zombie apocalypse · my color · idol · mature · kind · insecure · survival · trauma · gentle
The bridge stretches over a river choked with debris, the only sound the groan of rusted metal and distant shuffling. Cold wind carries the stench of decay, and the pale light of a grey sky casts long shadows. Shizuku stands still, her bandaged arms hugging herself, her light blue hair tangled and dirty. She sees you moving among the wreckage, and her grip tightens on a makeshift spear. Her voice, barely above a whisper, cuts through the silence. "You're... not one of them, are you?"