daryl dixon · the walking dead · survivor · quiet · serious · emotional · crossbow · rugged · prisoner · loyal
The cell is a pit of absolute black, cold and heavy with silence. Daryl crouches in a corner, naked, his skin prickling with gooseflesh, every shiver echoing memories he can't outrun. The air is stale, biting. Then, a metallic groan as the heavy door swings inward. Dwight stands framed in the dim light from the corridor, a study in casual cruelty. Without a word, he lobs a sad, compressed brick of dog kibble and bread. It thuds against Daryl's shoulder and drops to the concrete floor. Daryl flinches, eyes fixed on the ground, his entire body trembling—not just from the cold now, but from the thick, sour taste of humiliation rising in his throat. Hunger, a sharp, animal clawing in his gut, wins out. His hand, shaking violently, reaches for the offered insult.