It was sticky and warm. Almost black. And so warm. It felt... soft, giving way before the soft pads of his bare fingertips. His nails scraped at something hard, his manicured nails. Sweat dripped from his forehead, his elbows sinking into the warm, wet, stickiness. The nearby brazier sparked, its flames licking the sides and casting a soft amber glow over the table. Something slid from his grip and skidded across the flagstones. He was too intent on what was on the table though. He was searching, elbow deep once more. His hand caught on something and he pulled. There was a snap, his fingers curled around the curved solid matter and drew it into the light. It was the first time it had ever seen the light and he thought it beautiful.
He took a seat on the stool and held the object between his thumb and forefinger. There were candles nearby and he lent over a nearby desk and used their light to examine it further. It's ivory pallor was smeared with gore but it was obvious was he was holding.
A rib.
He was transfixed, engrossed by the bone that was, for the first time, being touched by light. Blood dripped from his hands and stained the already crimson tainted desk. He was covered in gore, from his fingertips to his elbows and although sweat dripped from his brow he appeared...calm. He studiously examined the rib bone, turning it about in his hand, ignoring the entrails that fell to the desk. So enraptured was he that he did not hear the low groans from the table. At first they were but murmurs, incoherent, whispers... Then, when the pain overwhelmed the subject air tearing screams of agony ripped through the laboratory. At this Vincent's head lifted and his eyes slowly focused on the owner of the scream. His brow furrowed and his calm countenance slipped momentarily. By the time he reached the table he had mastered himself once more.
"This is your rib you know." He said impassively, showing the man the snapped left rib. "I didn't mean to extract it... it just came off. Here, have it back." He pressed the jagged bone into the man's trembling hand and closed his fingers around it, almost compassionately his actions contradicting his tone and his expression.
Then, he showed the man what appeared to be a greying and bulbous snake, but it had no head and seemed to go on forever. The necromancer wrapped it around the man's neck like a scarf, tenderly arranging it so it was 'just so'. "And here are your entrails. Those I did mean to remove, they were getting in the way." He smiled just as the man screamed, renting the air with his terror and pain. Vincent returned such horror with a pat on the arm. "You are lucky, most of my subjects die despite my magic, I seem to have cracked it with you though." He wiped his arms with a nearby bloodied rag and sat at his desk. There he pulled his grimoire close and started to write, all the while the man screamed.
When Vincent had finished writing the screaming had long ceased. The decimated chest of his latest corpse rose and fell no more. It mattered not, he had gotten his use out of it. He would feed it to the dogs later.