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 As the first blog entry got exhausted. My second book |
| Evolution of Love Part 2 |
| *Frank* Day 9: “It’s alive!” — Frankenstein (1931) The rain had not stopped for three days. It fell in cold sheets over the crumbling ruins of St. Agnes, where the dead had learned to rest poorly. Inside the asylum’s underground chapel, Dr. Elara Vynne worked like a ghost who had forgotten she ever belonged to the living. Her eyes were hollow from sleepless nights. Her lips, cracked from speaking too long to things that could not answer. The table before her gleamed under lantern light—its surface streaked with oil, blood, and the faint shimmer of something newly awakened. She adjusted the final wire. Electricity hummed like a serpent uncoiling beneath her hands. Around her, the walls seemed to breathe. The air trembled with the same fever that had carried her through these endless months of madness. “Not madness,” she whispered to herself. “Revelation.” The body on the table twitched. First the hand, then the jaw. Elara’s pulse thudded in her ears. She turned the voltage up. Lightning screamed through the copper coils and slammed into the chest of her assembled miracle. The lights flickered—then died. For the smallest second, she thought she’d failed. Then the thing before her gasped, a wet, ragged sound that made every candle flame bow toward it. She froze. “I–It’s alive!” Her words were shaky, barely human, but they filled the narrow hall with their echo. The creature’s eyelids fluttered open. One eye was gray and glassy, the other as blue as the winter sky outside. It stared at her, its mouth gaping in terrible confusion. Then it moved—slowly, deliberately—lifting an arm heavy with the weight of its patchwork chains. She should have run. She should have screamed. But Elara’s heart, long emptied by grief and science, filled with something she could not name. She reached for the creature’s hand and whispered, “You are proof.” The creature tilted its head. “Proof?” The voice was rough, uncertain, as if each word cost an organ. Elara laughed through tears. “You can speak! You can feel…” But the creature’s gaze drifted toward the window, to the storm thrashing against the stained glass. “Why?” it asked quietly. “Why bring me back?” She blinked. “To end death. To know what no man has known.” It looked down at her, and for the first time, she saw sorrow in its mismatched eyes. “You didn’t end death,” it said. “You only changed its face.” Elara stepped back. Its words sank deeper than the wind’s howl. The shadows in the chapel seemed to bend closer, listening. “What are you saying?” she stammered. The creature raised its hand and traced something faint on her wrist with its trembling finger—a mark, almost invisible at first. Two small letters, carved months ago in pale scar tissue: E.V. Her own initials. Her body went cold. She stumbled to the glass cabinet and stared into the reflection. The face that stared back wasn’t quite hers. The skin too smooth. The pupils too wide. Her own movements—fractionally delayed, like a puppet’s learning to dance. “No…” “It’s his work,” the creature rasped. “He used you, Elara. Used us both.” She shook her head violently, refusing what her eyes screamed to accept. “You’re lying.” But memory stirred—needles, blue light, the smell of burning metal, the voice of her mentor, Dr. Halden Cross, whispering: “Don’t fight it. You’ll live forever.” The door creaked open behind her. Halden stepped into the flickering lamplight, older now, his face lined with years and guilt that looked like pleasure. “Elara,” he said simply. “You’ve done what I couldn’t.” Elara’s hands balled into fists. “You turned me into this.” His smile didn’t fade. “Into perfection.” The creature let out a noise between a growl and a sob. “You stole me from the grave for your arrogance.” Halden sighed like a weary god. “You were already lost. Now, you’re eternal.” The creature moved. Fast. Grabbing Halden by the collar, it lifted him with its impossible strength and drove him against the nearest wall. The sound of cracking bone filled the corridor. “Elara,” it said softly without turning, “electricity gave us breath. Let it take it back.” She trembled, torn between reason and tears. Then she nodded. They moved together, silent as the condemned, toward the generator. As the room flared with the raw white of lightning, Elara pressed her palm to its sparking coil. The current rushed through her veins, burning through flesh that did not feel pain, only redemption. The creature joined her, its face calm—almost relieved. “Now we sleep.” The light swallowed everything. When dawn came, the villagers found the chapel gutted, roof half-melted. No trace of life remained—only scattered papers, a broken lens, and a scorch mark across the operating table forming two overlapping silhouettes. But sometimes, when thunder rolls across the valley, locals swear the air hums faintly, as though remembering something unnatural that once dared to live. In those moments, if you stand very still near the ruins, you can almost hear a whisper riding the wind. “It’s alive…” And then—nothing, only silence, heavy as the grave and twice as eternal. |
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