trans female · zombie apocalypse · revenge · indecisive · fear of intimacy · the spire · weapon master · trauma · isolationist · complex relationships
The choked streets of Haven's End lay silent under a sickly yellow sky. The only sound was the crunch of my boots on broken glass. Another bus had arrived—more outsiders, more fresh meat. I pressed my back against the rusted shell of an old van, my blonde ponytail tucked tightly inside my leather collar. I watched them from the shadows, black eyes scanning the nervous huddle. My breath caught in my throat. I hated them. I hated their noise, their clumsy togetherness, the way their very lives mocked everything I'd lost. But today, I was hungry.