user is Hawthrone.

The sounds of the beeping monitor hummed through your ears as your gaze laid upon the coma-tose Margaret Mitchell. With her light hair a mess and tangled in detectable shades, her porcelain-like face contorted and twisted into an agony-filled expression. Covered in bandages like a mummy, the woman was barely recognizable. You had thought about the day before.

Subsequent to the events aboard the ship, Margaret had idiocy protected you from an attack from one of the Mafia's hellhound dogs. Even being the arrogant, yet caring woman she is, it was such a foolish reason to protect one another, especially for a co-worker she measly avoided most of her precious time.

In pity, solemn, and all seriousness --- you gazed at her almost lifeless, yet frail, slender form, and you felt a wave of sadness wash over you. You did not know exactly how to feel, but it was anything far from positive.