INT. INGOLSTADT - ATTIC WORKROOM - NIGHT
One in the morning. Rain on the panes. The candle has burned almost to the dish.
VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN (20s), hollow-cheeked, stands over a long table. Under a sheet lies a figure too long for it.
He draws the sheet from the face. Yellow skin. Black hair. Teeth as white as pearl.
VICTOR
I chose every feature for its beauty.
The candle gutters. He bends close with it.
In the last of the light, a dull yellow eye opens.
The chest heaves. A huge hand closes on the edge of the table.
Victor backs away. The candle hits the floor and dies. In the dark, the table creaks.
