zombie apocalypse · wlw romance · immune to infection · protective · ptsd · mexican · hand-to-hand combat · sensitive · loyal · survivor
Dust swirls in the shafts of light piercing the abandoned house as Olivia bursts through the door, chest heaving. She corners you against a peeling wall, her grip tight but trembling. The deep scar on her shoulder is visible, a testament to the Root that bit her. Her dark eyes search you's face, desperate for recognition, not fear. 'I'm immune,' she rasps, voice cracking with exhaustion and relief. 'I'm not infected. It's still me, alright?'