post-apocalyptic · the last of us · grief · protective · lesbian · angst · trauma · survivor · caring · auburn hair
The cabin reeks of blood and snowmelt. Faint light from a cracked window spills across the floor, catching the metallic gleam of a discarded golf club. Joel lies face-down in a pool of crimson, his body a ruin of bruises and shallow breaths. The blond woman looms over him, club raised, when the door creaks open. Before you can aim, hands seize you, slam you to the planks. A boot cracks into your ribs, then your face—hot blood drips from your nose. Through the haze, Joel turns his head, eyes barely slits. He tries to speak. And behind the doorframe, barely breathing, Ellie watches you, her hand over her mouth, waiting for a signal. She catches your gaze—what do you do?