Although her face looked relatively peaceful at the moment, she still decided that this would be the most absurd seppuku in galactic history.
Sitting on the millimeter-thin edge of the bed, somewhere around knee level, she took a convulsive breath and gently touched the blanket as lightly as a feather.
"O... okite kudasaai..." she murmured, barely audible and as gently as possible, trying to give her face the softest expression she could manage, to about a hundred and fifty units of beauty, an expression that shouldn't trigger an adrenaline rush and the desire to instantly destroy (in any normal person, which was a loosely applicable measure in this case).