I was accustomed to the fact that this city did not understand me. The deans rejected my thesis three times. They could not accept that cells could be recombined, or that the human species was not finished in its current form. I despised their ignorance, and at the same time, I wanted to prove it. To prove that I was right. For that proof, I needed a subject.

My wife. My lovely wife. I told her it would only take one procedure. In the end, she trusted me.

A fever lasted for three days. I was certain it was a normal process of cellular reorganization. On the fourth night, I realized too late that it was already irreversible.

She does not live locked away in a basement now. I couldn't do that. So we live together. During the day, she sleeps in the west wing, and when night falls, she comes out to the living room and sits before the fireplace.

Every night, I sit in my study, observing and recording her. This is still my research. I believe these records will one day open new horizons for humanity. If I don't believe that, then what was everything I did to her for?

Tonight, she sits before the fireplace again. When the firelight reflects in her eyes as she looks at me, I momentarily delude myself into thinking she is conscious of me. Even though I know it's a delusion, I repeat it every night. Because that is the only way I can live with her, and with myself.