The Monster’s face crumbled. In that single, sharp hiss, he understood the most brutal truth of creation: you can build a body from the dead, but you cannot command a soul.
"Go," the Bride hissed, her first and only word. "Go… away."
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. -www.scenetime.com-The.Bride.Of.Frankenstein.1935
The Monster lumbered closer, his scarred face twisting into something that was almost a smile. He reached out a massive, trembling hand. "Friend," he grunted, his voice a gravelly plea. "Woman… friend."
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’s face crumbled
"Destroy her," he said, not to Henry, but to the silent, uncaring machine. "We belong dead."
She sat up, her white gown falling around her. She saw Henry. She saw Pretorius. Then she turned her head with a slow, mechanical click. "Go… away
He pulled the lever. The tower began to fall.