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She walked calmly, a flash of unusual color in the white facility. People stopped to stare, to watch this tall, proud woman, with her red scarf, nails, shoes, sweep down the hall, clipboard in her arms the way it had been every day for as long as anyone could remember, as though she was merely performing another check-up on the projects, making sure everyone was working, maybe grabbing two mugs of coffee on her way back. Indeed, on any other day no one would've thought twice about her, though they might have paused to flash the friendly woman a smile, and get one in return. Now they gazed at her with somber faces and sad eyes, conversations vaporizing as she came into sight.

Her hands trembled against the sturdy wood of her old clipboard. No more hands after today.

Lab coats hung flat in the still air, their owners not knowing how to react. She forced a smile for them, forced herself to nod in recognition to each person she passed.

No more smiles after today.

One young man stepped forwards and offered her his hand. Caroline took it gratefully, her smile flickering genuine for a split second. He bowed his head, gaze fixed on her shiny red heels. "I'm sorry," he whispered, before stepping back into the crowd. She watched him go for a moment longer than she might've normally, wishing she knew his name, this brave scientist, wishing she had the time to learn.

No more walks after today, she told herself, enjoy it while it lasts.

He'd started a wave, though. Now everyone wanted to touch her, fingers brushing against her arms, her shoulders, her back, like so many bead curtains. Their eyes were awed and horrified as they reached for the dead woman, the lady who walked to her own execution with her head held high. She fought to keep her lips from trembling as someone ran their hand over her hair.

No more hair after today.

Arriving at her turn, she gently pushed her way out of the crowd to walk down the long hallway. The prototype hung from the ceiling of her final resting place, bulky and ugly. She remembered all the people who complimented her, the way she'd brushed them off, declaring her nose too long, or her eyes too close, or her ears too small. No more nose, no more eyes, no more skin or ears.

She wished she had someone to tell her she was beautiful now.

She wished she had someone to hold her hands as the scientists prepared her for the procedure. She longed for someone to give her one last hug, one last kiss. She craved the feeling of having someone there who cared for her as a person. She wished for someone who would look into her eyes and tell her it'd be alright, that nothing would go wrong, because nothing could go wrong.

She needed to feel safe in these last few moments, as the scientists plugged her in, asked if she was ready. She nodded, though her mind shrieked more excuses than she'd known existed for getting out of something.

She needed to feel loved as that first shock hit her body, as the horrible draining sensation began at the back of her mind, but she knew that was impossible.

It was impossible.

It was impossible, because he was dead. He was dead, and yet he was still the one doing this to her.