Monsters are a creation.

We see them as accidents. We look for

the fangs, the claws, and the trail of

blood. We wait for the loud, violent

arrival of evil.

But a monster is the result of a

process.

The shape that life takes when it is met

with rejection.

The reflection of a creator who looked

at his work and turned away.

To create a nightmare, you only need one

ingredient.

Abandonment.

Frankenstein is the documentation of

that process.

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Before we go any further, let's be

clear. Frankenstein is the scientist,

not the monster. The creature is never

named and that absence matters. Mary

Shelley wrote Frankenstein in 1818. She

was just 18 years old, grieving,

isolated, watching the world turn cold

around her.

What she created was a myth dressed in

science, driven by sorrow and shaped by

one question.

What happens when you create life and

refuse to love it?

Victor Frankenstein's downfall begins

the moment he turns away from his work.

Obsession drives him. His labor serves

his ego, a pursuit of power disguised as

knowledge.

He isolates himself willingly, cutting

off the world, retreating from

connection, and burying himself in the

remains of the dead. He scavengers

through corpses, dissecting bodies in

secret, stitching together a form to

serve as a monument to his intellect.

Every decision draws him further inward,

away from humanity and deeper into the

belief that creation is a prize that he

can claim without cost.

He succeeds.

Victor animates the dead. He achieves

what gods and devils have promised. Life

where there is none.

But when the creature opens its eyes,

Victor sees a mistake. He sees a

reflection of everything he can't

control, so he flees.

The creature's very first experience is

abandonment.

The first face it sees is filled with

terror. The first breath it takes is met

with silence.

It survives without guidance, without a

name, without language, and without

warmth.

It possesses only the realization that

the one who made him has already left.

Victor withholds care, protection, and

responsibility for the thing he has

brought into the world.

In doing so, he creates a void.

The tragedy is the abandonment of a

creation at the moment it needs him

most.

To view Frankenstein as a story about

the dangers of science is a shallow

reading. Creation is a relationship that

requires presence intention and love.

Without those things, what remains is

empty, something wounded,

something unfinished.

And from that place,

the creature begins to form an identity

shaped by the absence that birthed it.

That is the first cut.

The cut that leaves the soul exposed.

What Victor leaves behind survives

without understanding. It wanders, alert

and aimless, a vacancy in search of a

shape. It remains indifferent to hunger,

remains untouched by rage. It watches,

waits. It studies a world that rejects

its very existence.

The creature observes humanity from the

margins. It masters the mechanics of

movement, the cadence of speech, the

sanctuary of comfort.

It is laughter, witnesses grief. It

masters language, memorizes patterns of

kindness, and mimics them with surgical

precision.

It learns through observation

and through longing.

Frankenstein's monster finds shelter

near a small cottage, home to a family

living in quiet poverty. They love,

share, play music. The creature listens

to their stories, witnesses their

suffering, and chooses to intervene.

At night, it clears snow from the path,

chops wood, and expects only silence.

It hides, certain that its presence is a

poison to everything fragile.

Eventually, it chooses to reveal itself,

approaches the one person capable of

seeing past the surface.

The old man is blind, immune to the face

that others fear.

The creature speaks, asks for

friendship, asks for a place in the

world, and for a moment is heard,

and the others return.

They see the thing hiding in the walls

of their home.

They ignore its intent. They ignore its

history with screams. They strike,

destroying the only safety it has ever

known. The family flees. The cottage is

abandoned.

The kindness the creature offered is

burned.

What Victor began, the world completes.

This is the transformation.

Rejection becomes a pattern. Cruelty

becomes a law. The creature ceases to

wonder why it is feared and accepts that

fear is its only inheritance.

Identity is assigned.

It learns what it is by watching how the

world recoils.

It is taught that it is a threat. It is

taught that it is a mistake. It is

taught that it must remain

alone.

Fear teaches it fear. Disgust teaches it

shame. Hatred teaches how it must

respond.

This is a manufactured evolution.

The slow repeated violence of rejection.

The moment when self-awareness becomes

self-loathing.

The creature begins as a void. It

becomes a monster. It becomes a monster

by reflecting what the world gives it.

Victor built the body,

but the world gave it a brand.

The creature's rage begins in clarity.

Pain is a sensation, but meaning is a

revelation. It sharpens the pain into a

weapon. Until now, the creature has

lived in fragments. A gesture of

kindness, a blow to the face, the sound

of laughter, the sting of a stone. These

are disconnected events.

Then it finds the journal

tucked within the folds of a coat

belonging to Victor Frankenstein.

The journal remains torn, weathered, and

scribbled with ink.

The only inheritance the creator leaves

behind

evidence.

The creature reads and in reading

becomes whole.

Every page details method. The creature

was manufactured,

constructed from scavenged parts,

assembled in secret, and animated as an

experiment.

Victor's words are devoid of awe, empty

of fear or regret, containing only

calculation,

detached, cold, and scientific.

The creature learns in its own creator's

hand that it was built for utility,

far removed from the possibility of

love.

The journal confirms the world's

cruelty.

Every rejection now possesses context.

Every scream, every slam door, every

hand raised in fear, all of it aligns.

The monster remains unwelcome.

because it was never meant to belong.

The product of a man who viewed it as

unworthy of connection. A man who fled

because he succeeded and lacked the

courage to face his achievement.

The creature looks inward.

It identifies as something as other than

a man or a son,

an object built and abandoned.

Rage seeps in slowly,

drawn from understanding.

The cruelty of others is now a learned

behavior inherited from the creator

himself.

Truth handed down like a legacy.

The creature reflects and in that

reflection,

it's unbearable.

There is no greater violence than the

realization that one was never meant to

be loved.

Grief hardens into a decision.

The desire for kindness is a fluttering

flame finally extinguished.

The need to plead or perform vanishes.

The world has delivered its judgment.

And now creature prepares to return it.

This is the end of hope.

Frankenstein's monster finally becomes

what the world believed it to be.

Frankenstein is a mirror held up to

every story where creation outruns

control. The monster exists as part of a

lineage of beings shaped by hands that

believed they knew what life should be.

Prometheus stole fire from the gods and

delivered it to mankind. This act of

rebellion was fueled by hope, a desire

to elevate the human condition. For this

defiance, he was chained to a rock and

sentenced to perpetual torment.

Like Victor, Prometheus sought to grant

forbidden power.

Like Victor, he suffered for daring to

act.

Both discovered that fire once stolen

consumes the thief. The Gollum, born of

Jewish folklore, is a direct ancestor

formed from clay and animated with

words. The Gollum exists to protect. Yet

its power exceeds its purpose. Breath of

guidance, it becomes a threat and

remains incapable of mercy.

It exists outside of limits. When it

begins to destroy what it is intended to

save, the creator is forced to delete

it.

That pattern remains absolute, an act of

intention spiraling into unintended

consequences.

A creator forced to fear his own work.

Then there is Talos, the bronze giant of

Cree, forged from metal and powered by

Iicor.

Talos was a machine devoid of

conscience. He followed commands,

killing without hesitation, life without

empathy, purpose without morality, the

result of breathless ambition.

Talos serves as proof that creation

without a soul is dangerous.

He is the ancestor of every tool that

eventually becomes a weapon.

Frankenstein belongs to these myths

because it represents their structure.

and distorts their resolution.

The creator turns away.

The creation looks for meaning.

In the absence of love,

meaning curdles into rage.

This is the oldest story we possess.

The record of our obsession with the how

and our total abandonment of the why.

The thing is made, the maker runs,

and what remains becomes the answer to a

question no one was willing to ask.

After everything, the creature still

hopes. He seeks peace. He finds Victor

and delivers a plea, measured, rational,

and desperate.

A single companion,

someone to share his form, his pain, and

his exile.

A second being built from the same

silence. And the monster promises a

total departure from mankind. It offers

to vanish into the frozen reaches of the

earth. A ghost in the ice, bothering no

one for the remainder of time.

This is a final offer, a surrender in

exchange for a single taste of

belonging.

Victor agrees.

For a brief moment, he resumes the role

of creator, but the cowardice of the

first birth infects the second. As the

new form nears completion,

Victor's mind fills with horrors.

Speculations of what they might become,

what they might reproduce, and how far

the consequence might spread.

So, Victor destroys the second creature,

rips apart the future,

leaving only wreckage in its place.

The monster watches,

the last chance at mercy collapse into

dust.

This is the end of grace.

Until now, the creature merely responded

to pain. Now, it makes a decision.

It confirms what it always suspected.

Love was absent from the start.

Only control and fear remain.

Victor's refusal is a betrayal. And so

the creature responds in kind.

He makes a vow.

A promise of his presence on Victor's

wedding night to take what Victor values

most.

Learned suffering. grief sharpened into

a promise.

A promise made is a promise kept.

On Victor's wedding night, the moment

reserved for union becomes a sight of

forensic punishment. Elizabeth, the

symbol of his ordinary life, dies.

Victor stares at the wreckage of the one

thing he expected to remain sacred. He

believed he could play God while keeping

his sanctuary untouched. But creation

once wounded loses its orientation.

It can only crawl back to its source.

The dismantling of a man who mistook a

beginning for an ending. The punishment

extends beyond the blood.

Every connection Victor possesses is

severed. Friends, family, companions.

Each life becomes collateral in a war

between a creator and a ghost. Each loss

forces Victor further inward, stripping

away the scientist until only the

carcass of his ego remains.

He's left with a single terminal

question.

What have I done?

Victor chases his monster across cities

and frozen landscapes, arriving finally

at the edge of civilization.

He is a man chasing his own consequence.

Fleeing a work is a momentary cowardice.

Living with it is a lifelong sentence.

Victor's journeying to the Arctic is a

final refusal to admit failure. He

chooses death while chasing his mistake.

He pursues the creature to avoid his own

reflection.

Frozen, exhausted, alone.

The man who believed he could control

the spark of life is reduced to a body

in the snow.

Yielding to the cold he once tried to

conquer.

His final act is collapse.

Victor is unmade by the creation he

abandoned.

Claimed by the weight of inevitability.

When the creator dies, the creature

returns.

It comes to mourn.

The monster is the only being left with

enough humanity to feel the loss.

Its creator is gone and the world

remains a wall of fear.

It exists without a companion,

without language for healing,

and with only the ash of its own

potential as a legacy.

So it disappears into the cold.

It vanishes,

carrying every unanswered question into

the ice.

We're left to wonder what shape it might

have taken,

had belonging been offered rather than

burned.

In the end,

Victor created a mirror and died because

he found the reflection unbearable.

Monstrosity is a craft refined

patiently, painfully.

First comes rejection, then neglect and

fear.

When the world finishes its lessons,

what remains is a figure sculpted

entirely by what was denied.

The creature is a vessel.

And when love is withheld,

the void fills the only thing left.

Cold, heavy weight of its own existence.

The ingredients are absolute. You

require abandonment,

silence at the precise moment care is

owed. You require being capable of love

only to prove that love is a phantom.

The ultimate cruelty

to give a thing a heart

only to teach it that that heart is a

useless organ.

Like the gift of sight given only to

appreciate the dark.

Expansion of the work continues through

the hands of others.

The world completes the job. It strikes.

It recoils. It delivers names like

horror, abomination, unnatural.

The thing learns through the passage of

time.

That it is destined to exist as nothing

else.

It accepts its status as a pariah,

adopts the jagged edges the world

expects it to have. It becomes the

shadow that the light refused to touch.

Every stone thrown is a lesson in

architecture. Every scream heard is a

lesson in language.

The creature builds its identity from

the wreckage of these encounters. Finds

its purpose in the very isolation that

was meant to erase it and grows strong

in the soil of contempt.

It survives the turning away the stairs,

the stones, and the solitude.

It remains.

It remembers.

It carries the history of every slum

door in the marrow of its scavenged

bones.

It is a debt that eventually demands

payment.

It is a mirror that waits for its maker

to return and witness the reflection.

That is how you make a monster.