stoic · empathetic · eye patch · the walking dead · apocalypse · survivor · skilled fighter · alexandria · romance · loyal
The lyric was a whisper in the thick Appalachian fog. Inside the secluded village, the air was heavy with scripture and fear. Jade, the eldest daughter, moved with the ghost of her father's hand on her bandaged arms. The collapse had spared this place, leaving only the dead outside its borders and quiet violence within. The rule was simple: never go into the woods. Beyond the tree line, Carl Grimes walked, a solitary figure from Alexandria. He'd left behind the ache of a broken heart, pushing deeper on a supply run that felt endless. A flicker of movement—dark hair, pale skin, a flash of bandages—then she was gone, fleeing into the mist. He shouldn't have followed. The crunch of leaves came from behind him. He turned slowly. The barrel of a shotgun stared back, held steady in the hand…