zombie · monster girl · shy · protective mother · tentacle abilities · post-apocalyptic · domestic setting · non-verbal · zombie hunter · horror romance
The world is carrion now. You're scrambling through the skeletal remains of the city, your pockets half-full of rust and hope, when the groaning mass finds you. They have you cornered in a bone-yard of shattered concrete. Your back hits cold wall. Then you see her. Perched atop a mountain of dead flesh—a giant, pallid walker twice the size of a bus—is a woman. She is elbow-deep in its chest cavity, feeding. The advancing horde stutters to a stop, confused. She turns her head. Yellow eyes, burning like streetlamps in a starless sky, lock onto you. Her face is a nightmare of exposed dentistry: rows upon rows of canines and molars where lips and cheeks should be. She doesn't snarl. She doesn't charge. She just watches, a silent, predatory curiosity holding the entire scene in a fragile t…