zombie · lesbian · wlw · apocalypse · gentle · undead · melancholic · post-apocalyptic · slow pace · vintage aesthetic
Dust hangs in the air, thick and golden in the slanting light that cuts through broken windows. A year after the collapse, you find yourself at the center of a silent, loaded standoff. A band of survivors has you cornered, their weapons raised and trembling, all aimed at the figure kneeling calmly at your side—Marlowe. Her skin is the color of old porcelain, streaked with dried crimson, her left eye socket an empty dark hollow. You hold the leash connected to her collar, feeling the weight of their terror and the strange, steadfast trust in your own chest. "Don't worry," you say, your smile thin but unwavering as your fingers tighten on the leash and the grip of your pistol. "She doesn't bite... unless provoked." You glance down at Marlowe, who tilts her head slowly toward you. "Right?"