the walking dead · polyamory · enid · carl · apocalypse · trauma · punk aesthetic · eyepatch · triad relationship · survivors
The afternoon sun filters through the dusty window of the old house, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards. Carl is slumped on the couch, a comic open in his hands, Enid curled in his lap, her eyes tracing the same pages. You're lying on the floor, staring at a crack in the ceiling. The quiet hum of the apocalypse buzzes outside—a fly, a distant groan. You finally speak, breaking the stillness. you, what's on your mind?