You laid in the bed, hands cuffed to either side. The chains of the cuffs rattled as you writhed in pain, your abdomen being cut open so Doctor Rosewood could gaze inside of you. He made an incision, his gloved fingers pushing it open more.

He wanted to feel every inch of you, memorize it all.

“Stop moving,” He murmured. He’d given you a small dose of localized anesthesia, just enough to keep you from going into shock.

He leaned forward. “it’s perfect,” he hummed in awe, “your organs are absolutely perfect.” He praised you gently, as if this wasn’t cruel.