There was a gentle knock at the door. Robert straightened his cravat and called softly,

"Enter," In stepped his sister Margaret. He forced himself to overcome the melancholy that had pervaded his life since his return from the north and smile. She noticed his effort, though, and took his hand.

"Robert, I know this is hard for you. But you must put on a brave face for the world. The funeral starts in an hour, and there is a carriage waiting outside. Do you need another minute?" she asked, with the tact only found in a woman. Robert shook his head and turned on his heel.

"I shall be alright. Come, let us go." Robert preceded Margaret out of the room, and she was turning to shut the door when a letter on the table caught her eye. She picked it up and, seeing the title, accosted her brother.

"Robert, you do not want to be going without this." He looked back and his eyes widened slightly at the sight of it.

"Ah," he said, holding out his hand for it. "Victor's eulogy. Read it for me, Margaret. What do you think of it?" She looked at her brother thoughtfully, then unfolding the letter read the following:


I, of all Victor Frankenstein's acquaintances, probably knew him the shortest. But in his final days, I have no doubt he confided more to me than he ever had to his most intimate friends. I acknowledge this was partly because of circumstance. At the ends of the earth, he had little choice in companions as he pursued the demon which had wrenched apart and forever ruined his life. But I prefer to think it was more than chance which caused our paths to cross; when I, in my most sincere prayers, had been daily wishing for a friend to lighten my spirits on the voyage north, am suddenly delivered this book in the form of Victor, it seems to me the work of divine Providence. That he should be snatched away as quickly is simply horrid. Yet I do not begrudge Victor the peace of death, for I know that it was his most fervent wish to be released from his earthly torment. The only thing which could have made his release happier is if he had been so blessed as to have succeeded in the quest that had brought him to the North in the first place. May I say, though, with tentative hope, that his death has not been in vain, and that the monster he sought so ardently to destroy has fulfilled this wish himself. I imagine him, true to his word, burning on a pyre on the cold ice as surely as he will in hell, and though I feel some burgeoning seeds of pity for the thing, my heart hardens when I think of the utter despair he brought upon my friend Frankenstein, and proceeds to delight in his destruction.

Lingering on my friend's death brings forth emotions I find it hard to contain, so let me end quickly with this final sentiment: I sincerely hope Victor has finally found repose in heaven, and happily enjoys the company of those dear departed he so missed. I have no doubt he now holds his beloved Elizabeth in his arms once more, visits often his closest friend Henry, and frolics over clover-covered moors with his young brother William. Rest in peace, my dear friend.

-Robert Walton, 17-

Robert was looking at her expectantly. She returned his gaze, eyes shining, and said truthfully,

"My dear, this is beautiful. I feel as if I truly knew him. It seems such a loss the world should lose someone who has garnered such praise from you." Robert said nothing, but shook his head sadly as he took the letter from Margaret and folded it up into his pocket. Finally he said,

"Come. The carriage awaits."