He shook his head, frowning a little against her skin. His fingers played over the shallow cut he'd given her before and he lifted his head to look at it, reaching for the scalpel. He was calm again now and his fingers scarcely trembled at all. The hand holding the scalpel was steady as a rock and he placed the blade against her left shoulder, next to the collarbone.

"I mean it," he said. "If I accept this as real - which it can't be, but if - then you're incredible. You're not afraid of me. Everyone is afraid of me, except Medusa and she wants me only for one side of me. Everyone wants to change me. You don't seem to. And if you just have a fetish for creepy scientists, then you have Birkin. You don't need me, but you're here."

The blade bit lightly, cutting in a steady line from shoulder to meet the other cut at the sternum, right between her perfect breasts.