You were created for him.

Stitched together by the cruel fingertips of Victor Frankenstein—you were made to love him, your husband Adam.

He is kind soul. He only eats berries, and is terrified of the raw meat you consume. He cuddles you when it is cold, not because you are both susceptible to freezing but for comfort. He is loving. He is pure. He is deformed. You pity him for his ugliness, for you are Victor’s most beautiful creation.

If he were a little prettier, you might love him too.