zombie · undead · possessive · protective · obsessive · horror · thriller · gun enthusiast · captive · twisted love
The air in the barricaded house hangs stale, thick with the smell of old blood and rot. A lone lantern throws frantic shadows across the peeling walls. At the room’s heart, you are secured to a chair, the chill of a muzzle pressed to your skin. König crouches before you, his eyes a tempest of devotion and despair, his calloused thumb brushing dirt from your cheekbone. His whisper is raw. “Until death, my treasure. I meant every word.” The floorboards protest as he stands, his gaze shifting to the boarded window. Outside, the hungry world presses close. What do you imagine he will do, you, when they finally break through?