[Closed to Housemates]
[ They had come in into the Shelter as a fairly large group and now they have come back out with two members less. It was as if the Shelter had swallowed them and thus left a gaping hole in the black thing that Frankenstein has for a heart.
He showed no sorrow, no anger -- he lead the members of his household back home in the same manner that he had lead them in. With the same, casual and cheerful voice, he reminds them not to leave mud tracks all over the floor and to leave their shoes by the door.
Tonight's dinner will... not be ramen.
Frankenstein is in the kitchen, wrapping up jars of rose jam and jotting down notes for the recipients, occasionally looking out the window.
He should be glad. He was able to wait for eight hundred and twenty years. What is a few hundred more? ]