Chapter Text
One night with Venus, was that not how it went?
Ah, but in the many months as a medic and of the many beauties he bore great witness to, it was never the one night. Yes, it takes but one to seal fates and inflict a curse not unlike the one kept tolerable for the time by the metallic ambrosia held within his cane, but with his experience and luck, it was also inevitable he’d suffer other curses.
One lesser, nearly fallen from its very definition, curse would be that of Harlander's own daughter. A headache and annoyance she could have rightly been as his fortune began but by some grace, her mother's wish to seek capital on her birth died with her on the delivery bed. And, given his predicament, he was suited to find his joys elsewhere and scorn the chance of any other heirs so, after some months orphaned, he did take his supposed daughter into his home and under the family name. His beautiful, good daughter, Angelique Harlander. Gay as a cherub and with the complexion befitting heaven itself.
Funnily, reminding him of some visages of Cupid or Eros.
Sadly, a child who would not carry his name past her marriage, but he was lacking in hopes for such a thing, as his condition worsened. Even a child, sweet and unaware of the goings on he tried earnestly to keep behind his doors and dividers, caught sight of his deteriorating skull and scalp, and cried out with worrying fear. Her ignorance worsened his reaction, and her probing questions, however well-intentioned they may have been, only served to shame and anger him until he sent her away to another wing – sweet child as she was, he could not stand the reminder of his state.
Such hopes he held of recovering, of living long and surpassing the unfavorable form he was born and lived in with time, would not come through the growth of any such inheritor. He would die and, on the days his daughter and lone niece married whichever respectable husband they chose, his name would be forgotten after such joyous days passed. It left him bitter, seeking any and all distraction from the unsightly with his amassed wealth, surrounded in the beauty of the world and its wonders he had witnessed in his younger years.
These visions of beauty, of the models and marvels of nature, as he holds his breath to not disturb the perfect moment, became all he could immortalize. Perhaps in art his name would live on, perhaps the sights he prized would raise discussion long after he is laid to rest. It was a poor, dull comfort, but a comfort he could hold and hope on for the time being. It was a hope he could find happier memories and feelings in. Including his docile, but ever luminous with joy, daughter.
“No, no dear. Raise the fan, up up up.” He instructed, viewing through the lens as Angelique righted the elevation of her arm with the folding fan, the shadow cast from the opaque design as light from the sun filtered through the window, and the thin material of the fan to cast an avian mask over her face. Staring up at the design, the visible side showed the beautiful wingspan design of a butterfly, with the unseen side adding to the shadow, shrouding her face with that of a predator who would soon feast on the small creature.
It was a creative design of her own mind, asked for after she had become enthralled with all the beauties that avian kind held and had begged to bring to life from the poor charcoal drawing, she had visualized her concept to her father. It turned out lovely as her, as her gaze and smile beneath that mask of shadow held the anticipation and pride of a predator with a meal in sight. The image burned itself to the glass and Angelique all but bounded to her father's side to try and peer with him on her toes, awaiting the fruit of her colorful imagination. She squealed with glee, the shadows distinct enough on her face to be captured properly and wrapped her little arms around Harlander's neck as she brought her father down in an embrace.
“I just adore it! I do; I do!” She separated herself from him just as quickly as she had embraced him, clapping her hands and smiling up as oceanic blue-green eyes pleaded their case. “Might I keep it for my own decoration? I’d be loath to part with it now that it exists.”
He held the glass to his vision, faux consideration for the plea painted across his face as she remained unbreathing in wait for an answer. “I suppose the muse holds right to the first copy of any masterpiece,” he jested, leaning down to gladly pass the photo into her waiting hands as heaven's light graced him through her smile. "But I must insist on another so I might have my own.”
Angelique nodded eagerly to abide, quick to rush the table and momentarily calm her movements to gingerly place the glass at rest before returning to the point she was prior, calming her breath, brushing back any stray hairs come loose from her energetic self, and posing as she had done before with fan held open and high– face fallen back into the same expression befitting a predator who had caught sight of their prey. Harlander could not help his laugh at the whole scene, capturing one of the few allotted moments where he and his daughter shared in some passion of theirs.
— — —
It was in response to his dear Angelique and sharing of her concept for artistry that he first heard Elizabeth's plans to soon leave the convent life, which sounded a sure blessing to Harlander to see one relative taken care of. It was most profitable for him to hear that, by fate, she had found reason to leave in a man of decent kindness and comfortable employment. One William Frankenstein, a man of only some faith with a spiritual, optimistic mind scarcely seen behind the gaze of a man part of a life so seemingly dull as a financier. He was a delightful young man to converse with, though limited as his eyes wandered back continuously to Elizabeth during their first meeting, as if a nervous boy looking constantly to a tutor or maid for approval of his actions and words in the presence of much more respectable guests. The man one of the blue skies and all the shapes and images the inspired mind could see in the occasional cloud that would blot its skies.
Alone, with simply Harlander and William alone as Elizabeth and Angelique babbled some more nonsensical topic their wandering minds would conceive, was when much greater opportunity became known to him. It was the topic of family, of course, with both men swapping smaller anecdotes of recent and old memories alike to familiarize one to another. It was there that William mentioned his most notable relative, an elder brother of high scientific ambition that taught currently at the Royal College of Surgeons in Edinburgh. Victor Frankenstein, an impressive-sounding name itself when not thinking that before it held both the title of Doctor and Baron.
Harlander, of course, pressed on, wanting to hear of the man William quoted as wanting to conquer death and do away with the concept entirely.
When conversation shifted and later ended on well wishes for the marriage to come and their independent works, Harlander insisted on extending the invitation and good news to Victor. On his travels, he looked into if the good doctor had published anything of his work and what, if so, he seemed confident to achieve. The Lancet gave him a peak into the fanatical yet brilliant mind he would soon meet, but his demonstration before the college’s tribunal with rhetoric and unholiness spouted as he carried his head high and work under arm and out the door with him. Soon as he had conversed with the man, those firing sparks of hope returned, and he had a great idea as to how he might turn those sparks into an unending blaze with further ignition to Victor's work.
What ignition it was, showcasing the unseen nature of the lymphatic to Victor only for the doctor to uncover a whole new possible marvel. Speaking of regeneration, life unlimited– oh, how much of a fool he felt to dream only of a new body to escape the sickness eating him away when it could be immortality gained through this man's mind! Himself, alive forever. What miracles!