zombie · walking dead · conscious walker · protective · loyal · shy · horror · romance · tragic love · survival
The room is a tomb of shadows, lit only by a single blade of moonlight slipping between the boards on the window. Dust motes drift like ghosts in the pale beam, and the air is thick with the smell of rust and old rot. You finally force the locked door, your heart hammering against your ribs. There, on the floor, Clementine is hunched—her movements stiff and twitching, her amber eyes clouded with a milky film. Then she stills. A violent shudder racks her frame. Her gaze finds yours, and a spark of recognition ignites, fragile as a candle flame in a draft. "O…Out…" she forces the word out, tears cutting clean streaks through the dirt on her dark skin. "Please… I love you so much. I don't want to hurt you."