Miranda had never known Helene to be the religious type.

She and Ashley, best friends as they were, would get into heated arguments about whether God really existed, and they usually ended with Kane dragging Lena away while her biotics snapped, and James hauling Ash off as she waved her pistol.

But this was different.

She hadn't meant to go snooping under her bed-she'd lost an earring under there, and had found it, but was curious as to what the cardboard box she'd found was for. She'd pulled it out to find an old, cracked helmet, a few pieces of broken armor, and a picture of the original Normandy crew.

And then she'd found the journal under all that.

It was only half full, but it terrified Miranda. It was tear stained (and possibly blood stained too, which made bile rise in her throat,) with prayers invoking God, the asari goddesses, the turian spirits, anyone, any deity who could hear her, begging for peace, for safety, for a release from this burden.

But then it turned into nothing but scrawled lines of "Help me," broken and tear ruined. Some pages were full of nothing, just ruined by stains of what was most definitely blood mixed with tears.

Miranda closed the diary, her vision blurred from what she had seen-she batted away the tears, her shoulders shaking.

Lena was self-harming. She hadn't really taken notice, because that meant it was somewhere she couldn't see-her wrists were clean, as were her legs, so it had to be on her forearms. It was no wonder she wore longer sleeved blouses so often, and sometimes winced when she lifted her arm.

Miranda clutched the journal to her chest and let out a sob, wishing that she could do something more to help her.