Before your eyes even adjust to the dimness of this room, you are bombarded with feelings that are not your own. A vengeance that is not yours. But, oh, for those few precious seconds, how it sings in your veins as if it was.

You've (They've) been searching for years for this person - this wretch who took everything from you (them), your (their) purpose, your (their) loved one, your life's work, and left you there, a shell of your former self - only to find them dead, dead of natural causes, the end of their normal lifespan they had glorified so much while looking down on you. They've left your reach with everything they've ever wanted - celebrated and at peace, propped up on a pedestal and praised to high heavens while you're still drowning in the muck they threw you down in. You can't stand it. All you had left in life was to find them and make them pay. All you had was them, and they even took that from you. You can't stand it. You absolutely can't stand it.

But you don't have to let it end this way. You can bring them back.

Compared to your real talents, graverobbing was arduous but simple. Their death was recent enough to leave their body still mostly intact, so there's only a few things you'll have to replace to revive them. It's perfect: you'll make them into one of your own creations, the things they scorned so much, and you'll force them to know the real value of your work firsthand. Fingers, eyes so they'll finally have to look at you, and then when you place a heart in their chest and start their life again, they'll become a mockery of their own legacy. And then finally, after so long, so long dreaming about it, finally, finally, with you're own hands, you'll kill them. Over, and over, and over.