Upon their creation, the creature was in a state of delirium. They didn't know who or what or where they were, much less anything about what was going on. There was a small, shouty little person that looked like them (arms, legs, a face) except for how he didn't (no scars, no blood seeping out of fresh surgical incisions) and they were utterly confused. However, through the past week (not that the monster understood "time" let alone "weeks") they'd settled into a routine. The small shouty man would leave for a few hours, the monster would wait, maybe accidentally break something and get screamed at when little man came home, and then he'd try to teach the creation a bit of speech, which ended up almost always failing miserably as the monster didn't seem to understand anything but "eat, sleep, explore and end up getting injured" which didn't really work out well.
But today, there had been a breakthrough. The monster had understood something! The word they'd picked up had been "fire", which they had attempted to speak, but failed. The shouty man had said something about fire, and somehow, the word clicked. Watching flames crackle in the dormitory stove had been magical, although of course the man never left a fire lit whilst he was away. The seasons had long since waned from the warmth of summer, but it wasn't quite snowing yet. The monster attempted to touch the fire, which had resulted in a small burn on one of their massive hands. The small one had given them an earful about that, and all the monster had understood was "Fire=Pretty Pain" and "Touch fire=Get shouted at". They had burned through some of their still-healing stitching, which the little man had to fix with quite a bit of begrudgery.
Now, the monster was sitting by the fire, this time at a safe distance instead of face-to-face with it. They stared into the beautiful yellow-orange-red flames, contemplating why fire hurt when it was so pretty.