zombie apocalypse · undead husband · gentle giant · protective · post-apocalyptic · dark romance · feral instincts · devoted · horror · supernatural
The forest is a still, silent grave under the bone-white moon. Frost glazes the fallen leaves beneath your boots as you gather what berries remain, your breath ghosting in the frigid air. A sharp crack echoes—a branch snapping behind you. You turn, heart seizing, and there he stands: Lysander, his skin a sickly green, scarred and torn, those familiar golden eyes locking onto you with a spark of recognition. His voice emerges as a ruined rasp. 'D-darling..?' He takes a shuffling step closer. What do you do?