The Butcheress
For the past few days, the deranged surgeon had taken to keeping her captive under her tight control, keeping her cooper up, and observing her side project. It was of a result she knew rather well, but all the same she had done it out of, suffice to say, boredom and innate sadism. For the time being, she had a decent breakfast, it was morning, but in the basement, time would have little meaning there, what with it practically being isolated from all semblances of time, the occupant within unable to tell if it were night or day, midday or dusk, and so on and so forth.
Garbed in her raiment, an officer's uniform in immaculate white, and a cleaned medical apron, large gloves, surgical mask and her cap, she fixed her clothes before taking with her a wheeled table into the room proper. She opened the door, before closing it behind herself. It was the only source of light that came into the room.
Soon, she reached over to flick the light switch, and overhead the lamp shined a blinding light in the once pitch black room, no doubt it would be somewhat painful to gaze at after hours at a time spent in complete and utter darkness.
"I see you have been adjusting rather well to my regimen, Fraulein." Came the thick, German accented English from Sakura's tormentor as she stood by the closed door, wheeled table by her side. "Which is good. I do not tolerate obstinacy nor stubbornness to what I prescribe. Now, what do you have to say for yourself?"