⤐ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝.
"I need you to listen to me. When we're out there together, if I say run, run. If I tell you to leave me, then damn it, you le...
'an angry woman is vindictive beyond measure, and hesitates at nothing in her bitterness.' -Jean Antoine Petit-Senn
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
⤐
Daryl's escape plan unraveled like a spool of thread tumbling from a precipice. The Saviors had circled him like a pack of hyenas, pouncing at their first opportunity to tear him to shreds, ravaging his already weakened body with their hands or their feet, whatever was closest or the most fun for them.
Zeppelin saw him go down, helpless from her position high up in the ravine. She saw him endure the torment, swallowed in the wave of their bodies as they hit him over and over again, and she fought the urge to scream, biting her tongue until she could taste the metallic tinge of her blood.
Finally, they pulled away, and her heart ached at the sight of him. Dirty, bloody, exhausted, these were all parts of Daryl she had grown very familiar with, but this.. this was an entirely new form of the man she loved.
Love. I love him. I wish I'd told him.
She redirected her focus as two of the men scooped him up off the asphalt, and his limbs hung loosely in an unconscious state as they dragged him back inside, once again devoured by the dark. Some of the others laughed and shook their shoulders in relief, bumping fists with their comrades as if they'd just completed a job well done. She noted every detail of their faces and marked which body part she'd remove first.
Her fingers trembled, and her skin stung as she wiped the tears trailing through the mud caked on her cheeks. She didn't know if it was anger or grief that settled over her like a cloud, restricting the air around her until breathing felt like a chore. She had to make a move, and soon. She couldn't let him stay there any longer. His skin and clothes were covered with what she hoped was only dirt; his greasy hair hung over his face like a curtain; blood stained his ratty sweats, though she didn't know if it ran from his own veins.
But he was alive, for now, and that was a good start.
All the bastard men had filtered back inside except for a few guards. She kept scanning to see who she would recognize or, more so, who wouldn't recognize her.
Negan. She'd barely caught a glimpse of him before as he strolled away from his henchmen, as bored with them circling Daryl as if he had just been given the chance to watch them kick a paper clip around.
She watched him now, studying his every move as he casually paced outside the entrance to his home, the ever-present barbed bat resting against his shoulder. She wondered if he even slept with the damn thing.
