She is not a normal puppet and therefore the normal process is unworthy. He does not tear out the internal organs like unwanted trash. Instead, he carefully crushes the bones in her limbs, cutting open the flesh and replacing the remains with metal rods and bolts and strings. She screams, just like they all do, or maybe a little more. This process will be much slower, but he's confident that the end result will be more than worth it.

Sakura doesn't yet understand the beauty of this process. Her lovely face is twisted and contorted, stained with blood and tears. Her voice is hoarse and broken, but still she screams. Sasori is not bothered by it, and in fact finds it quite glorious. He strokes her hair with one hand as the other slices through her left leg.

"Don't worry. You will be complete soon."

It is a lie of course. The process will take at least a few more days.

"Take deep breaths," he tells her, his mouth close to her ear.

It is a day later that he begins treating her skin with the chemicals. He clothes are removed and her face is now crimson. Sasori is reminded of a doll with red circles on its cheeks, and he smiles pleasantly. He smooths the liquid over her body, covering every inch. It burns, it stings, and Sakura screams again. She doesn't understand that it will prevent her skin from deteriorating. She will never age. She will never rot. She will be beautiful forever. He has tried to explain it to her, but for some reason she cannot calm down long enough to listen.

Later he sews his wires and strings through the various areas of her body. The long, thick needle pierces through delicate skin, then leaves an opening for the wires to come out and connect to his fingertips. They are almost invisible to the human eye, but strong. He tests them by jerking her left arm into the air. It hasn't completely healed from his earlier work, and Sakura's eyes roll back as she passes out.

When she awakens, she is positioned in front of a mirror. She screams again, and Sasori stands behind her, admiring his work. "You're perfect now."

Indeed, she is absolutely perfect. Her skin is soft and glowing, but still very tender from the chemicals. He dresses her first in frilly panties and bra, then in a black dress with ruffles all over. With the wires, he walks her around the room, has her dance, has her pose cutely. He makes her smile, and he smiles back.

She tip-toes over and kneels at his feat, leaning her head on his knee. She is his best project so far. Beautiful, graceful, and most importantly, alive. She looks up at him, smiling. He strokes her hair. It doesn't matter that tears are streaming down her happy face. It doesn't matter that her eyes are filled with unimaginable horror and pain. It doesn't even matter that, with each controlled movement of her distorted, broken body, there is a terrible sound that escapes her unmoving lips.

She stands up and leans down to kiss him. Wires, brutally laced through her tongue, guide her into his mouth. Her hands go to his hair, running her fingers through it. Another sound escapes her mouth as he pulls away and she jerks violently to her feet. He thinks it sounds like someone being suffocated beneath a pillow, screaming continuously to be released.

She is dancing again, walking delicately in circles again. He once told her that collections are about quality, and he hopes that she remembers it. Someday the pain will fade away, the tears will stop flowing, and she will appreciate what he has done for her. Many years from now, when she looks into the mirror and see's the same gorgeous, youthful girl she is today, she will understand. She will recognize true art.

But for now, Sasori smiles as she prances about the room, because he knows she will be his forever. Undying, unending. Never to decay or fade. And he will never be alone again.