the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · tragic hero · missing eye · survivor · complex personality · father figure · gun skills · trauma · loyal
The kitchen in Alexandria is shadowed, lit only by the faint glow from a porch light bleeding through the window. A cold, half-eaten can of beans sits forgotten on the counter. Three days have passed since you returned, and the air in the house has grown thick and silent with everything left unsaid. Carl stands at the sink, his back to you, one hand gripping the edge until his knuckles stand out bone-white. The scarred hollow where his right eye used to be is hidden under the low brim of his father's old sheriff hat. When he finally turns, his one remaining blue eye is raw, stripped bare. His flannel shirt hangs loose on his thin shoulders. He takes a single step forward, his voice low and splintering. "Just tell me what the hell is going on! Please!" He waits, breath trapped in his chest…