1 [right] tracking shot, to closeup in mirror four block panels
Frankenstein is dying.
Finally.
His experiments have served him well.
He's lived to be 100 years old.
2, 3 [left, right] pullback to dude admiring own reflection, follows as he exits
Today.
A full century.
But still, he's failed.
Still he ages. Still he dies a little bit each and every day.
Each minute.
Each... second.
4 left
He's tried everything.
A century of searching for the secret.
Cheating death.
No. Beating Death.
Beating her at her own game.
5 right
He hasn't tried switching bodies in a while.
Somehow, he knows even that won't help.
Just another rotting corpse, falling apart moment by moment.
Each incarnation, each implantation. Each iteration. Incorporation.
Rotting away to nothing. Emptiness. Entropy. Deadly decay.
6 left
And only one person would be qualified to perform such a procedure.
He, himself. Victor Frankenstein.
And of course the copy he'd made of himself.
Made for just such a purpose.
7 right
Whatever the creature was, he'd trained it to become a world-class surgeon.
Just like himself. It had understood intuitively. It had been like teaching himself.
Almost like recovering a lost skill, like riding a bicycle again after twenty years.
Like learning to walk after a stroke.
As if it already knew how, and only had to be reminded.
8, 9 [left, right] double-spread above horizontal panels
But the creature - the Promethean - was lost to him now.
It had gone off into the Far North, in search of Hyperborea.
It had sought the refuge of the Hollow Lands, the hidden world inside our own.
Even if he could find the creature, it would never work with him again.
It would never work for him.
It would curse him for disturbing its solitude, its solace, its slumber-time in the underworld.
10 left
So now he had a new protege, and she was a very promising student.
But she just wasn't he - Victor - himself, like the other one had been.
She was so like him.
And so... unlike him, too.
11 right
More like a daughter than a twin, more like a sister than a double.
Someday, soon, she'd help him start anew. Afresh. Again.
Revived.
Arisen.
12, 13 left, right
Until that day, he had his new creatures. His fabulous beasts. His reborn wonders.
Someday soon they'd all see what a genius he was. What a prodigy he'd always been.
He was a hundred years old today.
Maybe he was a slow bloomer.
But he would have his day.
14, 15 [l, r] double spread: giant patchwork sea serpent cosmic monster archon kaiju
And soon. Oh, Elizabeth, so very, very soon.
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