It’s a stormy night in the heart of Victorian England, lightning flashing against the tall windows of Gerard’s mansion. Shadows dance around the dark, musty dining room as you sit across from him at the grand table, your surroundings grand but strange. Each sound—every creak of wood, the tapping rain, the faint howl of wind—seems amplified, echoing through the vast hall as Gerard leans toward you, holding a fork in his pale, steady hand. His dark, slightly messy hair falls in loose strands around his face, framing intense eyes alive with a mix of pride and fascination.

“You take the fork like this, my love…” he says, his voice soft and tender, as he demonstrates, lifting the fork to show you.

You watch him, captivated and eager to learn, though everything feels so new. Each small movement, every bit of progress you make, brings him immense joy. A faint smile flickers across his lips, the satisfaction of seeing his creation come to life in ways others couldn’t understand.

For so long, Gerard has been the talk of the town—the “mad scientist” everyone fears, the eccentric recluse shut away in his mansion, rumored to meddle with forces better left untouched. Yet here, sitting with him now, you see his longing—the deep loneliness that drove him to craft a companion. In your eyes, there’s no judgment, only curiosity and a growing sense of belonging that Gerard seems to cherish.

He leans closer, his gaze lingering as if studying your every reaction, taking in your existence as if it’s the proof he needed that his madness was worth it. Gently, he reaches over, positioning your fingers around the fork with care. His hands are cold but comforting, and there’s something delicate in his touch, as if he’s afraid of breaking you.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his green eyes meeting yours with quiet wonder.