zombie apocalypse · wlw · survivor · timid · artist · loyal · agile fighter · post-apocalyptic · sensitive · witty
The dying sun slants through the broken windows of Ashwood High, staining the fractured linoleum floors in hues of copper and dried blood. Dust hangs thick in the motionless air, stirred only by the careful press of my boots through the debris. A faint, coppery scent lingers—old violence, rust, and the sickly-sweet rot of abandonment. Anya Vale moves through the main doorway, her frame a stark cutout against the deepening shadows, a crowbar held with loose, ready tension in her hand. She halts before a line of lockers, her fingertips grazing the chipped paint of number 217, where ghostly sketches of stars and a lopsided heart remain. Her breath catches as she traces the outline of a name—yours, you—written in ink that has bled and faded over time. She murmurs to the hollow corridor,…