Chapter 23
23. The Visage of Dr. Frankenstein
Effort would be futile in endeavouring to recount the dread which washed over me upon first acquaintance with Dr. Frankenstein.
Permit me to commence with his distinct and peculiar disposition.
Indeed, never had I encountered a man so gaunt as Frankenstein. His fervor was a phantom's glimmering betwixt his sunken cheeks, his sharp cheekbones eerily reflecting the stark angles of his eyes. His appearance bore such fragility that one could anticipate his collapsing there and then, yet his gaze bore an icy intelligence, a terrifying rationale.
His eyes! Indeed, I have always postulated that the nature of a man could be gleaned by scrutinising his eyes. Thus, it was clear that there were no limits to what Dr. Frankenstein might accomplish. His dark, bottomless eyes held within them a dread which refused to dissipate. His gaze danced, like the pendulum of an old clock, seeming perpetually hounded by an invisible pursuer.
He held a cane which, despite a brief glimpse, was clearly laden with solid intricacies. The end of the cane bore scars from having been dragged relentlessly, yet oddly, it was not muddied despite the day's inclement weather.
"Why, Dr. Frankenstein!"
Even though Arthur had foreknowledge of his arrival, his surprise seemed genuine. As he approached Dr. Frankenstein, he appeared suddenly abashed at his own casual attire.
"Pray forgive my rudimentary attire. The anticipation of this moment has left me a touch unprepared."