The night air bit deep into the bone, cold and cruel as a jealous spirit. Snow fell in heavy sheets over the Transylvanian mountains, painting the world in white silence. Jagged black pines clawed at the sky, and far below, the valley shimmered with ice and moonlight. It was the kind of night most men would call evil.But one man saw it as an opportunity.
That man's name was Victor Frankenstein.
In a lonely cemetery carved into the mountainside—surrounded by hundreds of frostbitten graves—Victor dug feverishly into the frozen earth. His lantern flickered against the wind, the flame fighting for life just as he was.
"Come on… almost there…" he muttered, shovel biting through the permafrost with dull, stubborn thunks.
He was a peculiar sight for such a desolate place. Long, green hair spilled over his shoulders, silky and luminous even in the dim light. His skin was pale as alabaster, and his delicate, almost girlish features looked as though they belonged to a noble's daughter, not a grave-digging scientist. Barely sixteen summers old, slender and fragile as a glass doll, Victor often found himself cursed by his own beauty. Even cutting his hair short hadn't helped.
He hated that.
"If you're just going to stand there," he said through chattering teeth, "at least grab a shovel and help me dig!"
A woman's voice—husky, teasing, and bold—floated from the shadows."I wanted to stay at the academy. You're the one who kidnapped me, drugged me, and dragged me to this frozen graveyard, genius. You dig."
"I didn't kidnap you," Victor protested, sweat glistening on his delicate jaw. "I… temporarily relocated you."
"With horse tranquilizer!"
"It was only six ccs!"
"Five," she shot back, crossing her arms.
"…Fine. Maybe five and a half!"
From the darkness, she stepped into the glow of his lantern—and the world seemed to shrink around her.
The woman, Frankie, was immense. Her hooded cloak could barely contain her presence. Beneath the heavy wool, her broad shoulders and powerful thighs hinted at an amazonian build, the kind sculptors would kill to capture in marble. The faint curve of her massive chest pressed against the fabric whenever she moved, her every breath straining the seams. She was towering—easily six foot seven—and though her beauty was hidden, her energy filled the clearing like a thunderstorm waiting to break.
"You could've at least warned me," she said, her voice dipping between irritation and amusement. "You know, before shoving a needle in my neck?"
Victor wiped the frost from his face and muttered, "All women are the same… even the dead ones I make."
Her glowing eyes sharpened under the hood. "What was that?"
"Nothing! Just talking to the worms!" he squeaked.
A hollow clunk interrupted their bickering. Victor froze—then grinned, his pale features lighting with manic joy. "Finally!"
The snow howled across the mountain as he brushed the ice from an ornate coffin, revealing a sigil of a blood-red rose impaled by fangs.
"The House of Camilla…" he breathed. "The Vampire Queen." His grin widened, eyes glittering with unholy excitement. "Bingo."
He threw back his head, laughing wildly into the blizzard. "HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Frankie groaned. "There you go again with the laugh. It's not evil, it's just… weird."
"I've been practicing!" Victor said indignantly. "It's supposed to sound maniacal!"
"It sounds like a goose choking."
He glared up at her. "Whatever. Help me carry this to the carriage."
"No."
"What do you mean, no?"
She tilted her head, smirking under the hood. "Are you deaf, pretty boy? I said no. You got the muscles for it—oh wait."
Victor's eye twitched. "Then why did you even come along?!"
"I didn't! You kidnapped me!" she snapped, stomping her boot into the snow. "I'm freezing my tits off, Victor!"
"Technically, you can't feel cold," he muttered. "No blood circulation."
Her aura dropped several degrees.
"…What did you just say?"
Victor paled. "Nothing! I meant nothing!"
She turned sharply toward the carriage, snow crunching underfoot.
"Wait!" he called after her, guilt bubbling in his chest. "Eight minutes!"
She froze mid-step.
"…What did you say?"
Victor swallowed. "When we get home—eight minutes."
Her tone softened instantly. "Eight? From four to eight? My, my…"
"You're drooling," he murmured.
She grinned, resting an elbow on his head, her massive form dwarfing him. "Then make it ten, and I'll forgive you."
Victor looked at his thin, trembling arms, his elegant fingers still red from digging. He sighed in defeat. "Fine. Ten minutes. Just—help me carry it, already!"
"Good boy." She lifted the coffin effortlessly onto one shoulder, muscles shifting like steel beneath silk.
They turned toward the carriage—only to hear a voice cut through the blizzard.
"Hey! What's going on here?!"
A man stepped from the shadows, a scar cutting across his face. His eyes widened at the sight of the giant woman carrying a coffin. "Grave robbers!"
He unfurled a glowing scroll.
"Stop him!" Victor shouted.
Without hesitation, Frankie hurled the coffin like a catapult stone. It slammed into him, but not before he triggered the spell.
A flare of light burst into the sky.
Victor's stomach dropped. "Light magic… He's calling others!"
"What was I supposed to do?!" she barked.
"NOT THROW THE DAMN COFFIN!"
Before they could argue, a low rustling echoed overhead. The sound grew—a thousand wings slicing through the air.
Victor turned pale. "Bats…"
Frankie's grin returned, feral and wild. "Oh, this is going to be fun."