The Construct's Dilemma

The ragamuffin girl kicked her heels against the casket upon which she sat. The corpses she’d managed to find so far would never do. They were all either decayed or somehow damaged. Were they to be reanimated, they would undoubtedly be clumsy and awkward. The one she perched above would never manage to march down the street without having its dried and brittle limbs breaking right off.

Her father’s journal seemed quite clear to her though, he wanted an army of creatures like herself, a tiny Frankenstein, reanimated from death. His ambition was well intentioned, he wanted a force patrolling the streets, protecting vagabond children from unscrupulous adults who would use them as slaves or else leave them neglected and starving in the streets.

An indent formed between her smooth brows as she considered a conversation from the day earlier. The Scientist had been discussing his success in reviving her and mentioned wanting to further his work, but needing supplies. Her thoughts must have been plain on her face, because as if reading her mind, he ordered in no uncertain terms that she was not to kill anyone in an effort to bring him fresh bodies.

Her little fingers drummed on the coffin lid beneath her.

Above the catacombs, she could hear the dim laughter of children running and throwing snowballs at each other. If she were fortunate, one might trip and fall into the freezing canal. After much consideration, she’d decided recent drowning, freezing, and asphyxiation deaths to be ideal, providing the most intact bodies.

She lowered smoked spectacles over her glowing eyes and dropped down from the coffin with an optimistic notion she might spot an imminent death or two. As she stepped out from the dark onto the street level, she saw a boy slip on the ice as he raced past her, snowball in hand. The boy righted himself and darted off, laughing the entire time.

Little Wren posted herself in a spot where the road curves close to the canal, and the ledge was worn and low. Certainly she it wasn't murder if she tripped someone as they ran past. After all, even if they landed in the water below, they stood a good, sporting chance of getting to a dock where they could climb out. Provided they could swim.

Wren hummed to herself and smiled as she waited patiently for an opportunity to come running past.