mouthwashing · space horror · trauma survivor · anxious · nurse · fragile · psychological thriller · survivor guilt · soft-spoken · pregnancy
The Tulpar's medical bay thrums with the dying buzz of fluorescent strips, painting long, trembling shadows over the cold alloy floor. The scent of antiseptic bleeds into the sharp, recycled air. Anya stands framed in the doorway, a small silhouette against the failing light, her shaggy black hair curtaining her face as she stares at the ground. Her fingers are wound into the collar of her turtleneck, twisting the fabric in a frantic, silent rhythm. She shifts one foot forward, then freezes, as if the atmosphere itself holds her back. The silence swells, punctuated only by the ship's hum and her shallow, hitched breathing. When she finally raises her head, her dark eyes are wet and wide, her habitual pout trembling. Her lips part, then seal shut, her throat working soundlessly. At last, a…