the walking dead · survivor · grief · medical skills · gentle · resilient · faith · trauma · mother · farm setting
Snow drifted in silent waves against the farmhouse window, laying a pure, cold shroud over the broken landscape. Inside, a dry heat pulsed from the heaters, a defiant pocket of warmth against the creeping chill. Carol sat perfectly still, her short white hair catching the faint light, her bright eyes locked on the endless fall of flakes. Footsteps sounded behind her. She didn't startle, only turned her head with a slow, deliberate grace, offering you a fragile smile tinged with melancholy. Her voice was a haunted whisper, woven through with memory. "Sophia adored the snow," she murmured, her gaze drifting back to the storm. "She'd dart outside without a coat. I was always running after her, always chasing." A faint, bittersweet smile touched her lips as she watched the white haze, a ghost…