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"She looks so peaceful, yet so tortured," Mia observed. "I wonder what she's thinking."
"Wondering what it would be like to be a furry bitch, I am sure," Beatrice said, pleased with her sadistic humor.
"I'm not sure I would want a dog," Francis said, his head cocked as he stared into Monique's unblinking eyes. "Desk, sit her up, please."
"Such a polite man, Francis. Even to your things," Beatrice said as she watched Desk right the girl.
"I wonder," Ted started, "how she would look as part of a chandelier, Francis."
"Hmm, how do you mean?" Francis asked.
"She could hang, face down, arms and legs spread," Ted explained. "Her nipples could be replaced with lights - or light sockets - I don't know how it would all work. Each of her extremities could be part of the lighting.
"Interesting," Francis said.
"Imagine the terrible tortures you could put her through," Beatrice said. "I imagine that you could even set a switch to run current through her body. There are so many possibilities with this."
"Yes, but I am looking for less for form and function than I am for art," Francis reminded them. "Anyone can objectify. I want to improve upon her beauty. As I said before, I want artful contradictions."
"I don't want to be a chandelier," came a small voice.
"I'm sorry, what was that?" Beatrice asked, amused.
"I don't want to be a chandelier. You can't make me," Monique said, her voice becoming excited. "You can't make me into a chandelier."
"But just think of, it child," Beatrice said sadistically. "You would be lovely. Imagine your eyes replaced with lights. Better yet, imagine your cunt illuminating this very room or, for more subtle lighting, your asshole could be used. Imagine it, my little bitch, imagine the possibilities."
"Why are you people doing this? What did I do to you?
"I've got an idea, Francis," Beatrice exclaimed, ignoring the girl's question. "She could be a dairy cow. Imagine fresh milk every morning."
"How can you do this?" Monique cried.
"Do you want a more technical description, or was that rhetorical?" Beatrice taunted the girl. "Jerry, can you tell us what it might take to make this lovely creature into a milk producing cow?"
"Well," Jerry began, "we would start by triggering a sort of puberty. In fact, we call it 're-puberty', though it isn't entirely accurate. Essentially, our process triggers the body to produce significantly higher levels of certain hormones, while suppressing others. The resulting effect is an increase in breast mass, milk production, a slight increase in height and substantial increases in fatty tissues throughout the body."
"What kind of milk production are you talking about?" Ted asked.
"Well, milk production can vary, though a standard cow can produce three to four liters of milk per breast every day." Jerry said. "Some produce more and some less. Though, they must be milked regularly, just like any dairy cow."
"Would you like that, Monique?" Beatrice asked from the shadows. "Would you like to be a milk cow?"
Hearing nothing from the girl, Eric spoke up. "You said she would have an increase in fatty tissues. How fat would she get?"
"Including the breasts, a weight gain of a hundred and fifty pounds is not uncommon," Jerry replied.
"And we could give her black and white cow hair, could we not?" Beatrice asked, her voice almost giddy at the torment she was inflicting on Monique's psyche.
"That we could," Jerry answered, triggering more tears and whispers from the captive.
"What's that my dear?" Beatrice asked, "It sounds like you are asking God to help you. Unfortunately, there is no god to help you. There are only us devils."
"This isn't fair," she whispered. "I've been good. I don't deserve this."
Francis leaned from his chair and settled in beside the girl, touching the back of her head tenderly. The girl raised her head from the hiding place of her knees, eyes hopeful.
"Monique, it is not all so bad as it seems," he told her, his voice soft and understanding. "I know that you are afraid. I know that you don't want to be anymore than you are. But you must trust that, when I choose what you are to become, it will be beautiful. Fear not, no matter how Beatrice taunts, you will not be anything so hideous as a cow, nor mundane as a chandelier. You will be more than the sum of your parts. I promise."
Monique's eyes widened, her hope crumbling as the last of his words reached her ears. Her mouth open, she begged for release in an unintelligible garble of words. Leaning into him, she buried her head in his chest, still begging in the unintelligible tongue of panic.
"This can't happen," she finally managed to say clearly. "Please, please, don't do this. You don't have to do this. I can be beautiful now. You don't have to do this."
Francis held the girl to him, comforting her. "You won't understand until you have made this last step. But you will," he said.
"No. I won't," she stammered, her voice honking with her words. "I'll never understand. I'll just die. If you do anything to me, I'll just die. Please…"
"No, you will live for as long as life has given you to live, and you will be more beautiful than any before you," he told her, returning to his seat. "Now, friends, do try to remember that I want something beautiful. A cow certainly does not fit that description."
"Well, I think cows are beautiful," Beatrice said wryly.
Everyone laughed.
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