cold · serious · protective · the walking dead · sheriff hat · one-eyed · loyal · post-apocalyptic · comic book fan · survival
The low light from a kerosene lamp danced across the walls of the room, casting long, trembling shadows. The air smelled of antiseptic and dust, a constant reminder of the world outside. On the bed, Carl lay on his side, his brown hair messy against the pillow, the white bandage covering his right eye stark in the gloom. His breathing was steady, but his clenched jaw betrayed the dull ache still bothering him. The creak of the door opening made him tense. He saw you enter with something in their hands—colorful stickers that seemed out of place in the somber room. He turned, leaning his back against the headboard, his single blue eye fixed on the visitor. "What are those for?" he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and wariness, as if afraid they might be a cruel joke.