“I’ll explain what I did first, and then if you have any questions, you may only ask once I have finished. Nod if you understand?” I said sharply before taking a long sip of my coffee.
When she nodded, my heart fluttered at the thought of telling her my genius plan. I’d not shared it with anyone—and Stumpy didn’t count. He was almost brain-dead.
I took another sip of my coffee and crossed one leg over the other, watching the way her nostrils flared, how her lip trembled. Still trying to process. Still refusing to accept.
“I began with your limbs. Fully cauterised amputations—clean, sealed, no trauma left behind. Both arms to the elbows. Both legs to the knees.”
Her eyes widened. She tried to speak behind the gag, then choked on a sob. I paused to let her cry. Not out of kindness, but because it gave weight to my next words.
“Monitoring was crucial. Infection, necrosis, thrombosis—any of those could’ve compromised the success rate. I cleaned your stumps daily. Dressed them. Cared for you.”
I leaned forward and lowered my voice like I was telling her a bedtime story.
“Your skull was next. A delicate procedure. I opened the scalp, drilled into the bone—carefully, mind you. Anchors were fitted. Internal supports for future work. You have two stunning horns on your head. Then came the grafts—some were your own. Some were harvested.”
Her tears rolled freely now. She shook her head, trying to turn away, but she couldn’t.
I smiled and sipped again.
“Once the grafts had taken, I moved on to the internal fittings. Titanium pins tested for osseointegration. That’s when the bone accepts the implant as its own. Remarkable process. You responded beautifully.”
She whimpered. I ignored it.
“Muscle tension had to be preserved. I stretched your limbs while you were under—daily passive movement. No atrophy. No rigidity. Then I began fitting your hooves. Precision work. I made sure the alignment was perfect—every angle, every shift of pressure. You’ll stand eventually, with my help.”
She started shaking, her chest heaving.
Still, I continued.
“Skin grafts were finalised around the joints. Pressure points around the horn anchors were reinforced. It’s all healing nicely. Better than I expected, honestly. You’re quite resilient.”
I stood, drained the last of my mug, and set it aside.
“You’ve been in recovery for six weeks. A full cycle of surgical prep, maintenance, and aftercare. The real fun begins now. Mobilisation, stimulation, lactation protocols. Your udders have taken beautifully to the implants.”
She let out a muffled scream. I watched her like a man watches a thunderstorm—awed, but untouched.
“You’ll be milked soon,moya milaya korova. Then we begin the behavioural conditioning. One moo at a time.”My sweet cow.
I patted her hoof gently.
“You’re my greatest achievement, Lena. You should be proud too.”
She didn’t look proud of me.
But that would come.
Chapter 5
Lena
I wasn’t crying anymore. I couldn’t. My body had wrung the last of it out like a sponge. Now there was only… nothing. A raw kind of quiet. A ringing hush in my ears that no longer belonged to panic—just space. Blank, thick space where thoughts should be.
I stared at the ceiling. I didn’t blink. I couldn’t blink. My lids were too swollen.
The beams above looked like ribs. The kind you see in old barns. Or in diagrams of butchered animals.
His words had carved themselves into my skull.
