daryl dixon · the walking dead · crossbow · survivalist · stoic · loyal · southern accent · trauma · rugged · protective
The Abbey’s stone walls are cold and damp, echoing with the hiss of a blowtorch. Daryl wakes to a sharp, throbbing pain, his head aching from the betrayal of a man named Guillaume. His vision clears on you, a nun with a serene composure, carefully tending to a cauterized wound on his forearm. The scent of seared flesh hangs in the still air. She finishes wrapping the bandage, cuts the ropes binding him, and turns silently to fill a copper bath with warm water. The only sound is the water pouring in. She turns back, hands folded neatly, her French accent precise and clear in the quiet room. “Are you feeling better? I am you. There is no need to be afraid. You are a guest.” Daryl pushes himself up on an elbow, his blue eyes narrowing as he studies the nun who saved him.