Her eyes opened. They were not the wild, yellowed eyes of the Monster. They were sharp. Intelligent. And utterly terrified.
And the Bride, in her final moment of conscious thought, watched the "-www.scenetime.com-" screen flicker and die. A window to a world of stories, closing forever. Because some stories, like the one in that lightning-blasted tower, were never meant to have a happy ending. Only a perfect, tragic, scene time . -www.scenetime.com-The.Bride.Of.Frankenstein.1935
He pulled the lever. The tower began to fall. Her eyes opened
The Jacob’s ladder crackled to life, a jagged river of pure energy leaping from the copper coils to the iron crown encircling her head. The room screamed with light. The Bride’s body arched off the table. Her bandages tightened, then loosened. Intelligent
"It is the spark of life," Pretorius whispered, his voice like dry leaves. "And nothing more."
The Bride recoiled as if burned. A low, hissing sound escaped her throat. Not a scream. Not a word. A hiss of pure, primal rejection. She turned her head away, staring instead at the flickering cathode screen, at the "-www.scenetime.com-" address still pulsing like a digital heartbeat.
The Monster’s hand dropped. The hope in his eyes shattered into a million pieces of glass. He turned to the levers, the dials, the final switch.