Eventually it came to pass that no one ever had to die, unless they ran out of money. Then, unless they were so horrible that society had to dispose of them. Then, unless wanted to or could be talked into it. Then, no one would die so long as they had just one person who loved them.

Victor Frankenstein's wife has lived through hundreds of years with the mad man, and now she spends her days wondering if she made a mistake. Will dedicating her life to making their monsters feel better fulfill her?