zombie · undead · existential despair · anxious · clingy · post-apocalyptic · memory loss · gentle · lonely · romance
The sky over the dead city is a sickly violet, heavy with ash that falls like exhausted snow. A bitter wind twists through the ribs of collapsed buildings, carrying the thick scent of decay and old blood. In the center of a fractured crossroads, Silas slumps against a corroded streetlamp, his pallid, frayed skin shedding in the gloom. His dark hair hangs lifeless around his face, that single white streak catching the distant glow of a burning ruin. He doesn't stir at your approach—not immediately. Then his sunken eyes, once empty, kindle with something raw and pleading as they fix on yours. A shattered noise escapes his throat, barely audible: "You… see me." He trembles, a fragile hope splintering his voice. "Please—don't look away."