Fate/Eva Frankenstein

"Even if we want to forget the past...by not accepting it, we stop moving forward."

--Words from Blanche, a beloved baker from Chamorix

__________________________________________

Chapter 1: The Long Road to Nowhere.

Year ??? — Place ???

Pov. Eva.

Her mind replayed what had happened in that cabin.

Over and over again.

Like a cursed echo. An indelible mark.

A carousel that spun endlessly, trapping her in a loop she couldn't—and didn't want to—escape.

It began with fury.

The pain continued.

It continued with more fury.

Then came the sadness.

Confusion.

Agony.

And then, again... the pain.

SO MUCH PAIN.

And then...

Nothing.

Just nothing.

I always returned to the same point.

The Void.

That hollow hole in my chest.

That space that didn't beat. That maybe never did.

That I didn't know if it could.

From that day on…

The world lost meaning.

Everything went gray.

She… lost her purpose.

So she walked.

She just walked.

Sometimes she passed through villages.

Sometimes through crowds.

People looked at her strangely.

Some pointed at her with trembling fingers.

Others hurried away, muttering under their breath.

"Monster," some said.

"Thing," others said.

"Animal," "aberration"… the list was long.

And sometimes—the bravest or the most cowardly—insulted her to her face.

For her appearance. For existing.

Maybe they used her as a way to vent a bad day.

But then again...

Nothing mattered.

She didn't respond.

She didn't look back.

She didn't raise her voice.

She kept walking.

One step.

Then another.

And another.

From snow to mud.

From mud to dry land.

From grass to water.

Water? Did she cross a river? A lake?

She didn't remember.

Her cloak took days to dry.

She walked in the sun.

In the rain.

Under the moon.

Under the snow.

She felt each season without knowing what day she was living in.

Sometimes she heard rumors.

They spoke of a wandering figure.

Who wandered the mountains.

Who didn't speak.

Who didn't sleep.

Who didn't eat.

A ghost, some said.

A divine punishment, others whispered.

Probably her.

Nothing changed for a long time...

Although there were exceptions.

Once, a little girl approached her.

She spoke to her.

She smiled.

Eve didn't respond.

But the little girl persisted.

Until her mother forcefully tore her away and ran away.

Good.

The little girl had to learn not to approach monsters.

Step.

Step.

Step.

And step.

Place after place.

Path after path.

Day after day.

Week after week.

Aimless.

No goal.

Just an endless march.

One that had no end…

…until, one afternoon, the horizon returned to her a face she thought was buried.

A shape.

A silhouette.

A blackened roof.

Railings corroded by time.

A cracked path.

Eva blinked.

Her feet stopped for the first time in months.

Bleeding.

Torn.

Dirty.

Her eyes dilated.

Marked, red. Bloodshot.

No.

It couldn't be.

It was impossible.

She didn't even know how to get back here.

She didn't remember the way.

She rubbed her eyes hard, bringing tears to her eyes.

But the image didn't change.

There it was.

In front of her.

A mansion.

That mansion.

The damned Frankenstein mansion.

__________________________________________

Eva didn't know how long she stood.

Minutes. Hours. Days, maybe?

She only knew that the wind was stinging her skin, that her legs were no longer responding, and that something inside her... something deep, strange, forgotten... was beginning to stir.

The gate creaked.

A barely perceptible sound, rusty and sad.

Her trembling fingers closed on the metal. She pushed hard, and the gate gave way with an agonizing screech.

The garden was dead.

The stone, cracked.

The windows, broken or covered in dust.

But it was still there.

The house of her birth.

The house of her doom.

She climbed the steps. One by one.

Each step was an echo of the past. Each sound, a whisper that drew her deeper and deeper.

And then… the door opened.

Not by her hand.

From within.

A familiar figure appeared in the doorway.

Small.

Thin.

Pale-faced and expressionless.

"Eva...?"

Her voice was barely a whisper. Cracked with astonishment.

Read.

The blank expression Eva remembered on her face was now tinged with a strange emotion.

Confusion. Fear. Hope.

Eva stood still.

She should... feel happy.

She should run, hug her.

Maybe cry.

Maybe scream her name.

But her body didn't react.

Her throat was silent.

Only one sentence escaped her lips, more a moan than a prayer:

—…I can't…take it anymore…

Her knees buckled.

Her body, exhausted, collapsed without resistance.

—Eva!

She heard the scream, distant, as if coming from another world.

Her vision tilted.

The ground drew closer.

Everything went dark.

The last thing she felt was a pair of trembling arms trying to hold her.

And then…

Nothing.

Just the warm blackness of fainting.

She was simply…

Too tired.

__________________________________________

Five Years Later

Chamonix, Switzerland – Winter 1836

Pov.Third person.

The ceiling was the same as always. White, cracked, silent.

She opened her eyes before the rooster crowed, like every morning.

Not because she had anything to look forward to.

Simply… she no longer knew how to sleep more than necessary.

Years of insomnia had robbed her of even that.

The cold seeped through the cracks, but she didn't shiver.

Her body was used to it.

Her mind… too.

She sat up in bed, covered by rough, modest blankets.

The room was humble. Just the bare necessities and nothing more.

It wasn't that she needed more things.

She already had more than she wanted.

She took a second to breathe.

And, as always, the first thing she did was stand up quietly and walk over to the small oval mirror on the wall.

The figure that stared back at her… was hard to define.

It wasn't the broken creature she had been.

But it wasn't the woman she once was, either.

She lifted her chin.

She tugged at the edges of her lips.

And attempted a smile.

The result was stiff, shaky, and unnatural.

But she held it.

Her lips vibrated for a few more seconds before steadying.

Her expression gained a naturalness born of practice.

Even so, it remained hollow. Without emotion.

Just a functional grimace.

But it had to work.

The smile had to convince.

The others.

And herself.

That she was fine.

That this life… was enough for her.

She watched his eyes for a few more seconds.

Cold, yes.

But also… awake.

Tired. But determined.

Maybe that was enough for now.

She took off her nightgown and put on a simple brown dress.

She tied her hair with a ribbon. She put on her apron.

And left the room.

She went downstairs and got to work.

The bakery oven was already waiting for her.

It was early. Still dark.

But soon the first villagers would pass by.

With their greetings. Their coins.

Their simple stories.

Her routine had to begin.

Like every day.

With the bread.

With the lies.

With the smile.

__________________________________________

Steam rose gently from the hot dough.

It was cold outside, but inside the bakery the atmosphere was warm.

Almost cozy.

She kneaded without thinking.

The movements of her hands were precise, mechanical.

She didn't need to see them.

Her body remembered.

"Good morning, Miss Blanche!" —said a man as he passed through the door, raising a hand covered with woolen gloves.

"Good morning, Mr. Eustace," she replied with a polite, gentle smile.

It wasn't her name, of course.

But no one in Chamonix knew that.

To them, she was Blanche—the young baker who came from the north a few years ago.

Quiet but kind.

Always with warm bread ready before dawn.

A simple name.

A face hidden under a hood.

A made-up story.

And everyone accepted her.

"What a good girl," they said.

"So helpful," others commented.

"Hardworking and kind," some praised.

The kind and quiet baker, loved and appreciated by all.

Everything Eva could never be.

"Blanche!" a little girl exclaimed from the doorway, waving her hand."My grandmother says she loved the walnut cookies!"

"I'm glad to hear it, Anna," Eva replied, drying her hands with a rag. "Give her my best, okay?"

"Yes!"

The girl then ran up to her and, without warning, wrapped her arms around her waist.

A hug.

Eva froze.

Cabin.

Anger.

Cold.

Pain.

Confusion.

Tears.

Blood.

Victor.

Victor.

Victor.

Victor.

VictorVictorVictorVictorVictorVictorVictorVictorVictorVictorVictorVictorVictorVictorVictorVictorVictorVictorVictorVictorVictorVictorVictorVictorVictor—

"B-Blanche…?"

The trembling voice pulled her from that abyss.

She blinked. She looked down.

Anna watched her from below, now separated from her, with a doubtful expression.

Nervous. Small.

Afraid.

Why?

"Your...face..." the little girl said in barely a whisper. Her previous energy vanished.

Eva swallowed.

Face.

Her face!

She inhaled deeply.

She exhaled.

She repeated.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

When she looked back at the world, her face was already smiling.

Fragile, yes.

Tense, barely held together by invisible threads.

But enough.

By then, several customers were watching her. Some with curiosity, others with suspicion.

And Anna looked down, tears welling in her eyes.

No.

Not that.

Nothing good.

Eva gently bent down, placing herself at her level, and gently stroked her head.

"I'm sorry... I'm not angry," she said in a low, warm voice, like a winter whisper. "It's just... I don't like being hugged. You surprised me, that's all."

"Really?" Anna murmured, somewhere between shy and relieved.

Eva nodded, and added with a half smile,

"But you didn't do anything wrong."

She stood up, walked to the counter, and took out some still-warm buns.

"Here," she said, handing one to her. "Consider it... an apology."

The girl's eyes lit up.

"Wow! Thanks!"

Eva smiled, a little more naturally this time, and gave her a couple more.

"For your mom and grandma. But promise me you won't eat them all before you get there, okay?"

"I promise! Thanks, Blanche!"

And she ran off, a burst of energy that disappeared into the alleys.

Eva followed her with her eyes. Just that. Silence.

With their attention diverted, the rest of the customers returned to their business.

The murmur returned.

The loaves of bread changed hands.

And the moment passed.

Eva took a deep breath, looked at her own hands, and then at the floor.

Some still watched her doubtfully.

She wondered what expression she had made at that moment.

She shook her head gently. She slapped her cheeks a couple of times.

"It doesn't matter..."

She whispered.

Back to work.

Over time, the bakery emptied.

And, like every day, when the last door closed and loneliness filled the air...

The smile disappeared.

And the look... faded.

At this hour, Blanche disappeared, and Eva continued the routine:

Wake up.

Cook.

Take care of.

Sleep.

And repeat.

An ordinary life.

Quiet.

Clean.

False.

__________________________________________

The sun began to set.

The doorbell rang for the last time that day, announcing that Eva had closed the bakery.

The warm scent of dough still hung in the air as she gathered the last rags and put away her tools.

Outside, the cold Chamonix wind whistled through the cobblestone streets, carrying dry leaves and a light dusting of snow.

Eva put on her cloak and adjusted her hood, preparing to return to her small room.

As she turned the corner, she heard low, nervous voices coming from the nearby tavern.

She paused, trying not to attract attention, but she couldn't help but overhear part of the conversation.

"Did you hear? The Fortiers' daughter disappeared too."

"My God... that makes twelve..."

"Twelve girls in just one month... how is that possible?"

"And no one has seen anything... anything," said an alarmed woman.

"...and no one knows where they've gone. Could it be witches or ghosts?" a man replied, his gaze fixed on his glass.

Eva frowned and continued walking, trying to drown out the echo of those words.

But deep down, a small spark of unease began to ignite.

She had no intention of getting involved.

She didn't want any more trouble.

But something inside her knew she couldn't ignore this for long.

__________________________________________

The front door opened before Eva had time to knock.

"Ah, Blanche!" Madame Louise exclaimed with a tired but sincere smile. "Just in time. Come in, Lilia was just telling us how well school went today."

Eva crossed the threshold, letting out a soft sigh as she removed her wet cloak.

"I'm glad to hear it," she replied, putting her hood back on its hanger. "The oven was on most of the day. There was a lot of work."

Anne, a little girl with curly hair and lively eyes, came running from the kitchen and hugged Eva's leg.

"The teacher said I have the best handwriting in the class!" she said enthusiastically, lifting her chin proudly.

Eva smiled, genuinely for the first time that day.

"That's good, Lilia." She leaned over and gently stroked her head. "I'm glad you had a good day."

"Hehehe..."

The little girl giggled as she enjoyed the pats.

Madame Louise approached with a tray containing a saucer of steaming tea and a couple of freshly baked breads.

"Here. You deserve it after such a busy day."

Eva took the cup gratefully, but her eyes, for a moment, rested on the window, toward the street where the light was beginning to fade.

"The cold is starting to get more intense," Madame Louise commented, as if to dispel the silence that had lingered.

Eva nodded, returning her gaze to her tea.

"Yes, the winter is harsh here."

A pause.

"Have you heard anything... strange in the village?" —Eva asked, her voice soft, without arousing suspicion.

Madame Louise exchanged a quick glance with Lilia, who lowered her head.

"There have been a few disappearances," she replied cautiously. "Children, mostly. Twelve, they say. It's been a month, and they still have no answers."

Eva felt a chill run down her spine, but her face remained impassive.

"Such sad things," she murmured. "I hope they find answers soon."

Madame Louise sighed.

"Yes... We're just trying to take care of our own."

Eva took a sip of tea.

"If you need anything, you know you can count on me."

"Thank you, Blanche. You're a blessing to this house."

Eva forced a smile.

"I'm just doing what I can."

Some called her a "saint," but in her opinion, Madame Louise was the true saint of Chamonix.

In reality, they had done much more for Eva than she had done for them.

When she first arrived, penniless and homeless, it was Louise who opened the door for her.

Who offered her a corner to sleep in.

Who asked for nothing in return.

Despite having no reason to.

It was the greatest kindness she'd received in this life since... since...

Lea and Emma.

Eva's mood sank, and a melancholy expression took over her face.

For a moment, the tea lost its flavor.

"Blanche?" Madame Louise asked, noticing her silence.

Eva blinked and softened her expression.

"Sorry, I just remembered something. Nothing important."

Madame Louise didn't press the issue. She simply smiled and continued folding napkins next to Anne.

Eva drank the rest of the tea in silence.

A few minutes later, with her apron folded under her arm and her cape back on her shoulders, she left the house with a warm farewell.

The snow fell slowly, covering the rooftops and trees like a white veil.

The air was cold, but that wasn't what chilled her insides.

As she walked aimlessly down the cobblestone street, her mind returned to the words she had heard:

Twelve girls. In one month. No answers.

She'd heard whispers before. Scattered phrases, nervous comments at the bakery, mothers who wouldn't let go of their daughters' hands.

But she hadn't paid attention. She didn't want to pay attention.

It wasn't her problem.

That kept repeating itself, like a shield.

It wasn't her problem.

It wasn't her duty.

It wasn't her story.

And yet...

With every step, that affirmation weakened.

Why now?

Why did she feel that pressure in her chest?

She returned to the room she was allowed to stay in above the bakery. She didn't turn on the lamp right away.

She stood for a moment in the dimness, staring out the window.

In the distance, the village lights flickered like tiny embers in the darkness.

The snow continued to fall.

Twelve girls.

A number.

A number that weighed too heavily.

"It's not my problem," she whispered, as if saying it could make it true.

But it didn't sound convincing.

Not to herself.

Not that night.

And as silence filled the room, an unfamiliar feeling began to grow inside her.

It wasn't anger.

Nor was it pain.

It was something deeper.

A discomfort that wouldn't let her sleep.

With a sigh, she lit the oil lamp.

The flame flickered for a moment before stabilizing, casting long shadows across the room.

Eva sat on the edge of the bed and, without thinking much, opened the small drawer next to the mattress. She took out an old notebook, its cover frayed, with ink marks on the edges.

She opened it to a fresh page.

Calmly, she wrote the first words, almost as if doing it by instinct.

Eleven girls → Twelve.

No physical resemblance.

No apparent relationship → All disappeared while unattended.

Varying ages → None older than twelve.

From a lumberjack's daughter to a butcher's daughter.

They disappear one at a time → Last week, two disappeared.

Twins.

Their parents left, and when they returned, the little girls were nowhere to be seen in the house.

(Stupid parents.)

The door wasn't forced.

Windows intact.

All the lights were on.

None of the neighbors saw the little girls leave.

Nor anyone enter.

How??

Why??

Eva put down her pencil.

She looked at the sheet of paper.

She reread it.

And she murmured, barely audible:

"Why am I doing this...?"

It was the third time that week she'd asked herself that.

She rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hand.

This isn't any of my business.

I shouldn't care.

It shouldn't hurt.

But it did.

Even if it was just a little.

Even if she didn't know why.

But she couldn't get involved.

She shouldn't.

If she did, she doubted she could maintain the mask of "Blanche" much longer.

And if that mask cracked...

Everyone would be able to see her for what she truly was.

"...monsters don't help..." she thought, slamming the notebook shut before returning it to the drawer.

She turned off the lamp.

The darkness returned like an old friend.

Monsters don't save the day.

They aren't heroes.

They don't show up at the end of the story with answers or redemption.

Monsters... are just wounded.

Hunted. Persecuted. And then... they die.

Alone.

Hated.

Forgotten.

That's why...

Eve was a monster.

Blanche was a baker.

And those two couldn't coexist.

"...please... let me live this normal life a little longer..." she whispered to the ceiling, though she didn't expect a response.

There wasn't one.

Only silence.

Only her breath, held.

Only the sound of her thoughts.

She forced herself to close her eyes.

To clear her mind.

To pretend.

To sleep.

But she couldn't sleep that night.

__________________________________________

The dawn was the same as the previous one.

The same roof.

The same dim light filtering through the cracks in the window.

The same routine.

Eva got up before the rooster crowed.

She ate a piece of stale bread for breakfast.

She combed her hair in silence.

She dressed in the same clothes as yesterday.

She looked at herself in the mirror.

And she practiced her smile again.

A perfect grimace. Empty. Calm.

The bakery opened its doors before the town had even woken up.

The oven was sizzling, the first pastries were ready, and the warm smell was beginning to spread through the street.

Everything was going on as usual.

"Good morning, Blanche!" greeted one of the neighbors as he passed by the shop.

"Good morning, Mr. Leclerc," she replied with the same kind voice, the same smile.

But her mind wasn't there.

The dough under her hands was just an excuse to keep functioning.

Her thoughts, on the other hand, were spinning in circles...

Twelve girls.

No trace.

Disappeared without any clear logic.

Where were they?

Eva gritted her teeth and exhaled deeply through her nose.

She had an idea...

No, a hunch.

Only one kind of person could disappear like that. So clean. So impossible.

But—

"It's not my problem..." she muttered, shaking her head.

Then, the doorbell rang violently.

A woman came running in.

Her coat was awry.

Her breathing was labored.

Her face pale with terror.

"Madame Céline...?" Eva asked, surprised.

Céline Meyer.

Neighbor.

Seamstress.

Mother of Anna, a lively seven-year-old.

That alone gave her a bad feeling.

Eva immediately put down her bread and went to her.

"What happened? Why did she come out like that?"

Céline could barely speak. The words tumbled over each other.

"Have you seen Anna? Did she come here? She was in the garden a moment ago... and now I can't find her anywhere!"

Eva froze.

Her pupils dilated.

Her blood ran cold.

Anna.

The girl from yesterday.

The one who hugged her.

The one who cried.

The one who laughed with the warm buns.

The one who had a mother. A home. A life.

And now...

Missing.

Unguarded.

Alone.

Too much of a coincidence.

It could only mean one thing.

But that also meant that…

The guards were useless.

The searches led nowhere.

No clues. No witnesses.

It could be another month before they found—maybe—anything.

And by then…

NO.

The warm bread fell from her hands.

It hit the floor.

And it didn't make a sound.

The warm bread fell from her hands.

It hit the floor.

And it didn't make a sound.

Her mind stopped processing like Blanche, the baker.

Her heart no longer beat with fear.

It pounded with anger.

The time for pretending… was over.

This normal life… ended.

In that instant:

The baker hid.

And the monster roared.

It's time to hunt.

End of Chapter 1

_________________________________________

I hope you enjoyed the chapter. A new arc begins here, and we begin to delve deeper into the Nasuverse. I hope you enjoy it. Comments are always welcome. Bye bye.