Widow of Frankenstein, part the fourth, which contains no alarming mention of sugar cookies

Then it hit me. I knew how to dispose of Eve’s delusion. “Wait a minute! There is no ‘bride’ in Frankenstein! That was only a movie. In the novel, the monster kills off everyone his creator loves precisely because Frankenstein wouldn’t make a mate for him! The monster dies without a bride! Even if the book is true, you can’t possibly be the bride of Frankenstein, because there wasn’t one!” And Douglas makes a touchdown!
“That’s because Frankenstein himself didn’t know about me, and therefore neither did Walton.” Upon instant replay, the refs decided that the pass was incomplete. Delusion, seven. Douglas, zero.
“So I suppose Dr Pretorius created you without Frankenstein’s knowledge or help?”
“There is no Dr Pretorious! He is a fictional character! I will tell you my story, but we must first be clear about a few things. First, you must put aside any conception of–the creature–as a poor, stupid, mute wretch with a defective brain, as Karloff portrayed him. Don’t get me wrong. It is a great movie, and I was touched by Karloff’s performance, but Frankenstein’s creation--I dislike the word “monster”--was a highly intelligent person who had no trouble speaking. Secondly, though it may be one of the greatest films ever made, James Whale’s ‘Bride of Frankenstein’ is a complete fabrication. It bears no resemblance to my origin or life, though you can see that I have adopted the unique hairstyle as a matter of fashion. Third, although I hypocritically used the designation myself, I am not the bride of Frankenstein. Technically, I was built to be the bride for his creation, but I am getting ahead of myself.”
We decided to find a table and sit down. She then continued, “Much of what is in Shelley’s novel is true. I am mentioned in the book, very briefly. You alluded to it yourself. Victor Frankenstein had begun to piece together a female companion, but then he is startled by his creation peeking in the window. In anger and guilt, Frankenstein tears apart his work and abandons it.
“Here, however, is where my story diverges from the book. I have already said that the creature was intelligent. You may remember that he had in his possession certain pages from the journal of Victor Frankenstein. Once he learned to read, these pages led him to seek out his creator who had so cruelly rejected him.” A single tear slid down her alabaster cheek at this last statement.
“Also included in those pages was Frankenstein’s greatest discovery–the very method by which life may be restored to dead tissue. It was then merely a matter of application of principles. He–the creature–returned to the tiny laboratory, unbeknownst to Frankenstein, and went diligently to work. He repaired what had been damaged, and then finished the work. Finally, just as Victor Frankenstein endowed his creation with life, so also did that creation give me life. If Frankenstein may be regarded as the father of the man he made, then I am, I suppose, his granddaughter.
“I do not know what methods were used to make me live. I never saw Frankenstein’s papers, and Adam–that is what I called my maker--never revealed them to me. I called him Adam, because he always seemed to identify with that character from “Paradise Lost.” He also identified with Lucifer, but I could never bring myself to call him that. Since the purpose of my creation was to be a mate for Adam, it was a simple matter that I be christened ‘Eve.’