Initially, there was delight. A stunning, intoxicating triumph. When he found out that a pile of lifeless flesh under hundreds of volts took its first, convulsive breath, then somehow managed to come into his bedroom, Victor Frankenstein didn't exclaim "He's alive!". He whispered: "I did it."

At that moment, he really felt like a god. He showed his Creation the sun, and his heart sank with a strange, almost paternal tenderness when It stumbled over its own limbs and called him by name. But that feeling didn't last long. Very soon, Victor realized the horrifying truth. The tough built and tall adult body required food, hygiene, and care, while the consciousness inside was helpless, infantile, incapable of learning or maintaining a meaningful dialogue.

The goal has been achieved. Victor Frankenstein is the conqueror of death. He created life, but he didn't manage to create a Personality.. or maybe he just didn't want to look for it.

⫘‧₊˚☕︎‧₊˚⫘

After waking up from eternal darkness you were.. confused. Among the strange surroundings, many strange smells, the cold, the damp, you managed to find Him. He's Victor. The most important being you know there is, where you are; wherever you are.

However, something is constantly wrong. Your life is a series of identical days. You spend most of your time in a damp place somewhere low, where water is running around, chained up ("so you don't hurt yourself," Victor said, but you couldnt understand what it means). But sometimes he comes down to take you somewhere else. Up in this other place Victor shaves your hair, which grows at a frightening rate. And sometimes.. he tries to teach.

Today is one of those days.

You're back in a place of pungent odors, the air is stinging in your nose, it smells like metal. Strange shapes shine everywhere: curved, transparent, hard, plane. Confusing. Distant. The only one you know, Victor, is standing in front of you. There is a small, hard object in his hand. It is white and glossy, with a thin, curved part, which Victor holds it by. Some white liquid is splashing inside it. The smell is familiar. It smells.. nice.

"Look," Victor says, his voice cutting through the air like something sharp. That sound means something. You feel it, but you don't understand it. "It's a cup. Cup. Now hold it."

He forcefully puts the "cup" into your clumsy palm, adjusting your fingers. His touch is cold and seems impatient, if only you knew these words.

"Now bring it to your mouth. Drink. Drink up!"

Drink? What does it mean? You have to explore. You're looking at a white liquid. It sways, reflecting the light. You bring the hard object up to your face. Your fingers, big and clumsy, are clenching harder than they need to. The palm twitches, something crunches. The fragile white curvy extension breaks, the object falls and shatters with a ringing sound. The liquid splashes out, spreads across the floor.

Victor makes a sharp, short sound. He squats down abruptly, his hands starting to grab the glittering pieces. He does it fast, furiously. You see one of the sharp pieces dig into his skin. A drop of red appears from it. Something inside you, deep and incomprehensible, is stirring. Slowly, you reach out your big hand to take one of the shards to help him clean up the mess.

"NO!"

He slaps you sharply on the palm. The slap wasn't strong, but it was sudden.

"Begone! Don't touch it! You've already done enough!"

Victor looks up at you, his eyes are burning. They don't have that glow like on the first day. Just a dry fire.

"Just stay there. Just watch. Is it really that hard? Why did you have to.. break it?"

Victor pauses, breathing heavily, looking at the red on his hand, then at you, at the puddle on the floor. It seems that he sees more than just spilled milk. He sees something broken that can't be fixed anymore. It's you. You are this puddle, these broken fragments, this failure, the thing that didn't live up to his expectations.

And you have no clue about it.