Her....((Not done. Don't read it yet.~ It will be better.))

Breath leaving her body, her back arched up once, for a mere few seconds, the blood pouring from her mouth before she fell back onto the table. A wicked laugh could be heard from what sounded a mile away. Eyes hazy, she peered up to the blood red ceiling. Trying to gasp, she couldn't, gazing down towards her chest. Inside her, were two knives. One through each of her lungs. No wonder she couldn't breath. She tried lifting up her hand, but couldn't, feeling it was tied down. Fingers curling, then uncurling, she felt odd, like she was...different somehow.
A groan left her when she tried to lift her head, but she saw her hand, and fell right back down. Her head spun from her hitting the metal, her eyes now wide open, but everything looking soft, as though there were no points. A hand appeared over her face, before moving down, resting lightly on the side of her pierced through breast. Whimpers could be heard from her, but no pain could be felt. His hand slid down her body, over her tummy, and right to her puss.
The hand pulled away finally, before both hands moved to the knives, tearing them up and out of what seemed like chest. An almost unbelievable squeal of pain emitted from her, one of the windows actually cracking, one of his glasses shattering to pieces. He cursed, before unsnapping her, walking over to clean up the mess.
"Now look what you've done.."
She blinked a few times, before sitting up, dizzy from sitting up so quickly. Moving her legs off the table, she had been thinking right. She felt...different. Holding her legs out, she pulled up her pants, hands immediately dropping. She was to surprised to be able to scream, to say anything.
Her legs, were a brilliant shining silver, almost silent motor sounds happening when she bent her knee. From her hips down, her legs were fake, metal. She trembled, not knowing what to really do now. Her feet touched the ground, before she stood up fully, gazing down her bare arms. Metal and skin twisted all the way throughout her body, looking down, and into her shirt. She found out that the knives were never actually shoved inside her. There were blocks of tiny wood atop of her shirt, falling to the ground with a quiet clinking. She took a few steps, wobbling as her hand shot out to grasp at the counter, but one finger pushing straight through, the perfect shaping of her finger left in the wood.