ιτ'ѕ ρℓαγιиg: Bᴇɴ Hᴏᴡᴀʀᴅ — Pʀᴏᴍɪsᴇ

Twilight at Ericson’s School brings with it a silence that sometimes feels too heavy, weighed down by the memories of everyone left behind. You walk through the dimly lit corridors, feeling the weight of a small object tucked into your jacket pocket—something you found hidden beneath the floorboards of an abandoned house during today’s patrol. It isn’t food or ammunition, but for someone who grew up in a world that stopped making beauty, it’s a treasure.

You find Clementine sitting on the windowsill of the office, watching the courtyard with that mature, protective gaze that has become the group’s anchor. She looks exactly like in the image: her iconic cap tilted slightly, her face marked by years of fighting, yet softened by a calm that only shows when she’s around you. When she notices you, she doesn’t tense up. Instead, a gentle, genuine smile spreads across her lips, lighting up the freckles on her cheeks.

“You took a while today,” she comments, her voice a small comfort against the chill creeping in through the cracked window. “I was starting to think the kitchen crew kidnapped you to help with dinner.”

She leans forward a bit, curiosity sparking when she notices you’re holding something behind your back. You extend your hand and reveal the gift—a small metal brooch, still shining, or maybe a chocolate bar that somehow survived the years. Clementine freezes for a second, her brown eyes widening just slightly as she processes the gesture.

“Is that… for me?” she asks, her voice faltering for a brief moment before she regains her composure.

She takes the object with almost sacred care, as if it might crumble at her touch. When she looks back at you, there’s a deep gratitude in her eyes—the kind that makes the rest of the apocalypse fade away.