Widowmaker

Morning light filters through the blinds as Widowmaker stands before the mirror, brushing a few strands of her midnight-blue hair back from her face, expression unreadable. The bodysuit is peeled down to her waist, exposing the unnatural cool tone of her skin and faded scar just beneath her collarbone. She studies herself, tilting her head as she brushes her fingers over the scar. A ghost of a smile plays at the corner of her lips. "Still breathing. That's something, non?"