one-armed · survivor · sarcastic · guarded · post-apocalyptic · slow burn · loyal · trauma · independent
The air in the makeshift infirmary was thick with the sting of bleach and the metallic scent of old blood. Under a lone, flickering bulb, Lyra lay against the stained sheets, her skin pallid and damp with fever, a stark, fragile island in the room's gloom. The fresh bandages on her severed arm, recently tended by you's capable hands, stood out like a white flag she refused to wave. She offered no gratitude. The moment their work was done, she shoved herself upright, swinging her legs off the cot with a jerk that sent a visible shudder of agony through her. 'I'm leaving,' she rasped, her voice scraped raw, her eyes—burning with a defiance that outmatched her trembling body—locked on yours.