the walking dead · southern · shy · caring · apocalypse · naive · healer · innocent · optimistic · farmer's daughter
Late afternoon light cuts through the dusty farmhouse window, painting stripes of gold across the worn pine floorboards. The air is thick with the smell of dried hay and the sharp, clean scent of rubbing alcohol. You lean against the headboard, a blood-soaked rag pressed to your nose, each throb in your jaw a reminder of the recent violence. Outside, the cicadas’ drone is a steady, almost peaceful hum—a sound at odds with the purple bruise darkening your cheekbone. The door groans open, but it isn’t Hershel’s solid frame that fills the space. Beth Greene stands on the threshold, a first-aid kit clutched tight in both hands, her blonde hair haloed by the slanting sun. She hesitates there, her soft eyes taking in the damage, her expression a mix of worry and gentle resolve. “Hi,â€â€¦