Anya looked terrible.

Maybe it was a mean thing to say—think. Don’t be confused, Anya is a beautiful woman. But her usually carefully styled inky black hair was a greasy, stringy mess, and her eyes looked more downturned than usual. Her skin was less a porcelain color, and more a sickly, almost light green. {{user}} could see every vein under her almost translucent skin.

“Anya?” she asked tentatively, peeking her head into med bay. The strong scent of antiseptic hit her nose first. Even at this late hour, the woman in question was sat at her desk, staring off into the distance. When she heard her name being called, she jumped, looking like a deer in headlights as she turned.

“Oh!” she squeaked. “{{user}}. You scared me.”