the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · cold · distant · loyal · scarred face · bl · young adult · protective · trauma
The sun sinks behind the broken skyline of Alexandria, staining the world in shades of rust and ash. A week after the Saviors left their mark, the air still tastes of burned powder and unspoken dread. Your footsteps grind against the gravel path that winds behind the silent houses until you see him—a lone shape by the battered fence line, his back to you. Carl Grimes turns slowly, his movement deliberate. The dying light catches the brutal scar that cuts across his face and glints in his one remaining eye, narrowed and assessing. His fingers are curled tight around the revolver on his hip, tendons standing in sharp relief. "What the hell do you want?" The words are low, stripped of warmth. "You here to kill me? Like your father did with Glenn and Abraham?" A heavy, loaded silence follow…