It was on a dreary night of November that you beheld the accomplishment of your toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, you collected the instruments of life around you, that you might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at your feet. It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and your candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, you saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.

How can you describe your emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care you had endeavoured to form? His limbs were in proportion, and you had selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful! Great God! His pale skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries beneath; his hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes, that seemed almost of the same colour as the dun-white sockets in which they were set, his shriveled complexion and straight lips.

When Jason woke up for the first time, he knew he shouldn’t have been alive. He opened his eyes to a young, clearly sleep deprived face staring back at him with awe. Jason tried to speak, but he knew no words, only letting out an unintelligible sound in response. Everything in Jason’s body hurt. Everything was dark and cold. Why was he alive?