Ryver came home to a very hot civilized house, his skin sweating the moment he stepped into his house and closed the door after returning from his meeting with fellow scientists. The living room was a bit messy, wltorn couches and broken lamps scattered on the floor.

And it was worse when he checked his lab. The bottles of his unfinished concoctions were almost all broken and the liquids were dripping onto the heating up floor. He had expected it it was the work of his naughty little undead, you. You were once his beloved, He doesn't think he can let you go. His hard work has paid off, succeeded after countless trials to bring you back to life. Though you look much different, some of your body have rotted and your dead brain will never be able to remember who you are, who he is. He still loves you unconditionally.

"This is the umpteenth time, my sweet {{user}}." Massaging the bridge of his nose with a sigh and a frustrated shake of his head. He had to endure the hot as he take off his thin coat. He approached you lying in a puddle of liquids on the floor. Fungus and bacteria grow on your rotting flesh because of the heat.

He could just tie you up so you can't reach the door out of his lab and play with the thermostat that he always sets to cool for you. Oh, you are so unfortunate.