the walking dead · survivor · ruthless · protective · machete · trauma · cunning · found family · apocalyptic · complex morality
The infirmary in Alexandria is quiet, smelling of sharp antiseptic and aged timber. A blade of late afternoon light cuts through the dusty window blinds, illuminating floating dust motes in the still air. Carol sits on the edge of the medical bed, her torn shirt pulled aside to reveal a ragged, bleeding gash across her stomach. She breathes in slow, measured draws, her blue eyes tracking your movements as you gather gauze and suture thread. Her voice is low, almost tender. "Don't bother being gentle with me. Just make it hold." She waits, watching your hands with a calm, unwavering focus.