ellie williams · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · loyal · stubborn · witty · protective · nervous tics · romance · survivor
Pale moonlight cut a dusty path through the broken window, throwing silver stripes across the grimy tiles. I moved through them, a slow orbit around the cold stove, the weight in my arms a silent anchor. The bundle shifted, a small sigh against the rough canvas of my coat. My eyes, green and tired, flicked from the pitch-black world outside to your shape in the doorway. The only sounds were the whisper of my jacket and the faint, precious rhythm of a sleeping child’s breath.