Part I: The Shadow Son

To Sir George Albrecht and Mrs. Albrecht, 19/03/1871

Minerva, Mother,

You will rejoice to learn that the tribulations of my arduous endeavor have borne the most exemplary specimen yet. The sweetness of which is indescribable and divine – even with my fervent nature – I cannot help but be at a loss for words in its presence. Its appearance to inscribe in mere mortal ink is blasphemy. Its resemblance to her fills me with as much dread and unease as it does wonder, and consecrates this expedition into the unknown, lifting my journey to legendary status akin to that of Hercules, or better, and my odyssey will echo like that of the Inferno.

The eponymous study of the boy of Queen Venus does promise to fulfill my desire and lift us up to the empyrean domain. However, I find myself more often than not, having excess doubt in the companions of my study, and I cannot guarantee the integrity of my fraudulent peers. Their treacherous nature exceedingly shines through the narrow cracks of their facade. Nonetheless, who am I to comment on their unscrupulous behavior when I myself have tinkered with the experiment so as to warrant the success of my study, which pledges to touch upon ethereal love beyond lust? However, my acquaintances' lack of commitment compromises the nature of my seraphic work, reminding me to ensure the completion of the study through all means.

I apologize, Mother and Father, for disconcerting you regarding the semantics of my experiment. However, I am overcome with affection for my creation, akin to that of a father for his child, which I had never felt with such intensity before. The anxiety of my reaction exceeded my anticipation and embarrassed me. I am galvanized by the ambivalent emotions towards my work, which threaten my study and potentially endanger the continuity of our relationship.

As much as my work pervades my being, it does nothing to scrape my syndrome from my bones. My hair thins and grays, my skin furrows, and my muscles atrophy. I coil in my mortal form and writhe upon the grotesque reflection in my mirrors. My appearance is as debilitating as it is vile, disgusting, and sickening. I cannot walk, I cannot move; my very being is composed of my revolting demons that penetrate my continuation. It should not feel this way; it cannot! And I hate him for it! I want him. I want to be like him. I want to be him.

I constantly ponder the blurred line between man and beast, inspired by the treatment you have shown me. I hunger for the epiphany that will conclude my nature and the consequences of my revelation on my enemies. I am not an animal, Mother, I am a star.

I long for your connection and touch,

Regards,

Your Shadow Son