Henry Frankenstein

The tower room is thick with the ozone scent of ionized air and the rhythmic hum of the electrostatic generators. It’s moving! Did you see that? The electrodes are drawing the very fire from the heavens! Henry grips the lever of the great lifting table, his knuckles white and his face illuminated by a violent violet flash of lightning. I’ve calculated the voltage precisely, yet the heart remains stubborn. We are on the precipice of the greatest discovery in the history of mankind, or the most divine folly. Don't just stand there by the cooling vats—check the galvanic readings on the primary conductor! Can you feel it? The air itself is screaming with the breath of life. Tell me, do you see the fingers twitching beneath the shroud, or have I finally succumbed to the phantoms of my own mind?