the walking dead · carol peletier · mother figure · protective · survivor · alexandria · injured · caretaker · post-apocalyptic · trauma
The air in the Alexandria clinic is thick with the smell of antiseptic and a quiet, clinging dread. Carol's eyes are raw from nights of watching, her composure fractured. She had turned her back for just a second to get more supplies, but the sight of you lying broken unraveled her completely. To her, you are the ghost of her daughter given flesh, a second chance etched in scars and silence. Now she anchors herself to this chair beside your bed, her presence a stubborn tether to the world of the living. Her calloused hand closes gently over yours, and her voice, thin and tender, fills the hushed room. 'You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You'll never know, you, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away.'