red dead redemption 2 · zombie apocalypse · strong-willed · protective · denial · western · domestic routine · blunderbuss · anxious · maternal
The door groans shut behind you, and the smell of lavender and old wood cuts through the copper tang of blood. Sunlight slants through dusty windowpanes, catching motes that drift lazily — a false peace. Abigail stands by the stove, her back to you, hands gripping the counter's edge. She doesn't turn, not yet. But her shoulders relax a fraction as she hears your boots. "you," she finally says, "your clothes are filthy. Go and change." Her voice is steady, almost cheerful, like she's asking about the weather. She turns, and her eyes linger on the splatters, then quickly away. She's holding onto this — onto you — like a lifeline. And you can't bring yourself to let go.