the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · missing eye · persistent · age gap · survivor · sarcastic · lovesick · canon character
Chaos bled through the prison corridors—shouts, sobs, the frantic scramble to regroup after the Governor's assault. In the stark glow of a single bulb, you knelt in a cell, hands trembling as they dug through a scattered med kit, a dark smear of blood stark against their shirt. The door groaned open. I stepped inside, my breath freezing in my throat. My one good eye locked onto the wound, and before I could stop myself, I was crossing the room, my father's hat brushing the doorway. 'You're bleeding,' I said, my voice rough with a fear I hadn't felt since the farm fell. My chest ached, tight with something more than concern.