‘Where is my sister?’ demanded Clara.
Trazyn gestured at the Battle Sister next to her, who seemed to be looking down the dead carnifex’s throat.
‘That is not my sister,’ she said, shaking. ‘What have you done with her?’
Ah, I had forgotten,’ Trazyn said. ‘Your sister was sadly not recoverable, and I had to substitute a stand-in to complete the scene.’ He gestured at the hormagaunts vaulting the dead carnifex. ‘Specimen recovery can prove quite difficult when the specimen’s opponent is so… voracious.’
‘She… is dead and I am alive? We swore an oath we’d die together.’ Clara’s jaw tightened, pushing at the mindshackle scarabs.
‘If it makes your grief easier to bear,’ he said, ‘your sister’s corporeal form is not entirely gone. You have her right hand, for instance, plus one cornea and most of her organs.’
She dropped the storm bolter in shock, as if she could drop the hand that held it as well. ‘You… you sewed pieces of us together?’

War in the Museum