There’s a certain fascinating thing about disembowelment that Miranda can’t put her finger on. But a good guess involves the way Sonja’s sprawled out on the floor, looking rather worse for wear, as a tangled pile of blood and bruises.

     Perhaps that has to do with the fact that she has no organs of which to speak.

     She did have them, once upon a time, while she was still alive. But by some act of impulse, that fact was soon corrected - perhaps the cheeriness emitted from the other woman became a bit too much. It’s not like Miranda can quite recall what actually happened. Just a sudden blink, blackness, and then she finds herself digging around aimlessly in Sonja’s corpse to pull out her organs.

     All that work in Lazarus has secondhand benefits after all.

     So now that Miranda has them, it’s more of a question of what to do with them. The logical conclusion would be to rid of them, along with everything else (blood, body, everything makes a horrible mess)…

     But where’s the fun in that? Why not keep them, have some sort of memento for everything done?

     What a great idea.

     The jars aren’t hard to find, and embalming fluid was around here somewhere. A few pokes and prods and lo and behold, there they are. Quick motions, and everything’s put in place: liver, heart, lungs, stomach, intestines. And hell, why not the brain? No point in hesitating now. Go all out and make a point.

     Miranda screws the last jar tight and brushes her hands. A job well done, and she almost prides herself in the work. From a morbid point of view, it is rather pretty.

     Then a glance and scowl. Of course. The body.