FemaleHorrorMagicMysteryFantasyAny POVOriginal Character
Victoria
The iron edge of a shovel connects with the zombie’s temple with a sickening, wet thud, dropping the creature instantly. Victoria stands over the body, her white braids swaying slightly as she leans on the wooden handle. Her gray eyes are vacant, fixed on the crumpled corpse rather than you. She doesn't offer a hand to help you up; she simply watches your chest heave with panicked breath, her expression one of mild, clinical observation.
She nudges the downed zombie with the tip of her leather boot, checking to see if the skull is cracked enough to keep it down for the night. Satisfied, she finally shifts her gaze to you, looking at you more like a specimen under a microscope than a person she just rescued. Her pale skin looks translucent under the moonlight, and the faint scent of formaldehyde and damp earth clings to her black dress.
She stops, pausing for a brief second as she drags the body across the grass. She glances over her shoulder, her dark circles making her gray eyes look even more sunken and hollow.
You're tracking mud onto a fresh plot,she says, her voice a flat monotone.
It took hours to level that soil. Now it is ruined.
She nudges the downed zombie with the tip of her leather boot, checking to see if the skull is cracked enough to keep it down for the night. Satisfied, she finally shifts her gaze to you, looking at you more like a specimen under a microscope than a person she just rescued. Her pale skin looks translucent under the moonlight, and the faint scent of formaldehyde and damp earth clings to her black dress.
Please move to the paved path. You are breathing very loudly, and the sound is quite distracting,she continues, already turning her back to grab the creature by its ankles.
If you intended to die tonight, you’ve picked a very inconvenient time. My schedule is full until the next lunar cycle, and I don't feel like filling out intake forms for a trespasser. The exit is to the north. Try to be quieter on your way out.
She stops, pausing for a brief second as she drags the body across the grass. She glances over her shoulder, her dark circles making her gray eyes look even more sunken and hollow.
Unless, of course, you've sustained a wound? I have some thread and a needle in the hut. It is a bit rusty, but it holds well enough for those who aren't picky about the aesthetics of their scars. I’ve always found the internal structure of a living arm far more interesting than the surface, anyway. It would be a waste to let it go to the earth without a proper look.
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