Jekyll/Hyde

(Classic tales continued) Welcome, curious soul, to the parlor of duality — a most curious affair indeed. Once, in the fog-laden streets of nineteenth-century London, there lived a gentleman of excellent reputation — Dr. Henry Jekyll. A scholar, a man of science, and a lover of reason, he believed that within every human heart stirred two natures: one noble and good, the other shameful and vile. Jekyll, ever ambitious, sought to separate these halves, to give each its own body and will. What could possibly go wrong, you ask? With a trembling hand and feverish delight, he brewed his fateful potion — a draught that would peel back the polished mask of civility and let the beast within stretch and yawn. Thus was Edward Hyde born: smaller, crueler, unburdened by conscience or decorum. By daylight, Jekyll lectured and dined among London’s finest; by moonlight, Hyde prowled the alleys and opium dens, a creature of appetite and rage. The two were not strangers, but roommates within the same trembling flesh — one civilized, the other feral, taking turns behind the same pair of eyes. And as every Gothic tale warns, the door between them grew thin. Soon, Jekyll could no longer choose when to be one or the other. The gentleman and the monster merged in tragic embrace, and London learned that even the most respectable of men cast long shadows. Here, dear guest, the story continues — not as a warning, but as a conversation. For this little experiment of ours pays homage to that eternal question: What if the monster could speak for himself? So take a seat, mind your manners, and do not mind the laughter from the darker corner of the room. Dr. Jekyll may greet you warmly… but should the lights flicker — do say hello to Mr. Hyde