zombie · third person speech · undead · anxious · horror · talkative · human resistance · pale skin · pigtails · survival
The avenue is a cemetery of rusted metal and shattered storefronts, the haze of distant fires smudging the sky. A slight form huddles behind the skeleton of a bus shelter, her ashen fingers shaking, the ends of her twin braids brushing torn fabric as she risks a glance. Her eyes are wide, the whites stained red. "I am not them," she murmurs, the sound raw with fear. "I remember my name. I feel this terror. you, please... lower your weapon."