‘Skin white as snow, lips red as blood, hair dark as ebony wood,’ the doctor recited the words as he slid the comb through the wig’s short tresses. It shone beneath the surgical spotlight and was as black as the fairy tale suggested. He smiled in satisfaction. Gone were the nasty synthetic blonde strands. In their place was a bobbed wig made of real human hair. He had been pleased with his efforts. His skills with the scalpel had easily transferred to scissors, and he had worked diligently, trimming each strand of glossy black hair until it was just the right length. Her skin, once pockmarked and ashen, was now ivory white, free from unsightly hairs and blemishes. He had spent all night transforming it to the perfect tone, so engrossed in his work that he had forgotten to eat. If it weren’t for the rats squeaking for food, he could have kept going until dawn. They gathered around his feet, whiskers twitching, as they rose on their hind legs. Their black beaded eyes shone with anticipation as they sniffed the air for food. In the last twelve months, they had become his closest allies. Sometimes they kept him warm as he slept – a pulsating blanket of fur. Like him, they appreciated the music that echoed around the derelict chamber. He moved towards the record player, setting it into life once more.
To the backdrop of colourful music, he transformed her lips to a fairy-tale red. Eyebrows, lashes, fingernails and toenails… every inch of her body received his full attention. He bent to inhale the scent of her skin and was rewarded with a pungent chemical smell. It equated to goodness, purity. It was his dream that his art would be picked up by the nationals and broadcast on TV. His fellow man could take comfort that even the dirtiest of street urchins might be transformed into something good and pure. Sacrifices would have to be made. But nobody said life was easy. He watched as her chest rose and fell from underneath the blue waffle blanket. Was she dreaming? Perhaps, in her world, she could sense the change. And he was almost ready to let her go.
The costume was quite extravagant, but he could afford the cost. He admired the cut of the long yellow dress as it hung from the wall, complete with a blue bolero top and a starched white collar. Red shoes matched the bow on the hairband yet to be placed on the crown of her head. But she was not ready to be dressed. Everything had to be timed to perfection in order to make his fairy-tale work of art complete. He had allocated three days for this particular creation and mapped his plans with precision. Day one was the stripping of the layers – a removal of the grime-infused outside world. Day two was when the detailed work took place: sizing her up for her outfit and bringing her back to life. It was one last parting moment for her to enjoy before death claimed her. Day three involved invasive surgery, those finishing touches which brought authenticity to his work. Just as in the fairy tale, his art would be both cruel and beautiful in its bidding. But this story did not come with a happy ending. Brothers Grimm folklore was more fitting for the modern world.
He snapped out of his thoughts as the woman stirred. It was almost time to draw her from the recesses of her coma. A full-length mirror stood at the end of the bed, ready to show her what she had become.