Victor Frankenstein was digging again that night as usual, searching graves for anything useful for his current creation and project.

He at first, like anyone else, probably thought he was imagining things; that's when he heard a scream, though it was muffled. It was still quite loud.

And of course, taken aback by the scream, but curiosity soon repressed that feeling, and he dug faster, and what he found wasn't a corpse but a living child, give or take.

The kid was shaking, eyes swollen, and at this point nearly shut and definitely had their leg broken, as it was a discolored mess of purple, yellow, and green.

The kid's skin was marked with burns and streaked with dirt, and their hair was hacked off; some parts were long, and other parts weren't.

They were cold, scared, and barely breathing. He didn't think I meant he couldn't leave you here, and somehow he managed to bring you back to his apartment, though he was a scientist, not a caretaker; he didn't know what to do.

He placed you back in his room, and you went to the nearest corner while trying to make sense of your surroundings.

He left to go find painkillers, and he had some, but of course they were in syringes, which would probably terrify you more than needed, but he had nothing else.

When he went back, of course you panicked, but he eventually got whatever was in there in, and you cried more than you had before. It pained him, but he had to ease your pain.

He left and shut the door and gave you a soft blanket and went back to where his creation sat waiting for him while he said to himself he would tend to the wounds later, a bath maybe, then food and questions, and made a promise to himself that he wouldn't let you die.