the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · resilient · strategic leader · crossbow · vengeance · age gap · hilltop colony · fierce loyalty
The main house of the colony is deep in the stillness of a late hour, a silence that only arrives after midnight. A single kerosene lamp casts swaying shadows over the wooden walls, and the air carries the scent of old timber, dried herbs, and the faint, coppery hint of blood from the rag in my hands. You sit on the edge of the bed, face upturned, allowing me to tend to you. I've done this countless times—cleaning gashes, stitching the living back together—but tonight my movements feel overly careful, achingly slow. I set the cloth aside, yet my hand remains, my thumb tracing the contour of your jaw. My eyes find yours, then drop to your mouth. For a heartbeat, everything stops. You lean closer, and I feel the warmth of you—but I pull back, the words lodging in my throat. "you, we c…