1 BEFORE: THE DEATH OF CHARLES MOREAU

Night fell thick and dark, the moon barely lurking an inch behind the black ominous clouds that forcefully roared with thunder. The crunch of soil beneath each step Victor took was a sign of hurry, with the rapid sound of rushing water flowing nearby. His figure was indistinct, for the dark of night was companied by the raging clouds. Clanking and thuds of steel against leather sounded about as the torch in his hand dimly flickered by the waver of his pace. He was on his way to approach Rivercrest. He hastily crossed the cracking old bridge where-under the river swiftly flowed, then into the roads of the village.

Victor could smell the cold, damp fragrance of coming rain. He admired the villages' location, settled beside the rushing river. Rivercrest was home to a variety of races, that being humans, elves and ashkens. He remembered that this village wasn't built beside the river by accident, as it has an ancient, brief history, which was of great importance to the people of Rivercrest and its success. His leather boots lightly squelched on the mossy cobblestone road by each hurrying step, as the road was narrow and sided with buildings that had dark wooden rooftops, old cobblestone walls and flourishing gardens. He shrugged off the mysteriously calm atmosphere, for he noticed that the high pines' leaves rustled in susurration as the branches ghostly creaked. The flickering torches on the walls of the buildings were threatened by the gusts of fast wind, constantly swooshing around.

His torch blew out by a long gust of whistling wind from his front, pulling his brown hood from his head and sending the torch to the ground. He groaned and furiously tightened his lips with a frustrated sigh, rushing towards the turn around the old tavern.

He swept around the turn, shielding his eyes in the wind as a loud bang within the clouds roared, delivering the light fall of rain.

He plucked his dark leather hood over his head and looked down to avoid the rain in his eyes. He then heard the pitter-patter of rain on the ground as it became more and more by the minute.

He quickly started walking up the low hill's path. His steps now squelched in the thin layer of mud beneath his feet. He occasionally glanced up to find his house. His figure was still indistinct, though there were one or two flickering torches, wildly flaming in the wind.

He reached a wide turn on the path, blinking in his sight to see the scattered pines waving side to side with the rustle of leaves, not to mention the old wooden structures beside the path. This place is where the commoners of the village would live, for the other road he walked on were for stores, blacksmiths, taverns and other places.

He made his way up the path a bit more, passing at least three houses, then he made his way to the front of his house, built on a very surfaced stone cliff on the hill.

From the outside, it looked rustic, warm and pleasant. Large stones and big wooden logs made up most of the building's outer structure.

An orange tint of light flickered through the narrow, dirty windows from the candles inside. It seemed to be the only house to be shining light from within.

He quickly stepped onto the deck of the house, inhaling a deep breath of cold air and sighing it out in relief.

The deck had a roof over it, made from dark, wooden planks while supported by sawed wooden logs. The wetness of rain sat damply on Victor's body. Water drops trickled down his coat, wetting the wood beneath him. His boots left muddy prints on the wet deck's floor, suggesting that his feet were quite small, maybe one of a fourteen-year-old?

The large, wooden door facing him was heavy and worn. The handle was a steel knob that he clutched with his right hand in the gloomy darkness and stormy night.

He firmly gripped the cold door handle and pressed his other hand against the door. He flashed a clench on his jaws as his hand struggled against the doorknob, twisting and turning on it until it clicked a snapping sound. At that moment, he forced his body against the heavy door, opening it under a creak and a light splintering sound that delivered a metal-like thud.

He looked down onto the floor as light filtered through the gap of the open doorway.

He stifled a disappointed curse under his breath at the sight of the inner doorknob laying on the ground, with bolts and screws scattered on the floor. The orange tint of light shimmered brightly like a fireplace among the room. He finally entered the house and closed the heavy door with a hard push, resting his back against the door with alleviation.

His figure was distinct now. The orange light revealed his body. The tight-hugging coat stating that he has a physically attractive body, complemented by well-developed muscles. He wore a tight leather garment that tightly nipped his aesthetic legs.

He picked up the steel doorknob and heard the outside rumble of thunder with falling rain, being lucky he was indoors at the sound of heavier rainfall.

He took a step forward and accidentally kicked a steel bucket to tumble under a clanking sound before him.

"Ugh," he moaned, frowning at the event. He looked up to catch a drop of water onto his forehead, flawlessly tanned and smooth, as a vein hummed beside his temple.

Exhausted, he glanced around the room. He saw a polished circular, wooden table centred in the room, occupied by a few candles and surrounded by four chairs. At the far end of the room, a dusty window was embedded into the wall with flashes of lightning blazing through it by each flash. The lighting outside occasionally whipped from the sky with roaring sounds.

There wasn't much to see in the house, for they were poor, but his family had support from the people of the village.

He fell onto the wooden chair, slightly changing its position creakily. His dark brown hair glimmered with a bronze soupcon within as the candle's flame flared about, revealing his aesthetic facial structure. He had s sharp jaw that clearly defined a sharp edge. The middle of his jaw ran directly into a small square chin, complimenting his attractive lips. His eyebrows were straight, square and thin upon his alluring eyes, coloured a light hazel with a splash of amber.

He looked up at the roof and closed his tired eyes, sighing a final breath to the thought that he can rest. His neck was aesthetic and structured with each inch flawlessly tanned as a vein in its right pumped distinctly. He swept his aesthetic, tanned and veiny hand through his hair for comfort as his spine descended lazily into the chair with the drip, drip, and plop sound falling to the floor from the ceiling.

"Where were you!" shouted a penetrating voice in distress, as steps echoed down the staircase with a rush, his spine straightened in his sudden fright, eyes hazy and face worn out.

His mother sped down the stairs and ran towards him with open arms. She constricted him in her arms as she was apprehensive.

Victor wrapped his arms around his mother's petite hourglass figure with a welcoming hug. She was vexed and extremely concerned because her son never came home until now. She blinked away her tears and pulled out a chair beside Victor, descending onto it in her long grey robe. A thin rope was tied around her meagre waist, revealing the shape of her fit and thin body.

"I was worried to death," she gasped in a breath-like voice, wiping tears of relief from her beautiful face. Glossy and tanned skin accompanied her wasp-waisted body. Her hair was hazel-brown with a bronze shine. Her eyes were dazzling, bulbous, and the colour of steel.

"I apologize, mother," Victor responded, only wanting to get some shuteye after his long and exhausting day.

"Your father went out searching for you, dear," his mother stated, gesturing about as she sat cross-legged on the wooden chair.

"My boat tipped near the mouth of the river, by the lake… Charles is gone," Victor explained, confounded in what happened, leaning forward as he spoke.

"I"m just happy you're safe, Victor," she alleviated, settling her elbow on the table to rest her head on her hand.

Victor rested his back against the chair, not finding the strength to stand up. For a moment it was silent. Only the outside rumbles of thunder and the fall of rain broke through the silence.

The door burst open, unleashing a gale rain and a gust of whistling wind, as a muscular man stood inside the doorway, wearing a brown hooded coat with a strapped belt around his shoulder to his waist. It was Victor's father.

Victor's spine straightened at the sound, turning his head at the sight. His father was exhausted and worn out.

Victor's mother bolted from her chair towards her husband. She was wretched at the thought of losing him. His name was Harry Heylin, muscular and attractive, suggesting that Victor got his physical structure from him.

She swiftly swung her arms around him in a staggering hug, sighing breaths of exciting security on his shoulder.

"Victoria…," he muttered in a clear, dazzling voice while glinting at his wife's relieving face as his hands were on her hips.

"He's here," she responded, smiling her grateful tears away as a rumble from the skies echoed above their house.

"By the gods Victor," Harry laughed, drenched in rain as he approached Victor on the chair, "I knew you'd be safe," he continued, as Victor stood up to give him a manly hug. The coat Harry wore was about the same as Victor's, just bigger. It was a pale dark purple coloured coat that hung to his thighs and he wore leather pants with a white tunic.

"Father," Victor started as he scanned Harry, "you're drenched," he smiled, after meeting his eyes.

Harry slid off his coat and fluttered it in the air, releasing a spray of water drops that flew everywhere.

Victoria was glad that her family was safe, kissing Harry on the cheek with a smile as he descended into a chair on which his coat hung.

"What happened, son?" Harry asked, narrowing an attentive eye. Victor lightly bit his lower lip to concentrate.

"Umm..." he wondered, scratching his head, "my boat tipped because of the storm, and I swam my way to shore," he recalled, gesturing as he spoke.

"Were you the only one out there?" Harry puzzled.

"No, I was with Damian and Charles. Charles disappeared and Damian stayed to look for him,"

"How did this happen?" Harry inquired, seeming almost wistful.

"The three of us were on the river, following the current," Victor answered, having a confounded expression, "Charles paddled faster downstream towards the lake while Damian and I settled our boats by the mouth of the river," he continued, having a clear mind.

"Where the river meets the lake?" Harry scowled, "Yes," Victor responded with a nod.

"The clouds darkened and it started to rain," Victor stated, "The tide got higher and the current got faster. I couldn't control my boat and the waves were brutal."

His father was shocked at the thought of what they could have overcome, having experience with that river and its brutality under storms.

"So you…" Harry started, jumping at the instance of a thundering bang and a blow of wind killing the flames of the candles through a window that smashed open.

Harry quickly reacted after hearing an unexpected scream from Victoria's lungs as she jumped at the thunder. He shut the window, defeating the fast wind and sending the room back into the still air.

Victor glinted around only to realize that the room was dark and gloomy, the only light a constant flash of lighting.

"Victor!" Victoria called, "I know love!" Harry responded, knowing that she'd want him to light the candles again.

"Well, father," Victor came to his feet from the chair, "I guess I'm gonna go to bed now," he proclaimed, yawning a half-hearted sigh from his chest.

"May you rest well," his father smiled, patting him on his shoulder before walking to Victoria upstairs.