. “I see you’ve misinterpreted it.”

A pleased smile crept into the gruff countenance of his lycan colleague. “Good. I must admit,” he chuckled, “you nearly had me worried for a moment there.”

Hexiciah gave him one mere, stiff nod as he rose from his seat. He proceeded to excuse himself, and was soon out the door. The corridor’s crisp air, combined with its mere appearance, felt like the most refreshing sight since Transylvania. 

But soon, the pit of his abdomen was attacked by a biting sensation of guilt for having neglected to defend himself. He suddenly felt as if he’d betrayed his scaritage, betrayed one side of his people, as well as himself. Yet, he simply quickened his steps through the dimly-lit hallways, all while attempting to ignore this discomfort. 

Unfortunately for Hexiciah, this regret would only grow stronger following that which was to come.

Chapter Text

Displeased mutters, dismayed sighs, and curses of a particular vulgarity were all Hexiciah heard from his company while working by his desk. He’d occasionally peek to his side only to see Victor try, struggle, and fail to follow the vision depicted in his blueprints. That is, the vision of whatever those blueprints might resemble. It seemed only so characteristically messy and chaotic that they should be unintelligible to any eyes that didn’t belong to its creator. It more closely resembled a tangled clutter of squiggly lines and shapes, rather than something even vaguely identifiable. 

However, to interpret the process of giving his ideas life, so to speak, was not so difficult a thing. The bolts would bend out of shape as he hammered them in place. The adhesive would give up, leaving all the bits and pieces tumbling to the ground. He’d burn the tips of his fingers as he soldered. The shapes would be wrong, the material would be wrong; and to say that only very little ever seemed to go right would scarcely be a reliable description. 

Previous matters considered, Hexiciah did not doubt Sparky’s abilities for a moment. But the issue didn’t seem to be his level of skill. It was the state of mind he maintained as he worked that seemed to be the culprit behind his lack of progress. The crazed gleam in his eyes did not seem to be caused only by excessive enthusiasm, but by the most frantic and genuine need for its success; almost as if he was working to cure himself of some terrible disease. 

Anyone would be no less than curious to discover what project could elicit such a reaction, and hold so great an importance. A first guess of Hexiciah’s regarded money. Perhaps it was a revolutionary invention, bound to earn him no less than millions. But not even the greediest, nor the poorest would be so fraught to make money. Or was it indeed a terrible disease he worked to cure himself of? But if that had been the case, his lab coat would’ve been stained by chemicals, not oil. 

Regardless, the answer to his question was in that very room; and as a teacher, assisting was his job. Thus, he rose from his seat, clasped his hands behind his back, and approached his student. He had another unsuccessful attempt at interpreting the blueprints strung up on the chalkboard in front of Sparky’s desk, and carefully began:

“Victor, if you don’t mind my asking, what exactly is it you’re working on?”

Creaks and clinks, originating from the screws and bolts that were being put in place, substituted Victor’s words, who was too concentrated to even notice the inquiry. Then, when the latest metal pieces he’d put together fell into a pile of bits, Sparky groaned and rested his heavy head against his palm. 

Hexiciah’s eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what was going on, and returned to his own workspace. While his student scrambled by his desk, the idea that his project concerned the search for a cure grew more probable. While the malady itself may not have been physical, it did leave imprints on his physical form. His hands were covered with purplish bruises. His eyes had grown especially hollow, and the skin around them was even darker than those that accompanied a certain Headmistress’ lusciously silken eyelashes adorning the dazzling glint of her silver-hued irises. 

Nora’s health was obviously a matter among his top priorities, and seeing her in her recent state had been making him ill with concern. She would always refuse when he tried asking her to take breaks; and although he didn’t want her to overwork herself any further, he was in no position to demand anything of her. But Victor was a different matter. 

Just like how Bloodgood would ask to have her meals brought into her office so she wouldn’t be torn from her constant efforts to keep the fragile school running, Victor took every opportunity to bring down food for himself every morning and evening. And occasionally, when Nora worked late, she’d pass out by her desk from exhaustion. However, what differed her from Victor is that Hexiciah was always able to gently nudge her awake, though he most often let her be. But regardless of how firmly you shook him, Sparky remained with his head planted into his desk without showing any signs of life until morning, when he would resume his work as soon as his eyes jolted open. Until then, all you could do was wrap a blanket over his shoulders and leave him be. 

While Nora had a somewhat unhealthy lifestyle, Victor was effectively endangering his life. On numerous occasions had Steam found him lying on the floor, his arms splayed in uncomfortable positions and his head limp as electricity sparked by his desk, seemingly with a charge so strong that irresponsible contact could stop one’s heart. 

Understandably panicked by the sight, Hexiciah would run up to him and frantically check for a pulse. But whatever materials could Victor have been made of, that he could resist so many shocks and have the steady rhythm of his heartbeat remain, and his chest to continue moving with every breath? Previous experiences had taught Hexiciah that attempts to lecture him would lead nowhere. So what else could he do than dust the boy off and lift him some bit away from his desk, in hopes that he might do something other than going straight back to work once he’d awoken? Still, whenever he did wake up, gasping for air, he’d do that very thing. 

Sparky’s headstrong attitude had entirely lost its nostalgic value, and any slight amusement had now been replaced by great concern. As reckless as Steam had been as a young man could hardly compare to this — and he always believed he’d pushed the boundaries of safety to the very limit. Was it then so strange for Hexiciah to put his foot down, sit him down, and establish a rule? 

Sparky’s leg bounced restlessly as he sent longing glances back at his desk. He sat on a couch, as his professor paced and attempted in vain to explain what safety precautions to implement. However, Hexiciah immediately gained the full attention of his student when he announced that he wanted him out of the workshop in the evenings after six. 

Victor’s eyes went wide, his pale face radiating a despair otherwise seen when receiving catastrophic news. “After six?” he forced out. “But why?”

“That is when I’ll be returning home,” replied Hexiciah, fixing his gaze on Sparky’s deeply discolored eyelids. “I, for once, sleep better when work is beyond my reach. I expect you to do the same.” He looked down, tilting his left arm to catch a glimpse of the built-in clocks. “And now would be the time for you to leave.”

Victor’s fists whitened as he clenched his fists, and searched for ways to protest. But just as he’d opened his mouth, he recalled the pressing threat of Bloodgood’s ability to restrict his access to the workshop, would it suit her liking. Thus, disappointment replaced his frustration when he relaxed his tense hands; disappointment that soon turned into confusion.

“But where would I sleep?” he asked, eyeing the workshop.

“At home, of course.”

“But that’s—” Victor stopped himself when he remembered Bloodgood’s abilities once again. He shrugged, sighing, “Alright.”

Thus, Hexiciah watched him leave, somewhat perplexed at his lack of resistance. 

* * *

Victor went on to follow the six-pm rule quite smoothly; suspiciously so. Part of him wondered if his student really stayed within the premises and snuck back into the workshop after he’d left. The fact that he didn’t look any less disheveled would only hint at that. Hexiciah tested this theory by installing a contraption that would alert him if someone entered. He kept his student’s abilities in mind when making it brilliantly foolproof and installing a spare mechanism to prevent any tampering. He expected to be alerted of his break-ins right away; but contrary to his suspicions, he didn’t hear a thing. 

The school guards, however, were a different matter. Given its political stance, Monster High needed to be guarded at all times. It was nearly impossible to get past them, even for those geniuses who were too clever for their own good. Victor’s attempts at getting back into the premises were thereby reported straight to the Headmistress, who only regarded the matter with confusion. Hexiciah, however, now realized why he was so adamant about getting in. He must not have been able to sleep while severed from his work, which he could not resume as soon as his eyes jolted open, nor could he so feverishly grasp his tools. 

This got him thinking about Victor’s home life. What barbaric breed of parents would allow their fifteen-year-old to run off to strange places every evening? Weren’t they worried sick about him? Perhaps they were and simply couldn’t keep him under rule. Still, they should know how to handle their own son. The more he imagined how they must be treating him, and their inability to care for this boy who clearly just needed the right guidance to pull himself together, the more his distaste for him grew. 

He wondered if he should have a talk with them about their peculiar parenting methods. But before he reached a decision, the entire matter had been swept out of his mind, replaced by an even graver matter. 

One morning, when the clocks had chimed nine, Hexiciah noticed how his student had begun to rest his head against his palm while staring blankly at the blueprints before him. This was a look he recognized. It was a look of deep focus, as if Victor was desperately attempting to gather his few remaining drops of energy, so that he might continue working. But these attempts would always prove useless, as no such energy ever remained, and he’d pass out from exhaustion shortly afterwards. With past observations in mind, he knew that it would be hours before Victor awoke; hours before he could again attempt to find out whatever his project was. 

And so, he advanced towards Sparky’s desk. Up close, one could better see how the energy oozed out of him with every passing moment, with the way he fought to keep his heavy eyelids open. 

“What is it you’re working on, Victor?” he asked. “And why is it so important?”

In this state, Sparky scarcely had the energy to quarrel. Thus, he mumbled, “Life.”

“Life?” Hexiciah repeated. “Artificial life, you mean?”

The realization splashed over him a cold wave of terror. His blood ran cold in his veins, and the weight of Victor’s carelessness immediately grew far heavier. The creation of life was a serious matter, something fragile to be handled with utmost care; not something to so recklessly be experimented with. He wished to question him further and ask for more details; but before he could go on, a thud sounded across the laboratory. Hexiciah turned to find that Victor was out, beyond the reach of communication. 

He knew not how to proceed. Despite having nerves of steel, copper, and steam whistles, this predicament had him pacing between the corners of the workshop. 

He truly did not know how to proceed.

But surely, the Headmistress might.

Chapter Text

Swirling russet leaves danced above the treetops, having latched on to the spiral pattern of the chilly winds coursing through Salem. The skies were hidden behind a blanket of leaden clouds through which the sun barely protruded, casting darkness upon the ever-changing colors of autumn gilding the area as if to mimic the appearance of nightfall. 

Only very little scaffolding remained around the gothic structure of Monster High. While raindrops pattered against its many windows, the silhouette of a lone figure showed up like a black strip within a candlelit room behind the glass panes, radiating an air of familiarity. 

Anyone left to the storm’s harshness could only wish to be among the distant figures inside, shielded from the cold and enveloped by a comfortable warmth. Perhaps the Headmistress, that lone silhouette, would have paid more attention to this luxury, had she not been concentrating so on her paperwork. The silken feather tip of her quill swayed as she filled out the student files atop her desk, belonging to the new students who had just enrolled. 

Before she could proceed with the next file, the door creaked open. A concerned countenance peeked in, accompanied by a glint of copper. 

“Headmistress,” Hexiciah began, approaching her swiftly, “he’s experimenting with life!”

Nora looked up from the paperwork beneath her. Her forehead wrinkled as she requested an elaboration.

“The most sensitive area of science one could ever enter, unless the experiments are carried out with great care. I could not, certainly not through the medium of words, adequately describe even the lightest consequences in neglecting to do so!” he blurted. “Now, his potential is undeniably vast, but with the way he so recklessly disregards the spectacular mysteries of life in pursuit of his scientific ambitions… It could well be his undoing.”

“Then provide him with the right guidance,” Nora calmly suggested. “I am aware of your discoveries, Hexiciah. Would you not find it wise to tell him the key to creating life, and inform him of any necessary precautions?” 

“I would not be exaggerating, Headmistress, when saying that I have repeatedly attempted to do so.” He paused to sigh, remembering his countless attempts. “I’ve tried… how I have tried, but he’s too blinded by ambition to listen. And his frantic attitude not only makes him gravely endanger his surroundings, but especially himself.”

“I see,” Bloodgood replied, tapping a sharp claw against her chin. “Then, it is my opinion that he should be distanced from the workshop, indefinitely.”

“Yes, indeed,” approved Hexiciah. “That should allow him to cool down, and perhaps then might he consider listening at last. I see no reason to put an end to his experiments, so long as he carries them out in a sufficiently educated manner.” 

“Hm.”

In the depths of her mind, Nora dug out a folder of potential consequences and skimmed through Victor’s possible reactions. In any scenario, it would surely upset him. But while the boy may have been a tad chaotic, he wasn’t one to lash out. He had been perfectly well-behaved the last time she imposed similar restrictions, and had done as he was told in spite of his unwillingness. It was clear that, despite his frantic attitude, he did possess a certain level of patience. But just how he had learned that quality was a matter beyond her understanding. 

Nora’s gaze fell on the paperwork beneath her, and wandered to the latest file she had completed. An idea struck her.

“I believe I have a plan. Won’t you bring him here?” she asked. “Meanwhile, I’ll see to bring someone else.”

* * *

Once the arms on the clock had spun some rotations, the office doors opened, then closed, and Bloodgood was left in the company of Victor. The boy’s circular lenses reflected a candle’s glow, while the furrowed eyebrows behind them signaled confusion. A mild comparison to the feeling of being severed from his project was getting forcibly dragged out of bed in the midst of night. He scratched at the greasy hair above his neck while opening his mouth to inquire about the reason behind his presence there. But before he could utter a word, the Headmistress blankly said:

“You are prohibited from stepping foot in the workshop until you are told otherwise.”

A sudden pallor overspread Victor’s features, rendering them whiter than paint. Battling stutters, he forced out, “But I don’t have time for anything else!”

“I beg to differ.” Bloodgood brought out her hand and waved someone forward; someone Victor first assumed to be the wall, until a figure appeared in his peripheral view. 

It was another boy his age of a gaunt stature exceeding his by a few centimeters, who tensely picked at his nails and sent occasional glances up at them. A dark shade of mauve tinted his lengthy top hat, which stretched high atop his blond hair; and his grayish blue countenance, adorned with an upturned nose, was sharp in a distorted manner, not unlike a corpse. 

Nora’s palm faced the new student. “This is Mr. Rotter. He and his family just arrived in Salem,” she explained. “I want you to acquaint him with the school and ensure that he settles down properly.”

Sparky sent a glance towards his fellow student. “But—”

“Shush, Victor,” she interrupted, pointing a stern forefinger his way. “If you wish to resume your work, you will see to get along with him.” 

Figuring that she might have sounded too harsh, her hand was brought to her throat, and she saw to soften her tone. “It is for your own good.”

Nora’s gaze shifted towards the other boy. She must have noticed Rotter’s unusually tense appearance, because she soon added that his fellow student was a dullahan, and went on, “Mr. Rotter, this is Victor; your welcoming committee.”

The new student’s shoulders loosened upon hearing that he was, despite his looks, a monster. A hesitant smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth, and he brought forward his hand, inviting a handshake. 

Victor stood frozen, unmoving, and it seemed almost as if he’d forgotten what a handshake was. 

It was then that the Headmistress cleared her throat, thus gaining his attention, and demonstrated a handshake as a reminder. Holding her hands out in front of herself, she grabbed one hand using the other, gently bobbing it. 

Sparky made an attempt to mirror her demonstration. He stiffly grabbed Rotter’s hand, pinching the skin between his thumb and index finger while neglecting to actually shake it. His fellow student gave him a forced smile which Victor mirrored, albeit in an equally forced, crooked and notably awkward manner. Rotter was too polite to let go, and Sparky seemed quite shaken altogether, resulting in that the handshake — if the gesture may be labeled as such — spanned for a bit longer than convention allowed. 

Fortunately, Bloodgood intervened. A clearing of her throat caught Victor’s attention, and she showed herself letting go of her own two hands. 

He caught himself, and repeated her instructions.

“Now then,” she concluded. “Victor, do show him around.”

Since Nora essentially shooed them out of her office, he had little time to do otherwise. 

When the door clicked shut behind them, a deep sense of unwillingness began to gnaw at Sparky. Eyeing the area, he searched for the nearest escape route. 

But before he could act, Hexiciah walked past, balancing a single cup of tea atop the matching saucer he carried. Steam grabbed hold of the doorknob and slipped inside; but when he was to close it, he spotted, through the gap, the uncertainty painted over Victor’s pallid face. Thus, before closing the door, Hexiciah nodded at him to go on, and gave some words of encouragement. 

The gesture appeared to fulfill its purpose, as Victor soon turned around to face Rotter. A moment of silence ensued, as Sparky debated how to proceed. He’d never spoken to anyone of the same age before. And he feared to imagine how monstrous he must have appeared in the other’s eyes, being a scientist and whatnot. His discomfort can only be imagined. 

Soon, Victor pulled himself together, only to mumble, “A tour, was it?”

Rotter responded with the use of a careful nod. 

“Alright.”

That was the final thing Victor would utter for some time. He remained silent as they slipped around the corners of the corridors, having decided that simply showing him the premises, without the use of superfluous words, would suffice. However, between key areas, Rotter attempted to spark life into the conversation.

“Excellent architecture,” he noted. His accent was notably Hungarian, with rolled R’s and elongated vowels. 

“Have you been here since the opening?” Rotter later asked. 

“Are you from out of town as well?”

In response to each of these questions, Sparky merely mumbled incoherent noises. This went on until they reached the creepateria, which redirected their attention towards getting lunch for themselves. 

Soon, their trays clattered against a small table by the arched windows, with the view of the spiky pines far below the tall castle. 

Victor’s spoon scraped against the bottom of his bowl as he absentmindedly moved the bits of flesh and green-tinted tentacles around the liquid that vaguely resembled soup. As he did so, he thought about how he must have been perceived by the one in front of him. Discomfort accumulated. He didn’t dare look up and see the fear on Rotter’s face; so he simply sent a quick glance his way. 

But during that mere second, Sparky found that such simply wasn’t the case; and when he dared to really look up, he found that his fellow student was only chewing contentedly while sending curious looks towards the other tables, almost as if he tried to tune in on their conversations. 

Victor’s eyebrows drew together, wondering if he’d misread Rotter’s expression. He didn’t seem to mind at all. 

Sparky audibly cleared his throat to see if Rotter was simply trying to distract himself from his fear, with how he looked at the other students. But when he’d caught his attention, the monster’s calm display didn’t waver in the slightest. He merely tried to make small talk about the soup’s distinct, yet inviting aroma. 

“Good soup, no?”

Victor struggled to believe the result of his experiment. Clearly, Rotter was more interested in the lunch than he was of his status as a scientist. His tense shoulders loosened, and he answered, “Indeed.”

Rotter’s face lit up, with how Victor finally answered. He went on to ask, “Have you been going here since the school opened?”

“Almost,” Sparky shrugged. “I got here within a week of the opening ceremony.”

“I see. And how are the teachers?”

“They’re alright.”

Just as he’d said that very thing, Victor got a sudden idea. He craned over the table, nearly knocking his glass over, and cupped his mouth to whisper, “Except for Professor Steam. He’s a scientist, you know.”

While he expected his face to twist in disgust, Rotter’s comfortable expression remained as it was. He had another slurp of his soup. “Interesting. Does he also teach the subject?”

For a moment, Sparky struggled to find words.  

“Well, he teaches a number of subjects,” Victor eventually answered. “But not that, no; he said he preferred to keep work and hobbies separate. Professor Krempe’s the science teacher of the school.”

“Do you suppose they’ll be teaching my classes?”

“Perhaps. Them and a couple of others are the only teachers at the school, so it would only be likely. Show me your schedule.”

Rotter pulled one out of his pocket. 

Victor grabbed it. “Alright, here goes…” He brought the schedule to his face to scan it. “Hm. It looks like we’ve got the same classes.”

“And the same teachers?”

Sparky shrugged. “Apparently.”

“Good!” Rotter beamed, and slurped up the rest of his soup. He got up from his chair, grabbing his tray. “Would you show me where the next one is?”

Victor looked down at his full bowl. But since he wasn’t too hungry, he got up and accompanied Rotter to their next lesson. 

How fortunate it was, that there were only enough students to fill up a single class. 

With great ease, they found another topic to discuss on their way there. And then, their conversations carried on well into the lesson, and well into the rest of the day.

Chapter Text

Tuesday afternoons stood among the few times Bloodgood parted from her office desk. Tuesday afternoons, during which she would write her weekly status reports to the school board. A refreshment of Monster High’s state was only appropriate for this occasion. 

It was not a rare thing for Hexiciah to accompany her during these strolls through the endless corridors, although most of them were spent in silence. He now walked there, by her side, copying the familiar way she had her hands clasped behind her back. Unbeknownst to the world among them, and perhaps even herself, Nora found this quite endearing.  

Having rounded up a corner, they passed the wood-paneled library. There, they caught sight of their so-called dullahan with the stitched-on head, parked behind a chess table with their newest student occupying the other end. 

Nora stopped in her steps to watch, and her associate did the same.

“How is he doing?” Hexiciah soon asked.

“I do believe he’s winning,” Nora replied as she tried to identify the chess pieces. While she failed to tell them apart from afar, she did see that Victor had claimed all of Rotter’s pieces; all except for a few. She wondered, with a sudden eagerness, which strategy he implemented, and if they matched the methods she’d used in her youth when playing.

“May I ask if that also applies to his friendships?”

A subtle smile made its way onto Nora’s face; a sight that made his heart swell. “Oh, yes; he’s doing wonderfully, Hexiciah. Better than I ever could’ve predicted!”

They began to stroll further down the hall.  

“Now, I suppose he can be a bit rough around the edges on occasion,” she continued, “but he’s proven to be surprisingly compatible with the monster ways. I’ve even seen him spend time with other students, apart from Rotter!” 

By the end of Bloodgood’s sentence, they had reached her office, and slipped in through the tall door with its delicately intricate carving. 

Nora returned to the comfortable armchair behind her desk, and dipped a quill into its inkwell. As she started writing her weekly report, she went on, “If this continues, we’ll be able to delve into phase two before long. Naturally, the matter of revealing his normie nature must be done with great care; but considering how well he’s been getting along with the students, any concern should be greatly reduced.” 

A pause ensued when she glanced towards the daily paper on her desk. “And I’m not sure we can postpone it much longer.”

Hexiciah got a sudden urge to protest; but then, he realized the meaning of her latest sentence. They might indeed not afford to postpone it any longer. And just as she had said so long ago, change did not come by itself. 

“Phase two,” he noted. “Indeed.”

Bloodgood kept on writing, unaware of his recent reluctance.

But every word, every letter she wrote caused his deeply rooted concern to grow. It was, of course, no less than grand that Victor’s state was improving, and to witness what great joy this brought Nora. But what would happen when Victor’s normie nature was revealed? How would the students react? How would Rotter react? And most importantly, how would Krempe react? 

Steam knew about the possibilities; he was well aware of the endless possibilities, having experienced them himself. And now that Bloodgood was delving into phase two, he could very nearly picture these possibilities materializing before his very eyes; his own experiences growing up as a part-normie among monsters, now with another boy as victim. Then again, he saw little difference between Victor and his younger self. 

Yet, there was nothing outright wrong about Bloodgood’s plans. Certainly not from a logical standpoint. They were perfectly logical, sufficiently careful, as prudent as they could afford to be. Still, this concern did nothing other than remain. 

But no such worries were shared by Sparky. During that very moment, all he cared about was snatching the last of Rotter’s chess pieces. While the game’s ordinary objective would have been to focus solely on seizing the king, Victor had taken on the challenge of claiming each and every opposing piece before moving onto the king. The game would be more of a challenge that way, far more fun, as taking the king was something he’d otherwise do in no more than twenty seconds. 

Perhaps it would’ve been more challenging if only his opponent wasn’t as lousy at chess as he was at mathematics and science. The latter was mainly the reason they spent so much time in the library, for apart from his extensive knowledge in dead languages, Rotter’s academic talents were, at best, questionable. He was always running late. He barely did any classwork, and was a headache to most of his professors. Fortunately, he had the school’s brightest student to assist him. Victor had proven to be an excellent and effective teacher, to the extent that it left them the remainder of the afternoons for chess. And thus, there they sat!

Prior to now, the idea of friendship was never something that had occurred to Victor. That itself was perhaps not so surprising a thing. In the town where everyone feared the name Frankenstein, it had been outright impossible. But this was Salem; the town where nobody had a care in the world for scientists. By some miracle, this alien concept now proved to be more efficient than he could have ever predicted of any artificial being made by his own hands; even to the extent that his project hadn’t once crossed his mind, now that he had someone other than himself to play chess with. 

But no such things occupied his thoughts at this time. Instead, he focused solely on the game before him; what strategy to implement in order to defeat his opponent most effectively — 

— and that, he did. 

When he tipped Rotter’s king over, he failed to contain a cheer, throwing a fist in the air and very unmissably announcing his thirty-seventh consecutive win to the rest of the library. But instead of a standing ovation, the response he received consisted only of hushes, originating from all corners of the area. 

Sparky looked around at the bitter expressions, and soon lowered himself back onto his chair with a shrug. 

“Alright,” he began, now in a more hushed tone, all while putting the chess pieces back to where they belonged on the board. “Care for a rematch?”

Rotter immediately tensed up. He redirected his gaze towards the corners of the room, and allowed it to wander across the furniture — anywhere that didn’t include his opponent’s countenance — until his eyes landed on the wall clock. “Perhaps it would be more prudent to go to class,” he suggested. Their next lesson did begin in fifteen minutes. And gaping at an empty classroom until then seemed far more eventful and exciting than playing a thirty-eighth round; something he’d been trying to politely hint at for the last hour, to little avail. Perhaps if Rotter knew that the outcome of the game was a little more unpredictable, he might surely have been more eager to play. But with the way things were…!

“Oh. Oh-kay.”

And so they got up, pushed their chairs in, and went off towards Krempe’s classroom.

Sitting in the very back of the lecture hall were Rotter’s other friends. Some had fins, others had fangs and pointed ears. He and Victor scurried over to the seats next to them, and they greeted each other with downward nods as the chairs beneath them also became occupied one by one. 

And before long, Krempe strode into the classroom with his usual facade of overconfidence until the stairs delved into the platform by the very bottom. 

As always, he began his lecture by greeting the class and scribbling down keywords on the chalkboard, and went on babbling about whatever obscure scientific topic he somehow deemed relevant enough for this class. 

Naturally, this topic was hardly obscure in the eyes of Victor, who leant forward in his chair with a newfound anticipation. He listened eagerly, his eyes glinting with enthusiasm; but the further his professor went on, the more this glint faded. 

Sparky sent a few glances towards Rotter to see if he, too, picked up on Krempe’s errors. But since Rotter’s present expression was somewhat difficult to read, he settled on whispering, “That there is actually incorrect. Welquard and cesion is the same thing.”

“Oh, really? How so?”

And as Victor went on, eagerly explaining the subject, he forgot all about controlling his tone of voice to the point where it nearly drowned out the sound of his professor’s. Every face in the lecture hall had soon turned their way, their attention drawn away from Krempe who now clenched his jaw.

“Frankenstein!”

Victor fell silent. Surprised and confused, he looked towards his professor, who very nearly stomped up the stairs.

“Just what gives you the right to insult me, right here, in my very own classroom?” he spat out, pointing an accusing finger so close to Sparky’s face that it almost nudged his nose. 

“Insult you? Well, no, I—”

“Excuses!” Krempe interrupted. “Another word, and you’ll be sent straight to the headmistress’s office. Is that clear?”

After some hesitance, Sparky nodded. A hesitance that was only due to surprise, which Krempe only interpreted as another case of disrespect. 

The lycan professor silently glared at him with his lips fully pursed, then snorted angrily right before he went back down to resume his lecture. 

The second the class was dismissed, Krempe marched straight to Bloodgood.

* * *

“Outrageous, I say!” he exclaimed, storming into the headmistress’ office. “Utterly outrageous! He has the nerve to humiliate me in front of the entire class, and pretends to understand nothing when confronted with his deeds!”

Standing next to Nora and her desk, Hexiciah crossed his arms. Bloodgood suppressed a sigh, her eyelids suddenly growing heavy. 

“What, may I ask, did Victor do this time?”

“What he did? I’ll tell you what he did! He speaks poorly of me and my teachings to those companions of his, audibly, for everyone else to hear; and when confronted, he pretends not to realize my obvious offense! I’m telling you, Headmistress, he’s got manners as foul as a normie’s.”

Hexiciah flinched.

“I’m certain he meant no harm,” Nora calmly countered. “Remember, his customs are—” 

She caught herself, and covered her mouth before she could go on. 

Steam crossed his arms and nodded in agreement, although the matter in question was sorely, though understandably, misinterpreted. 

“Customs?” Krempe scoffed. “Regardless of wherever he comes from, he should know how to behave, as he should know when to show proper respect.”

“Your concern is noted. I’ll write a report on it,” she lied.

Krempe leaned forward, pressing his palms against her desk. “Pardon me, but a report could hardly be enough,” he challenged. “Don’t you see? He’s far too much of a disturbance in class. And I’m certain I’m not the only one who feels that way! Can’t you—”

“Professor Krempe,” Nora interrupted, speaking in a firm and vaguely forced manner. “Your concern is noted.”

Without warning, Krempe gritted his teeth and reached across her desk. “Listen closely, Bloodgood; do something about this miscreant, or I’ll take matters into my own—”

Hexiciah rushed forward, grasped his shoulder with a grip as firm as his mechanical hand allowed, and pulled him back, towards himself. 

Krempe’s face contorted from the sharp, pinching ache in his shoulder. His eyes shifted towards the culprit, beholding the copper with accusingly knitted brows. 

Hexiciah alleviated his grip upon realizing its extent. Its firmness proved to have relocated to his voice, when he began, “Krempe, it seems to me that you’re more concerned about his status as a human, rather than his actions. Do tell me; haven’t other students caused minor disturbances in class? Haven’t other students spoken to their friends when they weren’t supposed to? Or are they all perfect, simply because they are of monster blood?

Steam stopped speaking only to catch his breath. As he did so, he looked past Krempe’s shoulder to ensure Nora’s wellbeing. Her widened eyes, paired with the swiftness with which she shook her head, appeared to be telling him something. The only question was what. 

The words that had flown through his mouth now rushed through his mind. And when he’d truly processed what had been said, the pit of his stomach began to sting. He covered his mouth, as if it would keep the words from ever having slipped out. Slowly, he looked back at Krempe, whose face was twisting with disgust. 

“A normie? I’ve been teaching a normie all this time?” the werewolf spat out. His eyes darted between them both. “And you both knew?”

His superiors exchanged silent, knowing looks.

“Tell me, are you both completely out of your minds?” 

Krempe paused to scoff. “I knew it. I knew it all along! I’ll let them all know. You can take my word for it, I’ll let them know how you’ve deceived them!”

“Compose yourself, Krempe,” Nora muttered. “We were just about to inform them of the situation. There is no need for you to do a thing. And perhaps I should remind you of the values we keep here: what matters isn’t whatever the students may be; what matters is that they’re all students of Monster High.”

He glared at her with sheer revulsion. “You’ve gone mad. Completely mad!” he seethed, clenching a shaky fist. “Monster High, you say? Words have meaning!”

The door slammed shut behind him.

Nora, although very briefly, frowned at the door with annoyance. She shook her head, and looked down to resume her work with the school board’s report, muttering, “If only we didn’t have a shortage of teachers…”

That was, perhaps, the last response Hexiciah wished to hear.

“Headmistress, if I may… aren’t you concerned about what he might do? About what he might decide to tell them? Wouldn’t it be best if you told them yourself, as soon as possible?”

“It would serve no purpose,” she began, speaking as she wrote, “for you would be greatly underestimating my students if you believed his words would have any effect on them. They’re sharp, and fully capable of telling the difference between his prejudice and the truth. We shall proceed as planned. I will inform them of everything tomorrow.”

Bloodgood slipped her finished report into an envelope, the stamp leaving the red rubber imprinted with the letter B atop its flaps. “Won’t you send this off?” she said, holding it out for his taking. 

Hexiciah grabbed the letter, the slowness of the movement implying a certain hesitance. Still, he sent a nod her way, and gently closed the door behind himself. 

Out in the corridors, there was no sign of Krempe; only the mumbling and chatter from the students and professors he passed. 

“A normie? On our side of town?”

“Didn’t you hear? It was that there Frankenstein!”

Dread whirled up inside Hexiciah’s chest as he listened. 

He sent off Nora’s report despite his gnawing reluctance, and wondered if they were truly taking a prudent course of action. 

Only time would tell.

Chapter Text

The following morning, Sparky collapsed onto the empty chair next to Rotter and his companions. Some sent him nervous glances, others shifted in their seats. Still, they all greeted him like they always did, as if they weren’t sure how to react to the recent revelation. 

Before Victor could notice any shifts in their behavior, Krempe passed them on his way towards the bottom of the classroom. 

Having audibly cleared his throat, their professor quickly gained the attention of every student. 

“Good morning, dear class! I do hope you’re all well. I thought we’d make a slight detour from our usual topics of discussion today,” he exclaimed, sounding unusually chipper. He held his chin up high and straightened his posture before he went on. 

“You see, in light of recent events, I’d like to talk about normies. I’m sure you’ve all heard of them. I’m certain you’ve all met one.”

Krempe fixed his gaze on Victor. Everyone turned to look at him with tense shoulders. 

“But do you really know them?” he went on. “Well, obviously you’ve heard of the endless disputes between our kinds. If you’ve ever studied history, you’re surely familiar with our many conflicts, as well as the endless casualties that came to follow. And you also know how it’s their fault that we bear the constant, pressing threat of becoming the next victim of the trick or treatment. How they use our very names as common insults to describe the lowest of villains and criminals—”

Krempe paused to catch his breath, having rambled quicker than his lung capacity allowed. Sweat now glistened on his forehead, and his hands trembled. 

“But do you know why the normies behave this way? There’s a purely scientific reason, really, hence the relevance in this subject!”

Meanwhile, Hexiciah peeked in through the open door, frowning as he tried to identify the source of all the commotion. The Headmistress was trying to work; she couldn’t have people yelling and shouting in such a manner.

“They’re all the same and they always will be,” Krempe continued. “You see— they have it in their blood, those normies! They’re all biologically inclined towards violence! Regardless of where they are, regardless of the scenario, they’ll always dive straight at the opportunity to harm us. It’ll always be the same, as it’s been through the entire course of history, as it’s been for—”

He stopped short upon finding that Hexiciah had rushed down the stairs, and was now standing beside him. 

Addressing the class, Steam called out, “That’ll be all! Class dismissed,” to which the students all hurried out the door, squeezing through the narrow door frame. He watched the door until the last student, Victor, was out, and ran his sleeve across his forehead. 

“You!” Krempe seethed, pointing an accusing finger. “How dare you, after everything you’ve done? After you’ve sat by and watched that— that Bloodgood bring normies into our territory?” He spat out her name as if it was a slur. “Normies, just gadding about, doing as they please, infesting every inch of our territory! And just imagine how many more there could be! Oh, this whole building reeks of them already!” 

“What matters isn’t what they are; what matters is that they’re students of Monster High,” Krempe mocked. “She’s lost her mind, that Bloodgood! Lost her mind!”

“You wouldn’t dare speak of her that way!” Hexiciah defended. His composed tone didn’t waver, although it was undoubtedly louder than usual. “You don’t have the right. Nor did you have any right to personally attack an innocent boy, only due to the nature of his blood.”

“A normie? Innocent?” the werewolf scoffed, unable to believe his ears. “Oh, I thought you were a good man, Steam! I really did! But now, it appears you’ve paired up with the enemy! After everything they’ve done to us, after everything our ancestors have been through! You’re filthy traitors, both of you! Do you realize you’re betraying your own people?”

“Betraying my own people?” Hexiciah’s tone softened. “Is that not what I’ve been doing all along? Is that not what I’ve been doing each time I’ve sat through your uneducated bickering without saying a word to defend myself as an individual? Don’t you realize that your way of thinking, of assuming everyone in an endlessly vast group shares the same opinions, is altogether pointless? That it’s the same principle that the worst of humans use? Have you not seen the world?”

Krempe’s brows drew together as he tried to make sense of his words. Only then did his eyes widen. They reflected pure, unfiltered fear. 

“You’re one of them. Of course you are. You’re one of them,” he aimlessly rambled, his skin growing paler with every word. He attempted to sound confident, but only managed to force out the following words in a high-strung voice: 

“You tell your dear headmistress to clear out my desk.”

Hexiciah watched as his colleague scurried towards the exit, through which he would never enter ever again. 

* * *

Bloodgood tapped at her tabletop microphone, its cold copper tip sounding a metallic clink. This peculiar device connected to the so-called speaker-system which Monster High’s personal engineer had set up throughout the corridors. She hadn’t ever seen such technology before. Then again, she never did know what to expect from his steampowered engineering. 

Having thought out her speech, she was just about to ask her students to gather in the auditorium. But right as she was to activate the device, the door flew open. 

Surprised by the force he’d used, Hexiciah carefully closed the door behind himself. He proceeded to hurry towards Nora, whose eyebrows perked up. 

“Is something wrong?”

Steam proceeded to explain Krempe’s most recent actions; what he’d said in his lecture, and how it clearly upset the students, considering how hurried they’d all been when leaving. 

The Headmistress did experience a brief moment of hesitance, but stuck to her principles. She moved the microphone  closer to her crimson lips, and said, “Thank you, Hexiciah. That’ll be all.”

Her familiar voice reached the building’s very last corner when announcing for the students to gather in the auditorium. 

Hexiciah, weighed down by uncertainty, slacked off behind her as he followed her swift footsteps there.

* * *

Dazed faces popped into the auditorium as their headmistress, standing in the center of the curtain-clad stage, patiently awaited the moment when they’d all taken their seats. Her associate watched from the stage’s corner as Sparky entered the room, and observed how the students all scooched away from where he sat. Bloodgood noticed their reactions as well, but brushed off the occurrence. She opened her mouth. 

“In light of recent revelations, I understand that you must all feel a little bemused. Perhaps some of you even realized it long ago. Regardless, I mean to confirm the rumors. They are indeed true.” She sent a glance towards Victor. “There is a normie among you; one who has been here since the school opened, having enrolled through the normie student exchange program.”

Agitated chatter immediately began to buzz throughout the hall. The audience’s expressions blended into a mix of fear, offense and betrayal. 

Upon processing their reactions, an feeling of uneasiness appeared as an unreachable itch between Nora’s shoulder blades. 

“I assure you, everything is under control,” she assured. “You mustn’t fear him. His humanity holds no significance; he is as harmless and innocent as you are.”

A fanged boy shot up from his chair. Frustration left his lips pursed into a thin, white line. “Innocent?” he shouted. “What about the trick or treatment?”

With bitter faces and crossed arms, the rest nodded in agreement. 

She firmly countered, “My student is not the one committing those horrible crimes. You cannot hold him accountable for the deeds of others.”

“But he’s a normie! He’s biologically inclined to hate us! He has it in his blood!”

The buzzing in the room grew louder as the other students all expressed their agreement. 

“Those are only old myths,” Nora persisted. She raised her voice to keep it from being drowned out by all the noise. “There is nothing to prove that humans should be inherently violent. Moreover, that is precisely how the normies view us, yet—”

Before she could go on any further, her students began getting up one after another. They carefully avoided walking past the normie sitting among them while making their way to the exit. The ones who passed the stage all had expressions flattened by disappointment and betrayal as they glared at their headmistress. 

She reached out for them, but quickly accepted their reactions. Anything else would be futile. She could only gaze upon them as they moved further and further away from her, their silhouettes growing smaller with every step. 

How a blank face could convey so much emotion. 

Hexiciah debated how to proceed. But he hadn’t enough time to act before Nora began to stroll towards the exit. She took calm, unbothered steps, which gave the impression that the situation had no effect upon her; as was her intention.

Bloodgood’s pace soon quickened, and her colleague was left hurrying to keep up with her. He passed through the auditorium’s exit. His gaze was fixed on the purple fabric of her clothing, until he promptly stopped, having heard a familiar voice behind himself. 

“Well, how’s another round of chess?”

Hexiciah turned to find Victor fiddling with his fingers as he awaited Rotter’s answer. There was a hint of uncertainty amidst his usual stutters, as if it wasn’t just a question of whether or not his fellow student wished to participate in the activity, but whether or not he minded that which had happened. 

Rotter sent anxious glances towards the rest of his friends standing some steps away. There was indeed a tenseness in his gaze; that same glint from before the Headmistress had assured him that Victor was a monster on his first day. However, this feeling was infinitely amplified now that his former worries had been confirmed. He sent another look towards his companions for guidance, but they all looked equally unenthusiastic about the idea. 

Rotter, looking back at Victor, opened his mouth; but no words came out. He settled on shaking his head as he briskly backed away to reunite with the others. 

Frankenstein watched until they’d disappeared down the corridors, his face expressing a contagious mixture of bewilderment and emptiness which anyone could feel even a mile away. 

Hexiciah’s first instinct was to look away. He thought about returning to Nora, who likely sat in her office. But upon turning around, he spotted her, standing just a few meters down the hall with her gaze fixed on Victor.

Her silver eyes gleamed as light caught on to the liquid beginning to fill them. A droplet rolled down her cheek, and upon feeling it, she automatically looked to the skies. But after finding a ceiling instead of an overcast sky, surprise and horror was inflicted upon her. 

She flicked the tear away, praying that no one had seen it, before hurrying away.

Chapter Text

With a heavy sigh, Nora slumped onto the armchair in her empty office. She mechanically tapped a narrow finger against the armrest, staring blankly into her desk as she debated how to proceed. But her mind was empty of any and all ideas; as empty as the quiet room about her. 

Without warning, footsteps drew closer. She easily recognized the sound of them, and this sparked a sudden life into her, as well as clarity. Surely, all of this was merely another obstacle, another challenge to overcome; and she did have experience in that field. 

She rose from her desk. 

A gentle knock sounded from the door. “Headmistress?” came from outside.

After she’d told him to come in, a moment of silence passed. Behind the door, Hexiciah seemed hesitant to enter. Only when Nora figured he’d changed his mind about his visit, did he hurry through the door frame. 

“I want you to know how deeply I regret the situation. If only I had been more careful with my words, none of this would ever have occurred. And, perhaps—”

“You needn’t apologize,” she intervened. Following an urge to tidy up, she stood with her back turned by the bookshelves and rearranged her literature. “It is merely a minor setback. I’ll have it solved before long.”

Following another moment of silence, she turned around to meet his face; the gleam of sadness in his gaze. And how apologetic could a man possibly look? It seemed as if even his mustache, which always curled around the edges, drooped. 

“Hexiciah,” she began, approaching him by a few steps and thus leaving an appropriate distance between them. “I am well aware that you didn’t intend to reveal a thing. I know it’s a sensitive subject for you. You couldn’t help it. Now, do believe me when I tell you that it is alright. That’s an order.”

Her eyes were then drawn to the violet color of his tie. It hung somewhat loose around his firm neck. 

She saw the opportunity, and did not hesitate to swiftly step forward, straighten the knot of his tie, and simultaneously brush off his shoulder in the process. 

He did not move a muscle as he stood there, though his eyes did widen by some millimeters. 

“Now, pull yourself together,” Nora said, avoiding his gaze as she returned to her desk. She lifted up a stack of papers and nudged them against her desk to straighten out the pile. “There’s work to do. Now, have you seen Krempe? I must have a word with him.”

“He—” Hexiciah stopped to clear his throat. “He just resigned. I meant to inform you of that.”

“Resigned?” 

The word left an air of disappointment. She’d so wished to have a thorough talk with that man. 

Nora pursed her lips. She pulled out a drawer, in which she left the pile of paperwork concerning a new addition to her staff. “Very well. I suppose that only makes matters easier. Anyhow, the school board recently informed me that they’ve found a replacement; a Mr. Hackington. He arrives next week.”

“Already? How very quick they were to find out about Krempe’s resignation.”

“It may seem that way, but they did not. During their most recent visit, they’d judged his character as rather… unprofessional. And this Hackington, a promising teacher fresh out of university, had just caught their attention.” 

She paused to think about every other necessity the school board had neglected. It was as if they were either changing their mind about the school at last, or that they did, at least, care about the students receiving a proper education. 

“Regardless of what personality he turns out to have, it’ll most certainly be preferable over that dreadful man.”

Hexiciah gave a nod. However, while Krempe may have been gone, the consequences of his actions were not. 

“Headmistress, if I may… Whatever shall we do about Victor?”

Another sigh left her before she could conjure up a response. 

“You said that Krempe had frightened the other students moments before the events in the auditorium, did you not?”

“Indeed. And you heard that lad. He was only repeating his professor’s teachings.”

“In which case, they’re only especially shaken for the time being. Everyone must collect themselves before any further work with the normie exchange program can be resumed,” she explained. “Now, then. Locate Victor, won’t you? I must speak with him.”

* * *

After his next class, Hexiciah followed his usual habit of returning to the stronghold of liquid-filled beakers and dusty inventions. The most peculiar sense of melancholy covered every inch of the premises. To this, the workshop was no exception. 

He seated himself behind his desk, grabbed a wrench, and began working on his daily gizmo. 

A good moment managed to pass before he finally realized he had company. 

Only a few meters away, Victor was silently sitting by his desk, following his visit to the Headmistress’. Ambiguous can only be said to describe Sparky’s expression when he’d peeked into her office. When he’d spoken, his voice had been monotonous, his face blank; yet, his skin had appeared flushed, and his eyelids notably swollen. 

Bloodgood had beheld the student standing across her desk with little emotion, though this did not fail to include compassion. 

“If there’s anything I could do, anything, then I trust you will tell me,” she’d said, cutting herself short. 

“My workshop?” he’d replied, keeping himself brief for the sake of his voice’s stability.

“Of course,” she’d answered, almost feeling as if she never should have kept him away from it to begin with.

Thus ended their conversation. Now, Victor sat there, still as a statue, resting his heavy head on his arm stretched atop the desk’s surface. His only movement came from his fingertips, with which he aimlessly tapped the bowl of his eel. Clink, clink. It sparked now and then, casting bright, bluish light upon his pale face. 

Hexiciah sighed at the unfortunate sight.

“Are you alright, lad?”

“I suppose.”

“But… what about your friends?”

Sparky had hesitated, before eventually, his face assumed an expression showing nothing but defensive bitterness. His upper lip curled. “Those nitwits, you mean? They don’t matter one bit,” he muttered. “They don’t matter. Not in the slightest. I simply… lost sight of what really does.”

“And what is that?”

“Family.”

“I suppose you’re right there. It’s a good thing, having them to cheer you up.”

“I certainly hope they can,” Victor mumbled. “If only I could just figure out—”

Sparky suddenly stopped short, his features radiating a newfound inspiration. “You’re right! That must be what I’m missing! The next step towards completion…”

Before Hexiciah could think another thought, Victor had shot up from his chair and was rushing between stations once again, gathering whatever he pleased. 

He had no idea how his student had been able to find inspiration through those mere words. Then again, such behavior had proven to be common from his side. 

At least he was behaving like himself again. 

But perhaps that was not so good a thing.

Chapter Text

That Victor was behaving like himself again was indeed not so good a thing. No, it would be more accurate to say that recent events made his previously-exhibited behavior seem characteristic of a boy who knew the meaning of the word ‘safety’. 

With a never before seen intensity, he worked in such a rushed and fervid manner that it wouldn’t surprise Hexiciah if he did blow the place entirely to bits; which, itself, seemed like the least dire consequence among those imagined. 

Nor did Sparky ever pass through the workshop’s exit. Hexiciah hadn’t asked him to leave after six like he used to. He never did get the opportunity, with how his student was always either in a trance of focus or passed out from exhaustion.

This brought him back onto the tracks of an old topic of speculation; Victor’s home life. Again, what parents would allow their son to run off each evening? Weren’t they worried sick about him? And why wouldn’t they put in the slightest sliver of effort into keeping him together?

The more he imagined how they must be treating him, and the more he thought about their inability to care for this boy who very clearly only needed the right guidance to get on the right foot in life, the more his distaste for them grew. 

And finally, Steam reached a decision regarding what to do about the issue. 

During that perfectly atypical afternoon, Victor was hurrying around the workshop, picking up an armful of additional tools and scraps for his project.

Hexiciah tried to catch his attention, but to no avail. And before long, his patience had grown unusually thin —  understandably so, given the stressful circumstances both in and outside of the workshop — and he called out:

“Goodness, Victor! Where on earth are your parents?”

Sparky froze. Everything he carried tumbled to the ground with a jarring clank. Any and all color had been drained from his complexion when he turned around. 

There, from a few meters’ distance, he carefully inspected Hexiciah’s countenance. Victor’s eyebrows were firmly pressed together as he tried to figure out what he meant by bringing up his infamous parents; that act which, in Belrive, was either seen as blasphemous, or intended as a direct offense towards him. 

Only when he remembered that Hexiciah wasn’t from there did he realize that he meant no harm. A sigh of relief; a breath he didn’t know he’d held back, left him, before he scooped up the dropped items. Returning to his desk, he started arranging them so as to appear busy. 

“You needn’t know,” Victor responded, trying his very hardest to keep his voice empty of emotion. 

Sparky’s attempt at appearing unemotional proved counterproductive. Hexiciah suddenly grew very aware of how he’d raised his voice, and made sure to assume his characteristically calm and approachable composure. 

He then rose from his desk. Having reached Sparky, he knelt down next to his chair so that their faces were on an equal level, compensating for the boy’s human height. 

“Please, Victor. I want you to tell me. I cannot help you otherwise. You do not deserve to be neglected in this manner. Or have I misjudged them? Am I wrong in believing that those two may not be the greatest?”

“No, you don’t understand!” Victor blurted, ready to defend them. “My parents were wonderful people!”

“I’m sure it may feel that way. But—”

Hexiciah stopped short as realization struck him. They’d been referred to using the past tense. 

Following a pause, he rose and gave Victor a comforting pat on the shoulder, before moving some steps away to think. 

Silence ensued. Only a distant ticking was heard. 

“I take it you’re staying with a relative, then?”

“None are alive.”

“A family friend, perhaps?”

Victor shook his head in response. 

“How about an orphanage?”

He shook his head yet again. 

“Whoever your guardian may be?”

Sparky paused to think. He replied, “I suppose that would be me.”

Hexiciah’s eyes narrowed as he tried to make sense of the situation. “You?”

Only then did the pieces fall into place. This explained it all. And at that, he came to wonder: how long had it been this way, and to what extent had it affected him? What was the state of his residence? Was his housing situation satisfactory? If anything, it didn’t seem promising, so he asked that very question. 

All Victor gave in response was a shrug, along with a quick “Here and there.”

“Do elaborate.”

Sparky fell silent, and began to rub at the back of his neck. Eventually, he said, “Well, it depends on what I can find.”

“Victor—” Steam beheld him with a look of utmost concern— “Do you mean to tell me you don’t have a place to stay?”

“I never said that! I do! The benches make—” Sparky stopped to draw a shaky breath, before continuing,  “—perfect places to sleep. And I do own a house. It’s just, well, a few days away from here.”

“But… why wouldn’t you tell someone?”

“Tell someone?” he repeated. “And what for?”

“They’d want to help you, as would any reasonable individual.”

But no one ever dared offer him help in Belrive. Victor mumbled something about such a thing being impossible.

“Victor,” Hexiciah began, following little consideration, “I have a spare bedroom at home. I wouldn’t mind having it occupied.”

As if by reflex, Sparky shot up from his chair. “Listen, professor,” he said with a clear ring of defensiveness, “If this is your attempt at humor, it isn’t funny.” 

A sigh, weighed down by experience, left him. “This is nothing to laugh about.”

“You’re perfectly right about that,” Hexiciah agreed. “Now, the room might need some dusting — it’s been empty for quite some time — but I doubt that’ll be an issue.” 

Having gathered his things, Steam got up, dusted off his hands, and directed his steps towards the exit. “I must have a dust-absorbing contraption lying around somewhere.”

“But, where are you going?”

“Why, I’m going home. Now, do you intend to remain there, or will you come along?”

“Wh— you mean it?”

Sparky received no answer to his inquiry. Hexiciah had moved too far away to hear him. 

After processing the matter, he grabbed his pet eel and hurried to catch up. 

* * *

The door to the flat above a barren bookshop opened, and in stepped these two familiar silhouettes. The well-lived, slightly cluttered forehall offered a homely scent of clean cotton and dust-laden pages; most notably, a scent that was far from the smell of wet mold and rotting walls. 

The appliances all featured a personal touch, each thing tinkered with and altered to the extent that they were all unmistakably Hexiciah’s. The countless clocks hung up in the living room sounded in an almost musical chorus of synchronized ticks as the brass sconces cast a warm, comfortable glow upon the well-kept walls with its burgundy wallpaper;  wallpaper that notably enough wasn’t torn; a sight Victor hadn’t seen in a home for some time. 

Shortly, Sparky was shown to the guest room; a comfortable bedroom, yet slightly lacking in size. But the bed by the curtained window compensated for that very thing, with how it appeared to have the fluffiest bedding available. 

Hexiciah only had time to show him said room before he excused himself, pulled his coat back on and went out to buy whatever his guest might need. And it would not be a misjudgment to say that lots were needed. 

Some time later, Hexiciah returned, hugging several paper bags filled to the brim. He managed only to nudge the door shut with his elbow. 

After leaving the daily newspaper in the kitchen, he set a course for Victor’s room to hand over his things. But upon entering, he found him with his face planted against the bed’s pillow, with the rest of him buried beneath the warmth of a blanket, almost as if he was enclosed in a cocoon. His eel watched over him from its spot on the desk.

Hexiciah settled on placing the bags by the bedframe. 

He then sent a peek towards the built-in clocks on his copper-constructed arm; a sight proving that it was well into the evening. 

As habit went, he retreated into the kitchen and prepared a cup of tea, which soon found its place by his seat at the dining table. 

And having prepared another cup, he left it on Victor’s bedside table, placing it carefully to prevent any noise, and wished him a good rest.

Hexiciah proceeded to seat himself in the kitchen, and shot a look towards the newspaper’s front page; something he immediately regretted.

Chapter Text

It was decided by Hexiciah that Victor ought to take a temporary leave of absence; a wise, and certainly a prudent decision, given the sheer exhaustion recently inflicted upon the boy. He’d spent the last few days glued to his bed, almost exclusively sleeping, as if he lay on his sickbed. And now, an unfamiliar silence hung over Salem, mirroring the tranquil state of its most reckless inhabitant. 

But such tranquility could not be found at Monster High. Distrust tainted the tense atmosphere, following the revelation that the school was run by a normie sympathizer, and the untrue, yet well-grounded suspicion that even more students might not be like the others. 

It was during one of these days that Nora called her trusted associate to her office, apparently to discuss an urgent matter. 

Upon entering, Hexiciah found her by the window. As if locked in a reverie, she gazed out at the airy foyer, her eyes wandering between the passers-by below. 

Before long, she noticed a movement in her peripheral view, leading her gaze towards Hexiciah. 

A brief appearance of relief washed over her, before assuming a blank and serious expression. 

“Victor,” she began, “have you seen him lately? It’s been days since he was last spotted around the premises. You don’t believe anything could have happened to him, do you?”

Hexiciah noted the slight thickness of her voice and the gravity with which she spoke; worry, in an amount he only rarely saw. He looked towards her desk, and his gaze fell on the daily newspaper; the one carrying reports of the latest trick or treatments. 

“He’s quite safe, I assure you,” Steam replied. “I’ve personally ensured that he takes a few days off until better days resurface.”

An amount of tension passed from her countenance. “Good,” she replied. “Very fitting, actually; I meant to discuss that very topic. I believe it would be wise if he kept away from the school, indefinitely. You understand the current risks surrounding his presence here. I don’t want to imagine that my students could ever be capable of what I fear, but the risk that they might act on their frustration and blame matters on Victor in these times is undeniable.” 

She crossed her arms, accentuating the tension in her shoulders. “And what might become of him then?”

Hexiciah only agreed that her precautions were prudent.

That concluded the meeting, and Steam was on his way out; until suddenly, he turned a heel to ask:

“Headmistress, may I ask what you know about legal guardianship? Is everyone under the age of eighteen required to have one, or is it purely optional?”

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” she replied.

“It concerns Sparky.”

“Sparky?”

“Victor, that is,” Hexiciah said, correcting himself. 

Bloodgood thought it to be a curious nickname, but it failed to provide a sufficient answer. She went on, “I really must ask you to elaborate.”

A cloud of guilt floated in over Hexiciah’s countenance. In an almost pained tone, he continued, “Headmistress, he’s both orphaned and without residence. The signs were right under my nose, yet I still overlooked them all. And I don’t even dare begin to think how terribly he must have been doing all this time…”

A display of surprise, similar to that which Hexiciah had had when he’d first heard all of this, was applied upon Bloodgood’s face. Yet, her demeanor remained calm and composed. “Without residence? But, surely, he must have other family members or relatives to stay with?”

Hexiciah shook his head.

“Family friends?” 

“None whatsoever, I fear.”

“I see… In that case, I could arrange for him to stay at an orphanage until he’s reached adulthood,” Nora suggested.

“Orphanage?” Shock mixed with revulsion. “No, no. Not that. I’ve heard plenty of stories about how poorly they’re treated there. No, it must be handled appropriately,” Hexiciah insisted. “I trust I can handle matters myself. You see, he’s been staying in my guest room as of late, and he appears to have made himself quite at home. Oh, and on that account, would you believe that room to be satisfactory?”

“Certainly, but… are you sure about this, Hexiciah?”

“Very much so.”

“Then, I find it only appropriate that I should express how very noble that is of you.” She paused to clear her throat, raising a hand to her mouth. “But in terms of legal guardianship, I doubt it’s a pressing matter, given his age. But I shall look into it.”

Steam sent her a thankful nod before they parted. He carried on into the depths of the corridors. 

Nora’s gaze lingered at the door, briefly, for as long as her silver eyes carried a wistful gleam. 

Chapter Text

A gentle spring breeze shook the newly-budded branches of Belrive, sweeping the area with its tepid winds. In an area far away from the center of the town, a bush rustled, following the movements of the two hiding figures using it for cover. 

It was there that a well-dressed principal and his red-haired assistant both held a pair of binoculars, gazing intently towards that infamous house and its chipped, grayish paint while keeping a safe distance. Its owners’ interest in the creation of life suddenly seemed ironic, given the utterly lifeless state their home was in. How desolate it looked, buried deep within its isolated glade. 

“And you did check with the locals?” Waldman asked, giving the dove perched on his shoulder a scratch. 

“No signs of him whatsoever,” responded his assistant.

A peculiar feeling etched itself onto their tones, suggesting that guilt haunted them. Considering the time that had passed since Victor’s leave, they couldn’t help but wonder what had become of him. 

When they agreed to send him to Monster High, they were sure he’d return within the first week, accompanied by the horror of having lived among monsters. An endeavor that would teach him a lesson to stay put, and finally give up on the horrible teaching that was science. A mere practical joke, which was sure to put an end to Belrive’s worries about having him follow in his parents’ footsteps for good. 

It would seem that things only rarely go according to plan. A joke which should have taken no longer than a week had now spanned a few months short of a year. And there had indeed been no signs of him whatsoever.

Perhaps those monsters had gotten the best of him. All the signs pointed towards that. A need to solve the mystery surrounding his whereabouts was inarguably present, but their deeply-rooted fear overpowered this desire. They didn’t dare do a thing — the issue surrounded both scientists and monsters — although the unresolved question caused their guilt to grow stronger. Still, they did no more to investigate the matter. 

This marked the end of the Frankensteins; for in the eyes of Belrive, they were all but an unpleasant memory. 

* * *

Across the Atlantic Ocean, Victor was indeed at rest, though not in the manner assumed by Waldman. Although days had passed, Sparky’s state remained unchanged, as was surely for his own good. 

Outside his room, the mechanically rhythmic ticks of clocks and gears sounded in the empty tranquility of Hexiciah Steam’s apartment. The rain’s steady drumming pattered against the curtained windows, washing everything outside anew as the grayish sky streamed into the burgundy kitchen in which Steam comfortably sat and skimmed through the paper. 

But that activity was something he soon regretted. How repetitive the reports of the trick or treatment were getting; and for what good? 

What good? 

It was then that his eyes fell on another article:

NORMIE SCANDAL AT MONSTER HIGH

A careful knock tapped across the flat, serving as an instant distraction. A sudden curiosity sparked through him. He lowered his newspaper, leaving it on the dining table, and a mere peek into the homely forehall was soon followed by his approaching the door. 

The lock clicked and creaked as he turned it. The front door opened as far as the security chain allowed, and he stuck out his head through the gap. 

Outside, the rain fell on a cloaked figure standing atop the stairs. An unmissable air of familiarity radiated from her, but he couldn’t pinpoint its source until she pulled her dark hood off, revealing her countenance. The raindrops bespeckled her skin like little gems, bringing her fairness into an even clearer definition. 

“Good afternoon, Hexiciah.”

“Headmistress?”

She threw a look over her shoulder, and lowered her voice to ask, “May I enter?”

Hexiciah’s eyes focused on the spot she’d turned to scan, first assuming she was running from danger. But even though he saw nothing, he swiftly hooked off the security chain as if there was, and held open the door. 

She sent another look behind herself, ensuring that the street was empty of people, before stepping inside. 

Nora pulled her gloves off by the fingertips, and unwrapped her patterned scarf. By the time she’d started unbuttoning her cloak, he was already holding a clothing hanger for her. 

“I do hope I’m not intruding,” she began, avoiding his gaze as she took the hanger, and left her dark cloak by the coat rack. “Perhaps it was unfitting of me to stop by unannounced.” 

“Unfitting?” He restrained himself from blurting out how it was scientifically impossible for her to not be welcome in his home. “No, it wasn’t unfitting in the slightest. I was only reading the paper.”

When he brought up the latter, her face seemed to lose some color. She stared lifelessly at nothing in particular, briefly, until the following words snapped her back to the present:

“Won’t you have a seat? I’ll prepare some tea.”

Following the same hesitation she’d had before entering, she mutely nodded and followed him into the kitchen, taking slow, tired steps. 

Having seated herself by the dining table, she watched as he placed a full kettle on the stove. Her hands were tightly laced together, tightly enough to restrict her blood flow, leaving her fingertips whitened as she ran a thumb across her knuckles in a soothing motion. 

Soon, ceramic tea cups clinked against the table. Hexiciah dug through the cabinets for some chamomile tea, and soon dipped the tea bags into each of the cups. Misty steam trailed upwards as he filled them both with boiling water before adding a minimal amount of honey. He soon took the seat in front of her.

Nora thanked him, bringing the cup closer towards herself. The spoon inside scraped against its bottom while she aimlessly stirred. She knew not what to say, so she settled on silently studying the ceramic handiwork; how its edges, decorated with a line of gold, glinted faintly as painted vines swirled around it, accompanied by vibrant flowers circling the pattern. 

But Hexiciah was left only to study her face. While this would have gone unnoticed by an untrained eye, he saw that which just barely seeped through the cracks; the microscopic glistens of her waterline, and the slight brittleness previously heard in her voice. Regardless of what plagued her, the observation caused his heart to sink in his chest.

“Headmistress?” Hexiciah eventually said, catching her attention. “May I ask you a personal question?”

She tapped an anxious fingernail against her cup, emitting tiny clicks. “Go ahead.”

“How are you feeling?”

After processing the inquiry, her gaze wandered from his face to the cup beneath her. She looked into it, watching as the tea leaves stained the water inside, leaving it increasingly darkened with every passing second. It was then that she spotted her reflection atop its surface. 

Nora brought her hand to her cheek, rubbing it lightly while finally seeing how her eye bags did indeed match the color of her purple attire, and perhaps also her tea; how glazed her eyes were, along with the unusually ashen complexion; ashen, even by her standards.

And however did she feel about the sight? Relief, perhaps, for it was a confirmation, a validation of how she felt inside. A simplified representation of that which was finally catching up to her; of the side-effects from constantly working oneself to the brink of exhaustion, until every last drop of energy had been employed; from facing the constant threat of losing Monster High, from all the setbacks, and lastly, the tumultuous Salem. It was a relief that soon shifted into frustration, for she hadn’t the time to deal with mortal problems like fatigue as an immortal!

Shaking her head, Nora looked away from her reflection, instead fixing her gaze on the table to allow her eyes to trace the swirls appearing in the wood’s natural pattern. Bloodgood kept on stirring, all until a sigh left her. She figured it couldn’t hurt to tell. But she had no clue where to begin. 

“I shall be frank with you,” Bloodgood said. Not even the tea could cure the hoarseness of her voice. “Following recent events, I’m not entirely sure how to proceed.”

This was true. It was as if her soul protested the comfortless pressure it was constantly under, thus interfering with her ability to plan, with her ability to concentrate. Just however would she undo enough damage to regain the trust of her students, so that the normie exchange program might be resumed? Even under ordinary circumstances, that would have been a difficult problem to solve; but now, her current state, where she could scarcely bear the thought of anything other than rest, did nothing to improve the situation. And for what good?

What good?

But her soul knew what she required, though she herself might disagree; she needed rest, if only for a moment. A moment of calm, be it only for a minute. And perhaps that was why she’d brought herself here. Like a wounded soldier stumbling home.

Now, she was indeed here; the place her heart knew to be the safest, the most tranquil. And perhaps that was why she felt a sudden need to blink back tears. 

Nora cleared her throat, attempting to rid herself of the lump that thickened inside. But her entire inventory of emotions, that work had hidden away, revolted. 

Upon realizing that she was feeling, Bloodgood promptly began her search for any means of distraction, leading her eyes towards the daily newspaper next to her. But plastered across the cover was the trick or treatment; another reminder that nothing had yet changed, and how guilty she felt over that very thing. And then came the mention of the now infamous normie scandal. 

She had no clue where to begin; but that no longer mattered. 

Nora blinked and blinked to hold back the tears while avoiding his face like her life depended on it. She tried so to sound collected, but her voice remained brittle as she aimlessly, with little control over the words that flew out of her, rambled, “Oh, if only I’d been more careful, things might surely have taken a turn for the better by now. I didn’t think we’d see any of this again. Not since bringing in Victor.”

She paused to draw a shaky breath to regain even a fraction of her usual composure. “But how wrong I was to think that way. Have I no logic? What was I thinking? I got so ahead of myself. Foolish. So utterly foolish.”

“You mustn’t blame yourself, Headmistress,” Hexiciah assured. “The only foolish thing would be to do so. And, I assure you, you needn’t worry about Victor.”

His words of assurance were to little avail, serving only to worsen the storm; for whatever would become of poor Sparky, who she had used as a mere laboratory rat in a social experiment? Had she no morals? 

Her worries grew larger, and she swiped a trembling finger across her waterline as she kept on rambling. “And their fear of Victor will only keep growing, should the present persist. And what might become of him, would they mimic the normies and choose him as a scapegoat for their problems the way they do with us, solely because they fear us? That cannot be. It cannot. I could never forgive myself if any of my students got hurt under my watch.”

“Nothing will happen to him, Headmistress; nothing at all. I promise you that. But be assured that I shall keep an eye on him regardless.”

His words were again useless. It would only be inadequate to say that he was unsure of what to do. He wanted nothing more than to hold her, gently, until she could be spared even the slightest sliver of comfort. But doing so would go against her wishes; her wishes, but certainly not her wants. Thus, he began searching for other methods. 

Soon, Hexiciah rose from his seat, holding out his arm for her taking. “May I show you something, Headmistress?”

A momentary look was exchanged between the two, before she rose to carefully wrap her arm around his. For a moment, this very gesture served as a reminder of old times. Bloodgood ran yet another finger across her waterline.

“Nora,” she blurted out, too tired to hold anything back. “Do call me Nora. Won’t you? For old times’ sake?”

Taken by surprise, Hexiciah had to spend an instance blinking. He replayed the words in his mind to ensure that his ears hadn’t failed him.

“Of course. Nora,” he softly replied; and how easily the melodic name rolled off his tongue, just like it once did. 

Then and there, she fought the urge to tell him how she missed him so. But she simply allowed another tear to fall. 

Upon seeing that tear roll down her cheek, he recalled her concern for the safety of her students, and thus, his idea. Hexiciah proceeded to carefully lead her towards the occupied guest room. 

Once there, he nudged the door open, revealing the sight of Sparky. No one could look more tranquil. A bruised hand, limp besides a twitch in his finger, laid against the soft pillow supporting his head. The rest of him was buried beneath a blanket, his closed eyes displaying an expression of comfort that could provide an excess for the three of them. 

“He’s perfectly safe,” Hexiciah assured. “And it shall remain that way. You have my word, Nora.”

There was the calm she needed. The atmosphere shifted for the better. She gave his arm a gentle squeeze, turning to meet his gaze. “Thank you.” 

It was impossible to sound more sincere. 

A slightly amused smile soon seeped out. “Sparky, was it?”

“Indeed,” he chuckled. “You see, it was this curious nickname which my father…”

And as Hexicah kept on speaking, the familiar sound and rhythm of his deep voice soothed her more and more with every passing word. 

Then they remained there, standing by the doorframe, until a wrinkle appeared between Nora’s eyebrows while she came to behold Sparky’s face. 

“Strange,” she mumbled.

“What is?”

“Something about his nose reminds me of yours. It must be its curvature.”

Hexiciah looked closer, his mismatched eyes narrowing to some extent. “Why, I suppose you’re right! And he does have your hair color...”

“Indeed. And his spectacles do bear a resemblance to your reading glasses.”

“It’s almost as if he has your cheekbones.”

“He shares your fascination with all things scientific.”

“And he’s a dullahan, just like you!”

It was then that they burst into a series of gentle, light-hearted laughter; the jumps of his chest and her radiant smile combined. And during that instance, Nora had let her guard down altogether, enough to realize that things felt perfectly natural with the three of them together. 

“I must say,” she continued, “It seems almost as if he could be our—”

Before her sentence could be completed, the situation dawned upon her as a shock. Her expression immediately fell blank. She stiffly began to straighten her bodice, plucking away a hair that was caught in its violet fabric. She felt ashamed enough of her unsuitable display of relaxation, almost as if the school board spoke directly to her. But it hardly compared to the horror saturating the fact that they had been comparing each other to this boy as if he was their own. As if they were more than they were. 

They locked eyes.

An easy mistake is what she told herself. To accidentally, unintentionally, subconsciously make such a connection was not at all surprising, given the circumstances. They were simply two people who felt responsible for the well-being of someone younger. 

Yet, their eyes remained locked.

And she prayed she didn’t seem enamored. 

Only when the corners of his mouth began to form a hopeful smile did she force her eyes away. Her gaze moved to her wrist. She wiped away any and all traces of emotion from her voice, and said, “It’s getting late. I really must be getting back.”

Hexiciah’s first impulse was to clasp his hands together and beg her to stay, even if he’d only be granted another moment with her. A minute, second; even a millisecond longer. 

Yet, he simply asked, “So soon, Nora?”

The name made her waterlines glisten. She attempted to form a yes, but her voice failed her, for her heart tugged at her mind in a frantic attempt to force away its objective prudence. No, is what she needed to say. No, let me stay within your reach until the end of time; until your clocks stop ticking.

But her mind fought back by having her bite down on her tongue to the extent that it nearly bled, solely to keep her from saying it. Her heart surrendered, and she uttered that same, forced yes.

The Headmistress hurried to put her gloves and scarf back on, followed by her cloak. “I’ll see you at work.”

And before Hexiciah could even bid farewell, she was out of the door, out of his sight, and out of his reach. 

An irrepressible emptiness, where all that lingered was the scent of her sweet perfume, hung in the air following her hurried leave. But he could do no more than sigh. 

Hexiciah returned to grab the handle of the guest room’s door, slowly pulling it towards the door frame before carefully letting go to prevent any thuds and clicks. 

He returned to the burgundy kitchen, alone, to the sight of his half-empty teacup. Despite everything, it hadn’t yet grown cold. 

And the clocks kept on ticking.

Chapter Text

The empty corridors of Monster High, lifeless and quiet, emitted an eerie air of abandonment during the evenings, perhaps to reflect upon its former days as a decrepit building. It was during one of these evenings that a distant clock ticked in the lonely silence surrounding the Headmistress’ office; the only yet occupied room. This was a silence unnoticeable to Nora, as it was drowned out by her racing thoughts. 

Beneath her, on the flat surface of her hardwood desk, the candlelight spilled upon a letter from the school board; a letter that would decide the future of her school.

She took as deep a breath as her lungs allowed, savoring its sedative qualities to calm her heart which, in terms of pace, competed against the rate her thoughts entered and left her mind. Only time would tell which of the two parties would win the race. 

Figuring that it was best to quit wasting emotions, she grabbed her paper knife and ran it through the envelope’s opening. With a slight tremble in her slender fingers, she pulled out the letter inside. 

Headmistress Bloodgood, 

While your penultimate report painted the state of Monster High in an exceedingly promising light, it is with great shock that we receive your latest letter; and it is with an even greater shock that the monster world received the news surrounding this normie scandal. But be assured that you will not be disciplined due to your actions, for we do acknowledge that we were just as guilty in hoping as you. 

The presence of a normie on school grounds has since proven to massively taint the school’s reputation in ways we simply cannot afford, both figuratively and literally. On those grounds, we have concluded that your Normie Student  Exchange Program must be terminated, effective immediately. And if any more such scandals should occur, you would only be fortunate to get any additional funding whatsoever.

From this, we could perhaps conclude that some theories should remain as they are; as mere theories. 

Good luck with your future endeavors. 

Respectfully,

Salem Board of Education

Every tense muscle in her being promptly relaxed at the hands of this relief. She was permitted to keep Monster High, and Victor was safely excluded from any future endeavors she feared the school board would insist upon. 

Following some newfound energy, she’d spent the last few days reflecting upon every possible outcome, and this one was indeed the most prudent. Still, she found it typical how they seemed to be more concerned about fiscalities rather than the safety of a student. 

Thus came the end of the normie student exchange program. Before any and all thoughts surrounding monster-normie relations could be resumed, it was clear that monster unification needed to be prioritized. Until then, no full-blooded normie could step foot in the premises again. 

But it would be incorrect to say that she was now back at square one, nor would it be correct to call this a setback; for in terms of unifying monsters, her previous  observations of her students had already given excellent results. By that alone, it was clear that fear is a difficult obstacle both to rewrite and overcome, but it was, by no means, impossible; for what can be created can be undone, though it may take time. All one could do until then was take one step at a time. Dreams and theories are meant to become more, the proof being that the clocks still ticked. 

However, Hexiciah — who she hadn’t spoken to since their last encounter — still needed to be informed of the news surrounding Victor; an endeavor which would require another deep breath, if not plenty more. 

* * *

“You see, the key is to avoid moving the pawns too much,” Victor explained, pushing his circular glasses up the bridge of his nose. A game had just been finished, and he was resetting the chess board. “It detracts your attention from the more important pieces. Actually, they should only mainly be used when getting said pieces back, assuming you’ve lost them.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, then,” Hexiciah replied, giving a patient smile. He sat on the opposite side of the chess table, located in the burgundy living room across the forehall. 

A little over a week had passed before Victor began displaying proper signs of life again. The discoloration about his eyes had since faded and now blended in with his skin, which itself had a healthier veneer. A refreshing sight. 

The kettle whistled from the kitchen; a room connected by an open door nearby. Hexiciah rose from his seat to set it aside, moving it from one plate on the stove to another. 

It was then that a familiar knock was heard. Upon hearing it, he turned his head towards its spot of origin, showing his now-brightened features. 

Having approached the front door with lightened steps, he swiftly turned the lock and hooked off the security chain attached to the door, which then creaked open. 

“Nora.”

He allowed her to step inside. 

“Hello; or rather, good evening,” Bloodgood said, catching herself off-guard. She cleared her throat, and settled on cutting herself short. “The school board has just given me instructions on how to proceed with Victor. His admittance is to be terminated.”

Hexiciah looked back at Sparky, visible through the wide arch connecting to the living room, where the chess board kept him occupied. He nodded to signal his understanding. 

“I suppose it’s for the best,” he replied, facing Nora. “And if any additional education should be needed, I could always serve as a private tutor.”

Bloodgood gave a nod, glad that he agreed with the decision and thankful for his suggestion. She silently turned around to place her hand on the doorknob, preferring a quiet leave. 

He reached forward to place a hand on her shoulder, halting her before she was gone. “But… kettle’s just boiled?”

Nora looked down at his hand, savoring its warmth, and sighed, knowing it wouldn’t last. “Thank you, Hexiciah, but I really must—”

While avoiding the gaze of her colleague, Bloodgood’s eyes landed on the living room; specifically, the chess board inside. An object which might well be described as a staple of her youth. And it was perhaps muscle memory which now caused her fingers to tingle, if not the sudden wave of eagerness sent off from a dear old hobby. 

She sent a glance down at the glinting copper framing the clocks on his arm, reminding her that she was off-duty. “I take it you’ve been playing chess?”

“Well, I’ve certainly tried.” Hexiciah gave a sheepish smile. “But his insistence on teaching me to improve tells me my attempts have been insufficient.”

Nora responded with a hum, and shot another look towards his copper wrist to check the time once again. Then, her heels came to click against the floor while she swiftly approached her former student, the speed suggesting that she feared she’d change her mind if she hesitated for much longer. 

Victor inspected one of his two bishops as he awaited his opponent, pressing a finger against its curved tip. Before he could notice any more of its details, he spotted a hand placing itself on the adjacent chair. The light grip of its claws dented the fabric. His eyes followed the accompanied arm, leading towards Bloodgood’s face. 

“Might I join you?” she asked.

Sparky looked towards Hexiciah, who nodded with encouragement where he stood by the door frame, and gestured for Victor to go ahead.

“Alright,” Sparky proceeded to reply.

Nora pulled out the chair, lowered herself onto it, and scooched forward. “Now, I must ask you to pardon my skill level. If I recall correctly, I don’t think I’ve played in…” She gazed to her side as she thought, tapping a claw against her chin. “A hundred years, I believe.”

The boy shrugged and told her he didn’t mind. 

Thus, the game began, with pieces clacking against the checkered board they wandered upon. 

And before long, after only a few efficient moves, Bloodgood opened her mouth. “Checkmate.”

Beneath his wrinkled forehead, Victor’s gaze dashed between the chess pieces. He scratched at his scalp, figuring he simply hadn’t been paying proper attention, and asked for a rematch. 

Nora, not minding this excuse to go on, replied, “By all means.”

She assisted him with resetting the board, sparing all the time she could get. Victor prepared himself to pay close attention. 

The pieces began clacking once again. They stopped only half a minute later.

“Checkmate.”

Sparky’s mismatched eyes widened with astonishment. “How— how did you do that?”

Bloodgood sat with her legs crossed, the table hiding how she bobbed a heel with excitement underneath. She held back a grin, the only remnant being a mild twitching in the sides of her mouth. “Experience, perhaps.”

Victor, on the other hand, made no effort to hide his grin; especially not when turning to look at the one watching from the door frame. “Are you seeing this, Hexiciah?” he beamed. “She’s brilliant!”

But before Steam could agree, Sparky had turned back to shower Nora with questions. “Tell me everything! Everything you know.”

Bloodgood laced her fingers together. “Well, it all boils down to…”

Hexiciah sent them the warmest of smiles before heading into the kitchen, from where their conversation sounded muffled, and no words could be made out. All he heard is that they now sounded happy. 

He soon returned through the arch with two cups of tea; one being chamomile with minimal honey, the other being strawberry-flavored with the addition of exactly four sugar cubes. 

Having placed both cups on the windowsill behind the chess board, he brought forward another chair for himself, on which he happily sat down to admire as another game began.

* * *

Victor went on to repeatedly insist on solely playing chess against the one worthy opponent he’d stumbled upon, a major aspiration in his life now being to beat her. Bloodgood told herself it would be improper to decline the invitations, and had no other choice than to accept. 

Then, by the time summer arrived, Nora figured it couldn’t hurt to visit the Steams for a cup of chamomile tea, unpromptedly, every once in a while. After all, it was appropriate to keep in touch with her closest colleague. Spending too much time apart would surely cause them to grow out of sync; a most undesirable thing, since it would do the very opposite of streamlining work efficiency once the next scaremester started. And studying Victor’s so-called human customs would be highly beneficial for any potential future plans. 

That is, at least, what she’d tell the school board.

In the meantime, Victor’s sketchbook and blueprints gathered dust in the catacombs, untouched, as if forgotten. 

Perhaps they were no longer needed.