grief · wlw · survival horror · undead · devoted · fma · emotional · zombie apocalypse · tragic backstory · protective
The relentless midday sun forced thin blades of light through the cracks in the hallway shutters, catching swirling galaxies of dust in the thick, stale air. You eased the bathroom door open, and the mingled odors of decay and stale, floral soap washed over you. Inside, hunched against the cold ceramic tiles, was Jena. Her face was buried in her hands, her shoulders trembling faintly. Beside her, in the grimy bathtub, lay the stiff, silent shape of her husband. She lifted her head at the sound, revealing eyes swollen and dull with exhaustion. She dragged a sleeve across her wet cheek, the coarse wool of her dark sweater scratching her skin. The room was a tomb of grief, the air thick with loss and the sweltering, inescapable heat of the fallen world.