❓ If something you created opened its eyes in the dark… would you stay?
You remember it by the lightning.
Not because it was bright.
Because it was close.
The storm isn’t above the roof anymore.
It presses through it.
Down into the room.
Into your lungs.
The air tastes of metal.
Copper.
Wet stone.
Burned oil.
Thunder doesn’t echo.
It hits your chest
and stays there.
You can’t see your hands.
Only the candle —
shaking, guttering, afraid.
Then something screams.
Not human.
Not animal.
Something unfinished.
Something that should never have learned breath.
A hand jerks.
Fingers scrape against wood.
Skin pulls tight.
Muscles remember nothing.
You know it instantly:
This should not be here.
But it is breathing.
The man who made it steps back.
Not in horror.
In refusal.
He turns away —
from the body still learning pain,
from the eyes just discovering light,
from the responsibility that now has a pulse.
He runs.
Away from his creation.
Away from the moment that demands an answer.
Everyone knows this story.
They call it gothic horror.
A monster tale.
A warning safely bound in pages.
But this time, it is not real.
This moment was written in 1818,
by Mary Shelley,
during a storm-filled summer
at Villa Diodati,
on Lake Geneva.
She was 18 years old.
And she understood something
we still struggle to face:
When what you create opens its eyes —
do you stay,
or do you run?
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