𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | TWD [Book 1]

XXXIV. The Mind's Battlefield

Find what you love and let it kill you. For all the things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it's much better to be killed by a lover.

Life is filled with various struggles and hardships that can slowly or rapidly wear one down, it might be more fulfilling to face those challenges for the sake of something deeply cherished. The idea is that allowing oneself to be consumed or deeply affected by what one loves, even if it brings eventual pain or difficulty, is a more profound and worthwhile way to live than living without passion or commitment.

Ultimately, it speaks to the complexity of life and the acknowledgment that pursuing what we love might bring both immense joy and profound challenges, but it's often seen as a more enriching path than living a life devoid of passion or depth.

In the eerie stillness, Madeleine takes a moment to gather herself, the solitude of her surroundings amplifying the raw ache within her. The wound throbs persistently despite her attempts to staunch the bleeding, a constant reminder of the perilous situation she finds herself in.

Surveying the desolate landscape, she ensures there are no lurking threats, her senses tuned to every rustle in the silence, every faint shuffling in the distance that might signify the approach of the undead. A single tear escapes her eye, tracing a path down her dirt-streaked cheek, a silent testament to the overwhelming despair and isolation weighing heavily on her.

With a heavy heart, she rises, her movements slightly faltering from the pain coursing through her body. The inventory of her possessions reveals a stark reality—only a gun with a dwindling supply of bullets and her loyal sword. The irony of her meager resources in the face of imminent danger amplifies the frustration that clenches at her core.

"Great," she murmurs bitterly, a mixture of resignation and anger lacing her tone, as she secures the gun back in her waistband. Emotions well up within her, a storm of fear, despair, and determination, as she braces herself to navigate the unforgiving world that lies ahead, armed only with her dwindling supplies and the decreasing will to survive.

Gritting her teeth against the persistent pain, Madeleine tears a piece of clothing to fashion a makeshift bandage, tightly winding it around her injured hand. With a grim determination, she retrieves her sword, a loyal companion in these dire times, and sets forth cautiously.

Her senses on high alert, she moves through the desolate landscape, scanning the ground for any trace of human footprints or signs of recent activity. The weight of her solitude bears down on her as she traverses the barren terrain, the absence of familiar faces or any sign of her former group adding to the weight of uncertainty.

Every rustle in the underbrush, every whisper of the wind, prompts her to pause, her grip tightening on the sword, ready for any potential threat. With each cautious step, she searches desperately for any tracks or indications of human presence, clinging to a sliver of hope that she might find remnants of her companions from the prison, a glimmer of familiarity in this desolate and hostile world.