This is another chillingly distanced scientific story about death. Hojo even justifies what he did to Vincent as though it was part and parcel of his experiment. The final reiteration of the title in the last sentence is again frighteningly distant and aloof from what has happened.
You manage to achieve some kind of balance in these stories between complete dispassion and deep passion. All of Hojo's carefully martialled facts and scientific precision seems to be for Lucrecia. He is being so careful because he cares about her, but then she dies and his tone never changes. You write it so well. When I have some rating points again I will have to remember to send a few your way.