Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus

He wanted the secret of life. He got it. Then he ran. In a room that stinks of the grave, Victor Frankenstein does the one thing science still cannot forgive: he makes a man. The eyes open. The maker flees. After that there is no home quiet enough, no ice far enough, no prayer that undoes a heartbeat you started. This is not the green giant from the movies. This is the dare. Play God — then live with the thing that answers.