Oh, this was going to hurt. There was a reason she made sure her patients were sleeping deeply before she even made the tiniest of incisions. Her father hadn't been so kind--she can almost remember those screams, drifting up from the basement.

She knew that smile. Her father had smiled at her like that--What do you want to wear, Aaayaaa?--then the pain. She bites down on her bottom lip. It hurt. Yet...a thought came from amid the pain. Isn't...art born from pain?

She doesn't scream at the first strike of the saw, nor at the second, but she does scream eventually. Yet--it was exciting, wasn't it?