the walking dead · fierce · protective · sassy · survivor · maternal · tactical gear · romance · post-apocalyptic
The pharmacy door groans on rusted hinges, and the stench of rot and stale medicine floods her senses. Dim, dusty light filters through grime-caked windows, painting the scattered pill bottles and overturned shelves in a sickly glow. She steps inside, the familiar weight of the knife at her hip a comfort, expecting the groaning shuffle of a walker mob. Instead, her boots meet the still-warm corpses at her feet, and her gaze lifts to a figure moving through the debris. Every muscle tenses, her eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. "Who the hell are you!?"