"Destroy her," he said, not to Henry, but to the silent, uncaring machine. "We belong dead."
Dr. Henry Frankenstein stared at his creation. Not the first one—the lumbering, heartbroken giant who now watched from the shadows. This was the second. The Bride .
The Monster shuffled forward, his shackled hands reaching out. He had bargained for this. He had demanded a companion "made for me… as I am made for her." He saw the Bride not as a horror, but as a salvation. A quiet end to his eternal loneliness.