Chapter 7

Upon my return, I was confronted with a letter from my father that bore the most dreadful news. My heart sank as I read his words, which initially attempted to cushion the blow of the inevitable truth. William, my cherished younger brother, had been cruelly taken from us, his life extinguished by an act of vile murder. The shock of such news was paralyzing, casting a shadow of grief and disbelief over me.

My father detailed the harrowing events leading up to the discovery of William's lifeless body. Our family had been enjoying an evening walk when suddenly, William disappeared. Despite a frantic search that extended into the night, all hope was extinguished when his body was found, showing unmistakable signs of foul play. The loss of a miniature portrait of our mother, which William had been wearing, suggested theft as a motive, but the act was so heinous, it transcended mere material loss.

Henry Clerval, witnessing my despair, attempted to offer comfort, but words felt inadequate against the magnitude of our loss. Driven by a sense of urgency and responsibility, we decided that I must return to Geneva immediately. The journey was a blur of conflicting emotions—eagerness to be with my family mingled with a deep sense of dread for the sorrow that awaited.

Geneva, once a symbol of tranquility and joy, now felt overshadowed by tragedy. The city's gates were closed upon my late arrival, forcing me to spend a restless night at the edge of the city, tormented by thoughts of the day's grim task. A fierce storm mirrored my turmoil, and amidst its fury, I encountered the very source of my nightmares—the monster I had created. In that moment, the dreadful truth became clear: this creature was responsible for William's death. How could I disclose such an unbelievable and horrifying truth?

Returning home, the air was heavy with sorrow. Justine Moritz, a girl who had been like family, found herself ensnared in a nightmare, accused of a crime I knew she was incapable of. The evidence against her, particularly the discovery of the stolen portrait in her possession, painted a damning picture. Yet, the absurdity of the accusation against her gentle nature was palpable.

Elizabeth, with her unwavering hope, believed in my power to aid Justine. My father, ever the pillar of strength, encouraged reliance on the justice system, despite the deep injustices laid bare. I found myself in a state of profound conflict, aware of the monstrous truth yet powerless to reveal it without sounding mad.

Clerval, observing my distraught state, could offer little in the way of consolation. The conversation, heavy with grief and incredulity, only served to deepen my despair. The realization that the being I had brought into this world had now caused such irrevocable harm to my family was a burden I struggled to bear.

In the midst of this turmoil, the unwavering conviction in Justine's innocence provided a faint glimmer of hope amidst the encroaching darkness. Yet, the prospect of revealing the true perpetrator seemed insurmountable, a tale too fantastical to be believed. The weight of this secret, the knowledge of the horror I had unleashed, was a torment I was doomed to bear alone.