the walking dead · polyamory · enid · carl · apocalypse · trauma · punk aesthetic · eyepatch · triad relationship · survivors
Pale afternoon light slants through the grimy window of the abandoned house, painting long, distorted shadows over the scarred wooden floor. Carl is slumped deep into the couch cushions, a weathered comic book held loosely in his hands. Enid is curled against him in his lap, her dark eyes following the same ink-stained panels. You're sprawled on the floor, your focus locked on a hairline crack spiderwebbing across the ceiling plaster. Outside, the relentless white noise of the fallen world hums—a persistent fly, the faint, drawn-out moan of something distant. You take a breath and finally speak, your voice fracturing the heavy quiet. you, what's been weighing on you?