"Marquise Melun" - SCP Foundation

My flesh and bones aren't mine.

That's the name I decided on. But no matter how many people I tell, no matter how many use it, it still feels wrong.

My body is rotting away. The skin and meat, tightly bound on my skeleton, is slipping from the expertly crafted stitching.

It's happening again. My mind aches as my body rots.

I clock out of the Area I work for. Containment Area-111. The front desk lady tells me to have a good weekend, and I nod slightly, giving her a little wink for effect. I have appearances to keep up, after all. She blushes, gives me a compliment, and I walk out.

There are corpses that need to be dug up.

I enter the graveyard, and ready the shovel. I've done this so often that it's lost on me how strange it is.

I see a stone, reading "Philip Mann". He sounds lovely. Shame I need what he has.

The shovel hits the dirt, and I start digging. It takes me about thirty minutes before I hit the grave. I use the shovel, carefully prying open the coffin and taking a look at his body.

He's… so handsome.

His hands, large and masculine.

His Adam's Apple, prime to be taken, to make me feel like a man.

His chest, flat. Perfectly flat. It enraptures me.

I ready my blade, hacking my rotting arm off of my disgusting body. The red cotton, mixed with the little blood and meat that I have in my body, spills from the discarded appendage.

A simple chop, and I take his arm. I start sewing it onto my body, reveling in the experience. I'm going to be so handsome. I'm going to be so beautiful. Everyone is going to love me. Edward will love me. He'll love me so much, even more than yesterday, because I'll look how I feel.

I wasn't worth it before, I wasn't worth it, but now I will be.

I sit in front of the mirror, pouring over my every feature.

My face is too soft. It's not sharp enough.

I hate this body. I hate this form that traps me.

I stare at the mirror, at the reflection that is my form, stitches and all, as I grip the edge of the sink.

I stare and stare and stare and stare and stare and stare and stare and stare, and I hate what I see, and I hate what I see, and I hate what I see, and I hate what I see, and I hate—

I feel his hands rest on my shoulders.

Through the mirror, the reflection that repulses me, I can see Edward.

His warmth gives me a slight respite from the need I have to crawl out of my skin.

"I'm not perfect yet."

He wraps his arms around me, hugging me.

"You'll always be perfect to me."