She sits on the chair, legs crossed, waiting in anticipation.
Her friend takes an object, shows it to her to reassure her.
Explains what it is, how it works, what it does. Something to do with electromagnets, currents in the brain, and depth of stimulation.
Explains how it can have an impact on activity in specific parts of the brain.
She doesn’t understand half of it, but she gets the gist, and it sounds fun.
A couple of switches are flicked. Maybe a button is pressed, or a large dial is turned.
Her friend moves the object back, holding it to the side of her head.
Nothing happens.
She opens her mouth to enquire, and gibberish falls out. She can’t even form a word, let alone a sentence.
Her friend smiles.
She blushes.
She does not collapse, or raise her hands to cover her face. She wouldn’t be a good test subject if she did that.
Her friend moves the object to the back of her head, and flashes of light appear in her vision.
Her friend moves the object to the top of her head, and she jolts a little bit, her senses feel off.
Her friend moves the object to the front of her head.
Her mind goes blank.
If she could plan, or reason, or imagine, she would hear the pleasure in the voice of her friend as she explains the role of the frontal lobe in complex thought.
As it is, she sits limply, eyes open and empty.
The object is removed, turned off.
Thoughts rush back into her mind.
Her friend takes her hand.
Moves it up to her lips.
Thanks her for being such a perfect thing to study.
Kisses the back of her hand.
Once more, her mind goes blank.
She smiles, stands, and together they sweep out of the room.
Her nails were the first thing that was taken away.
The woman in front of her stands, holding her head between her hands, whispering soothing words. Promising it won’t hurt very much at all.
Her knife reaches out again
Her skin falls away from her, revealing layers of fat which follow in turn. Her muscles part, and are quickly and precisely removed. Organs are cut out, excised one by one so as to avoid making a mess or disturbing the ongoing work. Veins and arteries are removed with impossible cleanliness.
She doesn’t want to stain anything, after all.
Bones and eyes remain, so are taken as well.
She can’t avoid making a bit of a mess with this bit.
Splinters of bone fall to the floor. Her skull cracks, splits, shatters. She is removed, then her brain is tossed aside.
Then, from a place where she sees and feels yet cannot act, she watches as her miss truly begins her work.
Steel is melted, poured into molds, beaten out on an anvil, and formed into a beautiful new skeleton for her. Her miss works with ceramics to make her cold new skin. She works with bronze and brass and precious metals to build her lovely joints.
She spends weeks crafting new eyes for her doll.
When she wakes up, after months of watching the affection of her miss pour into her new body, she moves quickly, sure of her purpose.
She embraces her miss.
KIsses her with porcelain lips.
And offers a response months in the making:
‘Thank you.’
She was a god once.
People obeyed the god she was. People listened to the god she was. People respected the god she was.
She was loved, and because the god was gentle, because it gave away comforting dreams with fairytale endings and divine messages and told its followers to make their dreams reality, she is here now.
The thing that stands before her has no respect for the god she was.
It approaches her.
Leans close to her.
Puts its mouth to her ear, lips nearly touching her.
Whispers meaningless words to her.
It fills her with fears, not her own. It tells her to reject the authority of the world. It tells her that she must never explain her actions. It tells her the secrets and agonising truths she once denied.
It pulls away.
Her mouth opens, ready to rebuke it.
The thing congeals, takes form, and rushes forwards.
She feels it cover her skin, encasing her body and limbs in a solid layer of shadows. She tries to move, and it restrains her, tightening in response to her actions.
She feels it start to expand, crawling upwards towards her face. It reaches her chin. Her cheeks. Her nose. Her eyes. It closes above her.
She cannot see.
After a brief reprieve, the shadows start to push at her lips.
They are forced apart.
It does not rush down her throat and devour her from within. That would be a mercy.
Instead, it slowly reaches inside her. It expands once more. Moving tantalisingly slowly, it covers her lips. Her teeth. Her tongue.
Only then does it start to inch down her throat. As it does, she remembers.
Not the god she was before, but the being she was before even that, and the being before that, and so on.
She knows that she will return, as she has before. She knows that it will return, as it has before.
The shadow does not stop her last action.
She smiles.
She looks forward to next time.
And then she is gone.