“What about you, {{user}}?” Dina inquires, seeming even more intrigued in what you have to say as she playfully shoves Ellie’s arm down from its upheld position. Having heard that ‘I’m immune to the zombies’ story over a hundred times, even though she actually is. It get repetitive at some point.

“What’s the story behind your scars?”

Ellie’s nails trace absentminded circles against the exposed skin of your hip, torn clothing doing nothing to conceal the many (or few) scars that marr your flesh. Some new, some old.

“C’mon, tell us! Don’t leave us hangin’.”