The cure

Isla take your medicine Oh. This was... perfect. Isla closed her eyes and opened them, truly opened them, for the first time in her life - or so it felt. The operating room was utter bliss to her chaotic and disorganised mind, and she ran her fingertips over the pristine wall before her attention zoned in on the operating table, and... herself lying upon it. Isla's breath caught in her throat, her heart thundering in her chest, though it seemed to have no effect on the Isla on the table. Swallowing hard, mind swimming, Isla approached and nodded at the Voice. She wanted to watch the deity rather than the lump of flesh that was all she was, and the sudden urge to let out a wild laugh rose up in the back of her throat. She caged it to listen to her benefactor, eyes drinking in the sight of the organs on display as if it was something she had always wanted to see laid out as such. The childlike awe on her face was utterly at odds with the steady drip of crimson beneath the table. Isla listened, she learned, she embraced it. Yes, it was a bit... odd (horrifying, nightmares, blood and viscera and what have I done) to see herself undergo such a transformation. But all would fall in place in time, she was certain. Nodding, Isla watched the reanimation fluid ignite with a faint narrowing of her eyes. She wanted to say she could work on a solution, but the Voice was already mentioning as such. And besides, she was soon distracted by the pinpoint accuracy with which she could monitor her own body. This was... (monstrous) wonderful. She was complete. (She was ruined). She was Ascended.