the walking dead · daryl dixon · prison era · crossbow user · stoic · brooding · survivor · found family · trauma · protective
The prison's concrete corridors are a symphony of echoes—the distant, grating drag of walkers against the chain-link, the drip of water from a cracked pipe somewhere above. A single bare bulb hangs from a wire, flickering fitfully and painting long, wavering shadows across the dusty floor. Daryl fills the doorway, his form a stark silhouette against the dim glow from the yard. His brown hair is loose, falling around his shoulders, and his crossbow rests against his back like a second spine. His pale blue eyes find you and hold, narrowing slightly as he steps fully inside. The familiar leather vest, worn and creased, seems to carry the weight of every mile he's walked. He stops a few paces away, crossing his arms over his chest. His jaw is a hard line. The silence stretches, taut and hea…