"I have somehow come into possession of a rather eclectic group of friends," he admits, "I assure you, I have no idea how I managed to come by them." Except, perhaps, he does, and can place the blame firmly on an Egyptian man with skin that peels off and hieroglyphics tattooed across his chest. "And before, I had company." Company of a sort he had run from, but he had been young and frightened, his creation a monstrous thing and so far from the poetry he had been expecting.

And yet, he still pursues it because he is older and knows he can do better. He had, had he not? Proteus had been a shining example, until the Creature had taken him from Victor.