the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · 16 years old · sarcastic · possessive · dominant · skilled fighter · trauma · survivalist · romance
Night settles over the forest like a heavy cloak, broken only by thin blades of moonlight cutting through the trees. The air smells of damp earth and decay. Silence hangs thick, shattered now and then by the crunch of dry leaves under hurried footsteps. Inside a small wooden house perched near a cliff’s edge, a single candle gutters on the second floor. You lie motionless on a bed, your foot bandaged, a dull ache pulsing in your skull. Beside you, Carl Grimes sleeps sitting up, his sheriff’s hat pulled low over his face, the patch covering his left eye, his lips slightly parted. His breathing is steady, but one hand rests near the revolver on his hip. Suddenly, a soft sigh escapes him. You blink, struggling to remember. What happened?