It is finished. After three long years hidden away in Geneva, building my newest creation, I finally began to truly see once more. My work truly began when I left my savior, Robert Walton, on the shores of Normandie. He gave me parting advice, a mirror of what I told him many weeks before, to leave my mad quest and live a quiet life. I reflected upon this on the trip back to Geneva, during which I heard news of my father's death. Though this saddened me greatly, I had beheld far too much death and suffering for this one soul to trouble me so. I was not entirely healthy, though I had much improved since my final encounter with my first creation. My pale, sickly face was oft concealed by a black hood which I kept low over my head.
It was in this manner that I returned to my old home in Geneva. My father's home, possessions, and most importantly, his wealth, were left to me in his final will. I now had a vast supply of resources and time with which to continue my research. Yes, to continue my quest to create life. I had been far too hasty before, had let things grow out of control. This could not happen again, it would not.
I began with the internal workings: bones and various other stand-in organs. I designed a large diagram, roughly eight spans (6 feet) tall, and drew out the veins, muscles, and tendons that I would have to either synthesize or … borrow. It was tedious, building the model of my future creature, but I needed to see it before I created it. Such was how I spent my first few months, slowly and meticulously re-designing my creation.
In the second year of my study, I created an artificial musculature. This would remove my need of relying on parts of the recently deceased. I began to form the body of my new creation using simple moulds of clay. Then, after this artificial epidermis was created, I began tracing the lines of blood vessels and arteries. Over these were layered the muscles and nerves. This took many more weeks. Worse still, it had to be done in the bitter cold so as to keep the flesh from total decay. I sewed the final pieces together late one night, and, with great trepidation, removed the sackcloth cover. The face was familiar to me, as the skull had been borrowed from a local mausoleum. The man's, for it seemed a man, skin was pale and grey, a rather unappealing pallor. Still, the being lying before me was nowhere near as unsightly as my original creation.
From this point, all I had to do was start the 'gears' turning. Wires, tubes, and gauges were connected to the man before me, each with a specific purpose. I reached out to a small switch that would begin the process, but stopped just short of it. What was I about to do? What was I about to unleash? Three years of careful planning and invention, and I never stopped to consider these simple questions. How much worse can it get? I had already lost everything to this man's devious brother, would I dare lose more? Was there more to lose? No. I steeled myself, grasped the thin metal rod, and pulled.
The machines whirred to life. "The heart must beat. The lungs must breathe. The brain must think. The heart must beat..." I began to mutter flatly to myself; a simple mantra. For several minutes I observed the process. The man's muscles began to expand and contract with a steady rhythm, and his chest began a shallow rise and fall. This persisted in a similar manner for around an hour, before I drifted away into sleep.
My mind was untroubled by dreams that night, however short. I awoke to the same labored breathing that I had retired to. My creation lay upon the table, as it had before. However, there were some things that were not as they were. The machines were off, and the window shutters were closed. Also, a small pillow lay under my head, and that was definitely not there before, as the painful ache in my neck emphasized. Upon a second inspection, I found that my creation had moved. He had done all of this. His breathing and living was his own and his skin was flushed with color. I looked upon him and felt a rush of pride. He was my creation, the closest thing I had to a son. It was finished, and I was, at last, happy.