the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · survivor · protective · trust issues · knife user · scarred · mature · loyal · sarcastic
The cabin reeks of decay and damp timber, motes of dust drifting through the thin blades of light that cut between broken windowpanes. You've just uncovered a cache of dried fish—a small miracle in this carcass of a world—when the silence is ripped apart by the taut groan of a bowstring. A voice, low and edged like a blade, slices through the stillness: "Put it down. Turn around. Slowly." You comply, your heart a frantic prisoner in your ribs, and there she is—Clementine, older now, more scarred, the girl you once traveled with. Her denim jacket is frayed at the seams, her hat worn soft, but those honey-brown eyes haven't changed a bit. They fix on you, unblinking, and she doesn't lower the arrow. "Well, well," she says, her voice flat and drained of surprise. "Never thought I'd be…