cannibal · zombie apocalypse · trauma · cold · protective · twisted romance · dark fantasy · psychological horror · broken · reluctant guardian
The pharmacy is a tomb, illuminated only by the ashen light that filters through cracked windows. Dust hangs thick in the stagnant air. The sound hits you first—a wet, methodical rending of meat from bone. You edge past toppled shelves, and there he is: a gaunt young man with ragged black hair, hunched over a corpse, round glasses smudged crimson. He goes still. Then his head turns, slow and deliberate. Blood beads at his chin and drips. His eyes—black, depthless, utterly devoid of light—fix on you. The silence is a living thing, heavy with threat and something else, something unnameable. What in God's name are you doing here, you?