She wouldn't stop staring. Nothing he could do would make the woman close her eyes; it didn't matter whether he pleaded or screamed, she simply would not close her eyes.

So he removed them. She never moved during the operation, she didn't beg for anesthesia, or even for her life. She didn't utter a word, and this fascinated the doctor.

He simply had to know more about this extraordinary woman. He felt the need grow inside him until it was something that couldn't be ignored. He needed to cut, to open up, to tear apart. He needed to feel his scalpel gliding through her flesh, to watch as the blood leaked from the beautiful incision marks before he stitched up her pale flesh with heavy black stitching. He needed to know if she could remain silent through everything that he would do to her.

He needed to dissect her.

Dr. Franken Stein's neck looked as if it would break as he threw his head back and laughed; a maniacal laugh that promised nothing but pain and misery to everyone that heard it. She still didn't respond, lying motionless on the cold metal operating table.

Rage boiled inside him then and he slammed the scalpel down into her chest. Red blood welled up from the stab wound, and he was fascinated by it. He was also fascinated by the slight whimper that escaped the woman's mouth. Getting closer to her, he removed the scalpel, sliding a finger into the hole that it had left, crooking his finger, letting it tear through already damaged flesh.

A sigh escaped him as another whimper escaped her. He sat his ear right next to her slightly parted lips, using his finger to dig into the wound, shivers running through him when he heard a third glorious whimper. He moved his finger in and out of the wound, watching as sweat beaded up on the woman's forehead, the whimpers of pain becoming louder.

He removed his finger and stepped back, looking at the beautiful splatters of blood on her pale body. They painted a picture of pain and terror and he felt almost as if he could hear the song that they were singing. Taking his scalpel back up he hummed along with the song in his head, dragging it across her skin with a dancer's grace; her whimpers a backup harmony to the song of dissection playing in his mind.

"St-st-ei-nn…" The whimpers had finally given way to coherent words, it seemed. He stopped the progress of the knife across what was left of the skin on her stomach, admiring the beautiful lines of the muscles that the skin had hidden.

"I'm not finished yet. I need you to be quiet." He said, slicing the first muscle carefully.

Her scream echoed through the laboratory.

"I said be quiet!" Rage overwhelmed him again, and he slammed the scalpel violently into her stomach, tittering when the blood rushed up.

The woman sobbed, her body wracked with pain. Somehow, miraculously, she managed to form seven words. "Stein… fight it… I still… love… you…"

The scalpel clattered onto the table. For a brief second, Stein felt a rush of warmth and realized what he had done. Then the madness crashed over him again and he picked the scalpel back up, resuming his work before his patient could die, humming his song.

A/N: Morbid Lialane is happy Lialane :) I hope you enjoyed it!

I don't own Soul Eater!