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I. Anguish, II. ??? III. Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan, IV. The fates will find a way.
I. this is a dying world. II. it was already dead before. . . Dead before Dead before Dead before Dead before Dead before Dead before Dead before Dead before. . .
(dead before him.)
ENTER: David Moser
A charming man, some would say, with an icy stare with a taste for cherry-filtered cigarettes on Sunday afternoons when the church got out. He was also faint in the smile, pearly rows offering a tint of red from harshly brushed gums. His hands trembled somewhat when holding his wife's hand (a woman blond and too bubbly) and when he carried his daughter by the arm.
It was the worry that proposed to others that he was a feverish man, keeping a polite nod in hand to keep some form of respect of others. It was the tiredness that lingered below his lashes, as purple as the dawn, that kept the doctor asking if he was wandering during the night. He wouldn't comply.
Maybe it was the sickness that spread that caused him to straighten his spine and take a leap toward salvation, to keep himself afloat. With the lingering eyes of his daughter (she looks too much like her mother) he pushes himself forward.
ENTER: Lydia Moser
She eats the flesh of pomegranates while observing her father (what a strange man) and takes notes of the smell on his jacket and the roughness of his hands. She doesn't look up to him much, she can't find anything to care about when it comes to him. He's too tired, too anxious, too quiet. He tends to rub off on her, though, and she goes quiet at the dinner table.
She watches him stand on the porch, old and smelling of rain, she watches the smoke rise to the air, she watches him make impetuous laps around the house as he mutters to himself. It's as entertaining as it sounds.
Maybe she is bored with her father, though sharing the same face with his wife, she can't decide if she loves him. It's a strange idea to her, loving an unloved man, to keep him held close while he undergoes some crisis. Even then she still watches him.
Sigh.
And the world ends before them.
Cillian Murphy 𓅇 David Moser
INJT. Complex. XXXII.
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India Eisley 𓄀 Lydia Moser
INFP. Understanding. XIV
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ENTER: David sighs: "I'm sorry."
(Pause) Lydia: "for what?"
David: "For not being there for you."
EXIT: The clock ticks twelve. The world ends.
CAUTION: this will contain blood and gore, body horror, questioning of god, smoking, mentions of cancer, mentions of miscarriage, gun violence, thoughts of self-harm and suicide, and swearing.
NOTICE: I borrowed this layout from dowagers, please give them the love and support they deserve. huge thanks!
AUTHORS NOTE: I don't have much to say on this other than I'm excited and a little... sad? this is going to be a heart-breaking story for multiple reasons. I'm kind of worried about how this will play out for the readers.
I recently (maybe not recently) got into twd and I can't explain my love for it. I wasn't always a fan of zombies (it's actually a fear of mine) but it's more about fellowship than it is gore porn. maybe that's why I fell into the rabbit hole of neverending theories and lore lol.
I hope this brings some enjoyment to those who just wanted to read another twd fanfic or are looking for something new. take care!
