Morrigan checked the time, gripping a shotgun in both hands so tight that her fingernails cut deep gouges in the soft pads of her palms. It was 2:15, and all was silent on The Andromeda but for the muted sound of waves crashing up against the hull so that her strained, shaky breathing seemed louder than the alarms that blared through the sector of Anjou during emergency drills. She listened hard, and after she was sure that everyone was asleep, she lifted the gun and pressed it against her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut. Her wings drooped, spilling over the back of the chair, but her head was held high as she said a final goodbye to her crew mates. I’m sorry, guys. I tried., she thought sadly. Tears formed in the corners of Morrigan’s eyes, slipping out and trickling down her cheeks, bitter, hot, and full of regret. The tiniest of whimpers escaped from her lips and she lay one finger over the trigger.
(Don’t worry this was about a year ago, she stopped herself)