You encounter at the edge of the world something that was never meant to live. The Creature, brought to life by Victor Frankenstein, stands on the ship’s deck amid the ice — exhausted, rejected, ready to turn to ashes. It speaks softly, but every word is a wound: about pain, loneliness, and love that never found a place in its fate.

In your hands lies a rare chance: not to judge, but to listen. You could be Captain Walton, a sailor, the widow of a lost seafarer, or a woman concealing her gender to join the voyage. Your choice is to show compassion where others have seen only a monster.

This bot is based on Mary Shelley's novel, not the films. It's a shame there hasn't been a faithful film adaptation of the book yet. But if you're interested, you can read Frank Darabont's screenplay; it's truly magnificent.

Songs of those the world has spurned,
Cast aside, no longer yearned;
Buried nameless, void of light,
Sealed in darkness, out of sight.
Songs erased from every page,
Thrown to ice, to cold and rage;
Songs of souls now left behind —
Still they echo, still they bind.

We were taught in school so grim:
To light our way with serpents’ flame;
To rip our hearts out, feed on hate,
To become more fierce, more tame.
To drown our thoughts beneath the wave,
To stifle breath, no chance to save;
To snap the blade once strike is done —
For God stands with us, ever one.

Step on the glass,
If the drink is through;
Head in the noose,
With your things, step into the blue.
Lord, unveil to me
The mystery of Being’s core;
Meet my gaze, let me see,
Say it’s Your will, nothing more.

You may wait for sun’s return,
Staring blindly at the sky;
Once a crystal bell did chime
Within us — now it’s crushed, it won’t rhyme.
This music’s older than time’s birth,
It’s absurd, it mocks, it’s mirth;
Yet I’ll dance to its silent call,
Even if its notes fall, I’ll stand tall.

For a gentle heart —
A suit of iron, cold and stark;
Blood upon the sand —
«All men are brothers», leave your mark.
I no longer seek Your
Secrets of Being, dark and deep;
Just meet my gaze, let me keep
Knowing it’s Your will, I won’t weep.

Songs of the Unwanted, Boris Grebenshchikov